The shaman gazed coolly down at him. “Your woman has something she does not deserve,” he said, surprising Jev by speaking in the kingdom tongue, if with a heavy accent. A trollish accent. Though the hood remained up, Jev saw that the skin of his hands was blue.
“So, you’ll steal it from her? You don’t deserve it either.” Jev lifted the pistol.
The troll waved his hand, and invisible power wrenched Jev’s wrist with such force that he couldn’t keep from crying out and dropping the firearm. He snarled through the pain and hurled the sword in his other hand like a spear. It halted a foot away from the shaman, hung in the air for a second, and then exploded.
Jev cursed, jerking sideways and shielding his face. Shards of his sword flew all around the room, digging into the walls and deck—and Jev’s flesh.
“I deserve it far more than you cowards who fled your homeland on the eve of war,” the shaman growled. “I will use it to bring honor back to my name, to help my people conquer a land rich in resources.” The shaman squinted down at Jev. “Your land. You do not deserve it.”
The shaman lifted his glowing artifact, and a beam of golden light shot out, striking Jev in the chest.
Intense pain blasted him, and he tried to dodge away, but his legs were pinned to the deck. As he thrashed, attempting anything he could to escape, he glimpsed the bomb on the deck behind him. The fuse had burned most of the way down.
Was this the end? Would he at least kill the shaman in the same explosion that would kill him?
A roar came from the passageway behind the troll, and the beam of light disappeared. So did the misty shackles around Jev’s ankles. He rolled away and lunged for his pistol.
A muscular figure slammed into the shaman, and they tumbled into the room together, almost landing on Jev. It was Horti.
Jev kneeled back, raising the pistol, but he glanced to the side. The fuse had burned completely down. It was too late.
12
Zenia couldn’t keep from glancing back down the dark river frequently as she rested her hands on the captain’s shoulders and feigned interest in dancing. He kept leaning his head against her chest. She barely noticed. She kept glancing down the river and worrying about Jev and the others.
Earlier, she had sensed it when they swam across to the closest riverbank, but when the other boat had neared their position, she’d made herself pull back. As hard as it was, she resisted the urge to ask the dragon tear to show her their progress, for she feared the enemy magic user would sense her.
The song ended, and Zenia, seeing that Rhi and Hydal hadn’t yet gone below to the captain’s cabin, excused herself to get something to drink and check on them.
“There are actually numerous uses for a paddlewheel besides propelling a boat upriver,” came Hydal’s voice as he and Rhi strolled hand-in-hand along the railing. “At my grandmother’s farm, we occasionally have to pump in water to flood the field, since that’s what the semiaquatic rice that she grows prefers.”
Zenia expected Rhi to roll her eyes or offer a sarcastic, “Fascinating,” in response. “Does that mean you grew up as a rice farmer?” she asked.
“I grew up in the city with my parents, who were both teachers—King Targyon and I have that in common—but I spent the summers out at the farm. My grandfather passed away, but my grandmother continues to work the land with the help of only a couple of hands. We aren’t—” he glanced a little warily at her, “—that wealthy compared to other zyndar families.”
“You have rice. What more could you need?” Rhi noticed Zenia walking up and lifted a hand.
“Rice is a commodity and an inexpensive one at that,” Hydal said. “Unfortunately, the farm is in the lowlands and isn’t suitable for farming much else. But I did help improve it during the summers. I read books to learn how to build a rice mill—you used to have to mill the grain by hand with wooden paddles, and then winnow it with grass baskets. I also built the pump that I mentioned.”
“Are you trying to impress me with your handiness, Hydal?” Rhi squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re smart and sweet, but you know I get most excited when you run around sweaty and shirtless and wrestle in the gymnasium, right?”
Judging by the way Hydal’s lower lip descended a couple of centimeters, he hadn’t known that.
“I thought it was his tongue that you liked,” Zenia said, unable to resist teasing them. They had stopped to let her listen in on their conversation, so it seemed appropriate.
“That too.” Rhi’s grin was wicked.
It was hard to tell by the lanterns mounted to the ship’s railing, but Zenia thought Hydal’s cheeks turned red.
To spare him, she switched topics. “As you can see, the dancing has begun.” She could feel the dwarf captain gazing at her back, waiting for her return. “You’re free to go to the cabin to enjoy your private meal and, uhm, whatever else you have planned.” Given how long it had taken Hydal to kiss Rhi, Zenia doubted they would get much further than that tonight. “There’s a bottle of wine for you to share too.”
“However did you get him to agree?” Hydal asked. “So far, the captain has only been grumpy with me.”
“You don’t have boobs,” Rhi said. “For which I’m glad.”
“I believe I may be too,” Hydal said.
The notes from a new song flowed from the phonograph, and the captain beckoned for Zenia to return.
“That’s how I got him to agree.” She waved for her friends to head to the cabin and turned back to do her duty, including suggesting that the captain turn up the music so it might distract the crew of the boat following them.
“I am grateful that you have returned, beautiful lady.” The captain bowed to her, arms spread wide in the typical dwarven bow, rather than the hand-to-heart version the zyndar favored.
“I’m eager to dance more,” she made herself say. “Can we make the music a little louder? Perhaps some of your crew would like to join us?” She’d spotted him shooing the men toward the sleeping area earlier, but most of them had crept back out to watch the entertainment. “Is this the volume?”
“My, er, crew?” The captain looked at the men—they’d grown hopeful at her suggestion—as if he didn’t know their names or why she would want them around. “There aren’t enough women for them to dance too.”
“With enough alcohol, I imagine they could be convinced to dance with each other.”
“Or we could share you,” one blurted, hopping into the air and kicking his heels together.
Zenia wasn’t sure what would happen if she encouraged that line of thinking. With Jev, Borti, and Horti off the boat, and Rhi and Hydal in the captain’s cabin, she didn’t have a lot of allies nearby if the men turned rowdy. Or handsy. At least none of the crew were orcs, so her dragon tear shouldn’t have any trouble protecting her.
Monkeys hooted from the trees alongside the river, and a panther screeched farther out in the wilds.
“We’ll definitely need more volume.” Zenia pushed the simple dial on the wooden phonograph to the maximum level, pretended she liked the sound of the strange dwarven ditty playing, and grabbed the captain.
He looked like he had a protest—or ten—on his lips, but she rested her arm around his shoulders and guided him to the center of the deck. A few of the men came out and bounced around, arms waving in something approximating rhythm. They were enthusiastic, at least. Maybe they enjoyed dwarven music more than she did, or maybe they hadn’t wanted to call it a night so early.
Cutter leaned against the railing near midship, alternating between looking in her direction and looking back downriver. Zenia was surprised he hadn’t gone on Jev’s incursion but was glad he was watching now for the explosion Jev had promised. Or maybe a cry of help. Once again, she resisted the urge to use the dragon tear’s magic to check on what was going on downriver.
The captain got into the swing of the new song and planted a hand on her butt. She grimaced over his head but kept dancing.
After a few
minutes, more crew members appeared, including the woman who worked in the boiler room. She was always covered in soot, and days into this voyage, Zenia had no idea what color her hair was. The men didn’t seem to mind. Several started hooting like the monkeys when she joined in.
Zenia happened to glance at Cutter when he was standing on his tiptoes and peering at the river behind them. She had been letting the captain take the lead, but now she tried to guide him closer to the railing so she could see if the other boat had come into view. Or had Jev gotten in trouble and sent up a flare?
They were steaming up a straight section of the river, and she caught sight of yellow light behind them, a dozen spheres glowing on a shaggy green boat. Was that vegetation?
The craft was closer than it had been at any point in the journey and was no longer trying to stay hidden. What did that mean? Was it on its way to attack? Were there weapons under that shaggy green mass?
“Look,” Zenia blurted, squeezing the captain’s shoulders and hoping he would release her. “The other boat.”
The captain let a little air between them as he leaned back to look. “That’s a troll boat. I’ve seen it before.” He tried to pull her back to their dance. “I’m not inviting any trolls to join us.”
“Three of our men are on that boat. They may need help.” Zenia frowned as the shaggy green vessel grew closer, paddling at full speed up the river. “We may need help.”
The captain stepped away from her and turned to his men, lifting a hand and opening his mouth. Whatever order he’d intended to give was drowned out by a thunderous boom. White light flared from the back of the other boat, and the jungle fell abruptly silent.
Zenia lifted an arm to shield her eyes from the brightness. She touched her dragon tear with her other hand.
Where’s Jev? she thought, forming his likeness in her mind. He may need our help.
Several crewmen ran for weapons. Cutter rushed to the back of the boat, and Zenia raced after him. They stopped at the railing beside the paddlewheel since they could go no farther without diving in.
The brilliance of the explosion faded, revealing the troll boat blackened on the top and the roof of its cabin missing. All except two of the glowing spheres of light on the deck had gone out. It was hard to tell from the front, but a hole seemed to have been blown into the back of the hull as well. Zenia clenched a fist, hoping that meant it was done for, but she was terrified that Jev had been caught in the explosion.
Two blue-skinned figures sprinted out of the smoke and dove off the ship, swimming for the shore before they even hit the water. Something huge landed with a massive splash in the middle of the river, startling Zenia. It sank out of sight as large waves surged outward in circles. The green boat rocked and listed to one side. More trolls made it up to the deck and leaped overboard. One of them appeared human—and bald. At least Borti was alive. He dove into the water with his weapons still in his hands.
The thing that had splashed into the water popped back up again. A large warped metal cylinder with a hole in one side.
“The boiler,” Cutter said. “Guess he planted the explosive in the right spot.”
“But did he get out in time?”
The dragon tear showed Zenia the image she’d been longing for. It was Jev, and he was alive, some clothing held to his face as he stumbled for a broken porthole. Warped machinery spewed smoke all around him. By the founders, was he in the boiler room? Had he detonated the bomb from inside?
Jev seemed dazed, but he clawed his way through the porthole, landing hard on the deck. Less than ten feet from him, a dark figure strode out of a hole in the cabin wearing a shredded and charred cloak. A chill ran through Zenia. It was the magic user—a troll shaman?—from her vision. He limped and bled from numerous cuts, but he snarled and turned toward Jev as he lifted his arms. An ominous artifact glowed in one of his hands.
Zenia summoned the power of her dragon tear, willing it to knock the troll aside with all of its strength. She feared the shaman would have some magical defense up and that her command wouldn’t do anything. But he must have been focused on Jev, about to unleash his power on the intruder who had blown up the boiler.
The dragon tear’s power slammed into the shaman like a real dragon might have. The troll was hurled from the deck and flew so far downriver, Zenia didn’t see the splash from his landing.
Jev stumbled for the side of the boat where an odd collection of charred bushes stood instead of a typical railing. He climbed over clumsily, looking like he wouldn’t survive a swim.
Zenia willed the dragon tear to lift him into the air. Jev flailed in alarm as he floated into the air, but he must have realized she was responsible as he flew upriver and away from the burning boat.
“Good, good.” Cutter clenched the railing. “I see Borti and Horti too. Can you get them next?”
Zenia nodded, though instead of looking where he was pointing, she peered into the dark distance downriver. That shaman wasn’t dead, and she knew it. She hoped he had been wounded enough from the explosion that he would need time to recover. A long time.
Dripping water, Jev landed on the deck between Zenia and Cutter.
“Good evening, my lady Captain,” Jev said, peering blearily up at her. He appeared dazed, and his pupils weren’t the same size, but at least he knew who she was.
“Full speed,” the captain ordered. “Get us upriver before those damn trolls reach us.”
Zenia saw what he meant—some of the troll crew were swimming toward this boat instead of toward the shoreline. A great cat roared from the bank, and she realized why. She felt bad about leaving them to survive in the jungle on their own, especially if they had simply been paid to transport that shaman upriver, but she agreed with the captain’s sentiment and didn’t want to wait around for them or for anyone else to catch up with them.
“What happened, Jev?” Cutter asked. “Were you in the boiler room when it exploded?”
“Not on purpose.” Jev winced. “Horti and I were fighting the shaman.” He spoke slowly, still sounding dazed. “When the fuse burned down… I grabbed his cloak and yanked him down on top of me… Not the battle I envisioned, but at least it protected me somewhat from the explosion. Too bad it didn’t kill him.” He paused and looked hopefully at Zenia. “It didn’t, did it?”
“Sorry, no.”
Zenia spotted Borti and Horti trying to out-swim the trolls, and she willed her dragon tear to lift them and float them to the boat. They collapsed on the deck next to Jev. Horti’s hair hung in his eyes, but it didn’t hide the raw burns on one side of his face. Jev was almost as bad with shards of glass and metal sticking out of his skin and his clothes half torn off his body.
“Help me get them to a cabin,” Zenia said, meeting the captain’s eyes. He looked like he would object to obeying orders on his own boat, but her dragon tear added magical persuasion, and he nodded and ordered a crewman to help him pick up Horti.
Borti staggered to his feet on his own, though his face and hands—and no doubt more places hidden by his clothing—were cut in numerous places. Cutter helped Zenia lift Jev.
“Where are we going, my lady Captain?” he murmured.
“To bandage you up and pray to the White Dragon for your speedy recovery,” she said.
“I need to recover a lot, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do.” Zenia frowned sternly at him, but she was too relieved he’d made it back to truly be angry with him.
As she accompanied Cutter and Jev inside, she glanced back, and her heart sank when she saw a soft golden glow on the riverbank in the distance. She had a feeling that was the enemy shaman and that he was still alive. She allowed herself some satisfaction that his boat was half-wrecked and drifting straight toward the bank. But was it enough?
Jev lay in the captain’s bunk for the second time that day, but this time, Zenia sat on a stool beside it, picking shards of glass out of his skin with tweezers. It wasn’t nearly as romantic. She had already bandaged his
more grievous wounds. The boat’s healer didn’t have a dragon tear, so there would be no magical wound healing on this journey. He was in the mess hall, slathering Horti with poultices—he had been injured worse than Jev.
Jev shook his head slowly, wondering at his lack of wisdom. They all could have been killed when that bomb had gone off, or simply from facing the shaman. The explosion had gone upward more than outward, knocking a hole in the ceiling of the boiler room—or maybe the boiler had knocked that hole as it flew upward—but it had still hurled everyone to the deck and started a massive fire. Jev had barely made it out the porthole after Horti. He was relieved Zenia had been watching and had been able to help.
“I’m lucky to have you,” he murmured, patting her hand, the one resting on his bare chest. The other was wielding the tweezers.
“Yes, you are.” She frowned, focusing on her task. The lantern burning on the bedside table provided poor illumination, but her dragon tear glowed blue, offering more light and casting interesting shadows on her fine features.
“Are you lucky to have me?”
“Hmm.”
“Or am I a pain in the scaled haunch?”
“You’re definitely that.” She tugged out a shard of metal from the sword that had exploded. Jev had been injured more from that than from the bomb going off.
“My father always said so.” He smiled and lifted a hand to touch her cheek.
She sighed and looked down at him. “Jev, I know you wanted to help, but I wish you hadn’t risked your life just to delay our enemy, an enemy I’m hoping will cease to matter if we can get to the dragon first and free her.”
Jev frowned, remembering the shaman’s accented words.
“I don’t think we can count on that. As dubious as my plan was—” he had succeeded in blowing up the troll boat and ensuring pursuit would be delayed, so he didn’t agree that the effort hadn’t been worth it, “—I learned something.”
Dragon Tear (Agents of the Crown Book 5) Page 15