Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Captain Aiken will know what to expect from a mage.” Dak waved toward the lead soldier.

  A feeling of betrayal mixed in with the fear and rising panic. Yanko took several deep breaths, telling himself it wasn’t permanent. All he had to do was find someone who could remove the headband. Too bad all of his allies had their wrists bound and chained to their ankles. Maybe if he dropped to his knees, Arayevo might be able to pull it off with her teeth. Not that he could telepathically suggest that now.

  Two of the new soldiers took Yanko’s arms in vise-like grips. Ravencrest said something, and Yanko’s escort led him toward the gangplank.

  Before they reached it, a soldier jogged out of a hatchway with a bag. Yanko couldn’t sense its contents, but a corner of red material dangled from it. His mother’s robe? And perhaps the rest of his belongings? The soldier carried Sun Dragon’s scimitar too, the blade in an intricately decorated leather scabbard.

  The soldier started to hand the items to Dak, but Ravencrest snapped something. That wry twist came to Dak’s lips again, but he said nothing. The soldier handed the items to the man Dak had called Captain Aiken instead.

  The soldiers led Yanko and his friends off the ship, the chains between their ankle shackles shortening their gaits.

  “What’s that thing do?” Lakeo asked, shuffling along beside Yanko as they were led down a wide pier hemmed in by massive steamers as large as the warship. Passersby picked out Yanko to look at, perhaps because he was walking in nothing but his smallclothes and sandals.

  “Keeps me from using my magic,” Yanko said curtly.

  “What’s our backup plan then?”

  The captain was walking to their side, and he glanced over at them. Someone else who understood Nurian, Yanko wagered. But he had to communicate to Lakeo, and telepathy was no longer an option.

  “Hoping this thing falls off my head,” he murmured.

  Lakeo looked up at it. “It is rather unflattering. The green and red don’t match your black hair.”

  “I’m not sure fashion matters when I’m wandering around Turgonia in my smallclothes.”

  “This is true. It is an alarming sight. You have even fewer chest hairs than you have chin hairs.”

  Yanko sighed, surprised she didn’t sound more worried about their predicament. Not that Lakeo wasn’t fully capable of being sarcastic when she was worried.

  He gave her a sidelong squint, thinking about how she knew a few magical tricks, even if she hadn’t yet had any formal training. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her use telekinesis, but was it possible she might float the headband off his head?

  She widened her eyes at him, perhaps having similar thoughts.

  Yanko nodded slightly, then looked forward again, not wanting that too-observant captain to think anything of the silent exchange. Even if Lakeo could remove his headband, the odds would still be against them.

  As he surveyed the streets that stretched away from the waterfront, heading up hills between buildings of six stories and more—unprecedented heights in Nuria—his gaze snagged on Dak’s back. He walked ahead of them, also being led by black-clad soldiers, but nobody had shackled him or gripped his arms. If he had been the one to suggest the magic-dampening device for transporting Yanko, why hadn’t he had one brought for Lakeo? He’d seen her light a bush on fire with her mind, so he knew she had mental talents. He wasn’t looking back. Pointedly not looking back?

  Yanko doubted Dak would risk his career further by helping facilitate an escape, but maybe he wouldn’t be an impediment either. Yanko had dreaded the idea of facing Dak in battle. Maybe he wouldn’t have to.

  The group turned onto a street that paralleled the waterfront. Bicyclists and pedestrians filled the walk paths, while numerous steam carriages trundled along, belching black smoke into the air. Each of the vehicles appeared capable of holding six or eight people, and Yanko wondered if the soldiers would load his group into one. It would be easier to stage an escape if his escort was broken up.

  But the soldiers remained on foot, destroying his hopes as they turned up a hill, clearly intending to walk. Yanko, in his damaged, flopping sandals, struggled to keep up with the pace they set. It didn’t help that the chain between his ankle shackles forced him to take short steps. There was no way he could run even if an escape opportunity presented itself.

  A steam lorry, its cargo area filled with crates, turned onto their street several blocks farther up the hill. An idea popped into his mind. If he caused the vehicle to crash, perhaps scattering the soldiers in the process, maybe he could get away. But he needed his magic for that.

  Yanko pretended to grunt and wobble as if some crack in the walkway had snagged his sandal. He bumped against Lakeo’s shoulder. If she could lift off his headband, preferably without the soldiers noticing…

  “When are you going to grow out of being a klutz, Yanko?” she grumbled, her gaze focusing on his head—the headband.

  He wanted to tell her not to be obvious about it, to look in the other direction, but all he said was, “Maybe when someone gives me clothes and footwear appropriate to forced marches. And takes the shackles off my ankles. I—” He broke off at a noisy squawk that came from overhead. With a flash of red wings, Kei flapped toward Yanko.

  Yanko grimaced at the parrot’s timing, but he had no way to warn him away right now.

  One of the soldiers said something, a single alarmed word. Several others lifted their rifles toward the parrot.

  “No,” Yanko blurted in horror.

  “Jorrats, jorrats,” Kei cried, “Ugly monkeys swinging from the monkey tree.”

  Yanko winced.

  Dak turned and spoke loudly in Turgonian. The soldiers hesitated. Many still had their weapons pointed toward the parrot, but they did not fire as Kei sailed down onto Yanko’s bare shoulder, talons sinking into his fleshy perch.

  It hurt, but Yanko did not complain. He was glad they hadn’t fired.

  Captain Aiken asked a question.

  Dak responded, his tone dry. Yanko recognized the names “Rias” and “Komitopis.”

  Aiken appeared puzzled—yes, it was a long and odd story as to how the Komitopis’s parrot had come to be with Yanko—but the soldiers quickly jerked their weapons down.

  The crate-laden steam lorry honked a horn—half of the soldiers were in the middle of the street after moving to take aim at Kei.

  Aiken barked something at the driver and shook his fist.

  The headband shifted on Yanko’s head. He froze, holding his breath. He felt a couple of tugs from someone’s invisible fingers, but they weren’t strong enough, or perhaps adept enough, to pull the band over his head. Yanko hissed in frustration, jerking his arms up before remembering they were chained in front of his waist.

  “Lakeo,” he risked whispering, glancing at her to offer instruction, but a shot rang out behind him. “Down,” he ordered her instead.

  Had someone figured out what they were trying? If so, the next bullet could go through one of their heads.

  Another rifle banged. The soldiers were the ones firing, Yanko realized. And not at him or Lakeo.

  The lorry swerved, the driver alarmed by the rifle fire, and it lurched up onto the walkway where it struck a lamppost.

  Up ahead, Dak snatched the rifle of the soldier next to him. He faced the rear of the formation, his eye scanning for whatever had prompted his allies to start firing.

  “Where’s the mage hunter?” Dak demanded.

  “She got away!”

  Yanko crouched low, afraid of being hit by Turgonians firing over his head. Was Jhali their target? If she had escaped, he had no doubt she could trouble these men. But it was more likely that she would simply disappear into the city. Maybe she already had.

  As Yanko groped for a way to use her distraction, Kei leaped from his shoulder, his talons leaving gashes as he flapped away. If only Yanko could do the same. Or if he had access to his magic…

  He was about to drop down beside Lakeo and whisper
for her to yank the headband off, when someone in dirty white clothing rolled out from under the lorry and jumped up beside Yanko. Jhali. He barely registered that she’d somehow gotten out of her shackles before she snatched the band off his head.

  Yanko gasped as his senses—all of them—came back to him.

  It only took Jhali a split second to pull off the headband, and she sprang away right after, as fast and agile as a cheetah. Yanko spotted Dak, his rifle trained on Jhali’s back, but he didn’t fire.

  “Get her!” he ordered instead.

  Four soldiers lunged, trying to snatch her before she reached a nearby alley. Most of the men didn’t have a chance, but one was as fast as she was. He lunged into her path and punched at her face. She ducked the blow, but her momentum faltered, and the other soldiers surged toward her.

  Yanko reacted without thought, channeling the nearby air into a huge gust of wind. Since he was in a rush, he flung it at the soldiers without any precision. The wind knocked over the men around Jhali but also struck the lorry, and huge crates toppled from the cargo bed. Some of them pinned other soldiers, the ones guarding Yanko, Lakeo, and Arayevo. The wind also struck Arayevo, and she pitched to her knees.

  Yanko tried to reach for her, but the wrist shackles restricted him. With a snarl, he broke the chains with his mind, snapping the steel the same way he would rocks deep within the ground—with earth magic.

  A few men managed to scramble to their feet and fire at Jhali’s retreating form as she raced toward the alley Yanko had noticed earlier. But she ducked and zigzagged with uncanny speed and ability, making herself a difficult target. Other soldiers realized what had happened, that Yanko could use his power, and they turned their weapons toward him.

  He sent another huge gust of wind through the gathering, enough to tear the rifles from most of their hands. The hulking steam lorry tipped over, startling him. He hadn’t thought the wind was that strong, and he cringed when the vehicle landed on a soldier. The man screamed in pure agony.

  Lakeo ran for the alley as fast as she could with her legs chained. Yanko, with his wrists and ankles still shackled but the chains broken, succeeded in grabbing Arayevo. She yelped a protest, but he maneuvered her over his shoulder and ran toward the alley.

  Wind railed all around them as he continued to channel it toward the soldiers, hoping to keep them from recovering their weapons, but he struggled to maintain his focus as he ran. If someone fired at them, there was no way he could build a protective barrier while managing everything else.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Yanko glimpsed Dak, his legs spread and braced against the wind, his rifle pressed to his shoulder. Icy determination stamped his face, and he fired, not at Yanko but at Jhali. She seemed to anticipate it, maybe also seeing him out of the corner of her eye, and she threw herself into a roll an instant before the bullet came. It slammed into the brick wall over her head as she somersaulted into the alley. She sprang to her feet and sprinted into the shadows, disappearing from Yanko’s sight.

  Lakeo raced into the alley right after her. Yanko, slowed down by carrying Arayevo, ran for the same spot, praying that Dak wouldn’t shoot at him.

  Dak shifted his aim toward him, and Yanko feared his prayer would be ignored, that Dak would choose duty over the relationship they’d forged over the last few months. Dak’s lip curled in disgust as he met Yanko’s eyes, and he lowered the weapon. But he wasn’t ready to let Yanko simply escape. He charged into the wind still gusting down the street, giving chase.

  Yanko reached down through the cement of the street and into the dirt and rock below. He commanded the earth to shift, creating cracks between boulders. The ground trembled, a localized earthquake. The cement heaved upward under Dak, knocking him onto his back, his rifle flying from his hands.

  Yanko kept running, hoping that would slow down Dak long enough for them to get away. And also hoping that the soldier under the fallen lorry was still alive. He hadn’t meant to knock the vehicle over onto anyone.

  What would Dak think if the soldier died? He’d hesitated to shoot Jhali the first time, and then he hadn’t shot Yanko when he’d had the chance. Would he come to regret those decisions? Had Yanko just made an enemy of his only Turgonian friend?

  “If you break my chains,” Arayevo said, her voice muffled since her face was against his back, “I can run on my own, and we can go faster.”

  Yanko turned down another alley and glanced back to see if any Turgonians had kept up. A few people in civilian clothes stared at him, but nobody ran after them.

  Halfway into the alley, Yanko lowered Arayevo. Feeling harried, he struggled to imagine the shackles in his mind and apply his power to snapping them. Earlier, he’d done it without thinking… As his mother had pointed out to him, his mind got in his way more often than not.

  Shouts came from a nearby street, and he doubled his effort, glowering at the shackles as if he could burn them with his eyes. Finally, the chain between her ankles snapped.

  “I’ll get the other one later,” he said, waving toward a street that would take them away from the shouts. He didn’t know the layout of the city or where they were going, but they could figure that out later. “Come on. We have to go… somewhere.”

  “Sounds like a promising destination.” Arayevo ran beside him, her hands held awkwardly in front of her.

  Lakeo leaned around the corner ahead of them. “Are you two coming, or are you taking a private moment for romantic snuggling?”

  “Do we look like we’re snuggling?” Arayevo raised her chained wrists.

  “Yanko is young, so he might have some weird notions about how to spend quality time with a woman.”

  “Is this the time for this discussion?” Yanko asked, panting as they caught up with Lakeo and she led them up a hill and farther from the waterfront.

  “I’m sure Yanko will be an excellent snuggler,” Arayevo said. “He’s very sensitive.”

  “I should have let Dak recapture me,” Yanko muttered.

  3

  A half-moon shone onto the water in the bay and gleamed on the hulls of the ironclads docked at the pier. Even from a mile away, the massive ships did not appear small.

  Yanko crouched on a rooftop high on a hill with Arayevo and Lakeo at his side and Kei sleeping on his bare shoulder. The parrot was better at finding him than the Turgonians were. He and his friends had successfully dodged search parties all afternoon, with Yanko using his magic to make his little team blend into the shadows of one alley or another.

  Thank the coyote god that Arayevo and Lakeo had stopped talking about his potential as a snuggler of women. Yanko was somewhat relieved that Jhali hadn’t rejoined them after the escape. He suspected she would find such a discussion silly. And she would probably find him silly for allowing himself to be the subject of it. Not that what she thought should matter. The only thing he should worry about in regard to her was whether or not she still wanted to kill him. She had never acknowledged that she was in his debt for saving her life, but if it had crossed her mind, she might now consider that debt repaid.

  Assuming she had freed him back there as a favor. He wasn’t sure about that. She may have been thinking only of creating as many distractions as possible so that she could more easily escape. A mage on a rampage made a good distraction.

  “Are we going to go down and knock on the door?” Lakeo waved to the building two blocks away that they were looking down on from the top of the ridge. “Or sit here and admire the flags all over the courtyard?”

  It had taken three hours and some subtle poking into people’s minds on Yanko’s part in order to locate the Nurian consulate. He’d assumed it would be down by the water, but instead, the three-story adobe building and its walled courtyard took up one corner of an intersection in the core of the city.

  “I bet they’re colorful flags,” Arayevo said, a rare wistful note in her tone. “Turgonia is interesting, and I love exploring different parts of the world, but from what I’ve seen of the cit
ies so far, they’re in love with gray. Gray stones, gray streets, and lots of gray bricks. If not for all those fountains and statues at the intersections, I’d think they don’t have any art or culture at all.”

  “The colors of the consulate won’t impress me if the people inside decide to arrest us,” Lakeo said. “Or turn us back over to the Turgonians. Are you sure about this, Yanko?”

  “No, I’m not.” He shivered as a cool breeze blew off the sea. Even though this was toward the southern end of the empire, it wasn’t tropical, not like Kyatt had been. He’d used his power to remove the cold metal shackles from his wrists and ankles, but he did not know how to magic tunics into existence. “But we don’t have money to buy passage back home.” Before seeing the port, he’d thought to trade his services as a mage for passage, but every ship down there had its name written in Turgonian. He’d checked. The Turgonians would rather shoot a mage than make use of one. “I don’t even have clothes.”

  “Oh, we know that,” Lakeo said. “Normally, I’d admire the view of a naked man, but after spending more than a week in a cell with you, with you in that state, I’m hoping you’ll acquire some new silks soon. Clean silks.” She sniffed and elbowed him.

  “I assure you that you don’t smell that fresh either,” Yanko murmured.

  “Yanko.” Arayevo laid a hand on his forearm. He swallowed and reminded himself that her touch wasn’t supposed to send a zing of desire or ache of longing through him anymore. “You knocked over a platoon of men and blew up a steam vehicle. Can’t you steal some money for us to buy passage and new clothing?”

  “The lorry blew up?” Lakeo asked. “Is that what happened? I wondered how Yanko caused that explosion.”

  “I didn’t blow it up. Not intentionally.” He winced, remembering the soldier that had been crushed as the vehicle blew over in the wind. How many more had been hurt in the explosion? And would Dak ever forgive him for that?

  “You did tip it over. I suspect such things tend to instigate explosions.”

  Yanko had no idea how the engineering of such vehicles worked, so he couldn’t deny the statement. He switched to that which he could deny. “Stealing wouldn’t be honorable.”