“No weapons,” the lead man said.
“Captain,” Rias called. “May we shoot?”
In the center of the exercise area, Bocrest knelt on a young officer’s back, with the man’s arm twisted in a lock. The captain scowled over at them.
“May you shoot? What is this, the Officers’ Club? Perhaps I can get you some brandywine and lobster too?”
“Captain, are you inviting me to dinner?” Rias rested his hand on his chest. “I’m touched.”
Red flushed Bocrest’s face, and Tikaya wondered at the wisdom of teasing the man. If the captain had a sense of humor, she had not detected it. But he waved a disgusted hand at the guards.
“Let them shoot.”
“Sir?” The lead guard’s mouth gaped open.
“You heard me,” Bocrest barked.
“Yes, sir.”
Tikaya eyed Rias. “It seems your word means something to the captain.”
“He knows it’s all I have left.”
Bleakness stripped away his humor, reminding her that pain lurked beneath the facade he was showing her today. He caught her watching and reaffixed his smile.
“Tikaya,” he said slowly, trying her name out, then nodding to himself as if he approved. “To answer your question, despite his threats—” Rias scowled, “—the captain has doubts about your intentions. He believes I should convince you to help him wholeheartedly with his mission.”
She selected the bow she had used the day before. “Why, when he’s keeping you chained in the brig, does he think you’d be inclined to speak on his behalf?”
“He believes that my indoctrinated loyalty to the empire will overrule whatever revulsion I feel for him and those who took everything from me.”
“They must do a lot of indoctrinating in Turgonian schools.”
Rias sighed. “Oh, they do.”
“And do you think I should help? You recognized something about those symbols when I showed you the rubbing. What was it?”
He did not answer, though she did not think him recalcitrant. His gaze grew far away, his face grim, as if some painful memories had swallowed him and he had forgotten her.
Maybe archery would loosen his mind and unlock his thoughts for sharing. She shot a few times, leaving arrows quivering around the red dot in the target. A stiffer breeze scraped across the deck today.
Rias stirred and selected his own arrows.
“Want to make a wager?” Tikaya asked, thinking she might be able to get him to talk more freely about the symbols if he owed her from a lost bet.
His grimness faded and he slanted her a knowing gaze. “I suspect that would be unwise.”
“Captain Bocrest did it.”
“Then I’m certain it’s unwise.”
Tikaya grinned. “Maybe I just got a lucky shot.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?” All the marines had been stunned when she hit the target.
He shrugged. “The Kyattese are bow hunters.”
“Well...” She smiled and twirled an arrow in the air. “If you’re afraid...”
Rias splayed a hand across his chest. “When you were learning our language, did you not also learn that we are a fearless people? I simply don’t want to take advantage of you. I studied ballistics in school, and I can’t imagine such a martial course being taught at your Polytechnic.”
“And did you also study arrogance in school?” Tikaya nocked her arrow, aimed, and plunked it into the bull’s-eye.
“Of course.” He winked. “I’m Turgonian.”
She snorted. Arrogance probably was part of their curriculum.
“I even wrote a paper on the ballistics of archery for merit points,” he said.
“Less talking, more shooting.”
Eyebrows arched, Rias nocked the first arrow, but he paused as a pair of marines strolled past, one munching the remains of an apple. The man lifted his arm to throw the core overboard, but Rias stopped him.
“I’ll take that.”
The marine shrugged and tossed it to him. Tikaya had an inkling of Rias’s intent and did not question him as he readied the bow again. He nocked the arrow and held it against the stave with one hand. With the other, he lobbed the apple core so it arced toward the target. In one swift motion, he drew the bow and fired. The arrow pierced the apple and hammered it to the target right next to Tikaya’s bull’s-eye.
“Hah.” Rias lowered the bow. “After my cocky speech, I feared I’d embarrass myself.”
“I hope you got a good grade for that paper,” Tikaya said, staring at the impaled apple.
“Me too.” He grinned at her raised eyebrows. “It was twenty years ago. I don’t remember.”
“What was it on?”
“Oh, the usual. Explaining the equations for general ballistic trajectory, horizontal launch, launch velocity, and the like. The fun part was the modeling I did on the different types of bows used throughout imperial history. I analyzed them to show how the design and materials used would define their accuracy, trajectories, distance capabilities, and...” He must have noticed her gaping because he stopped, a sheepish expression on his face. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”
“No!” Tikaya blurted. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so...” Dear ancestors, he sounded just like her when she started talking about languages, and it struck her as hilarious that he could not remember the grade but recalled all the details of the topic. “Uhm, garrulous,” she finished.
A blush colored his olive skin. “Sorry. I haven’t talked to a woman in two years.” He nocked an arrow. “Shall we shoot a few more?”
“Sure, tell me more about your paper.”
Rias’s fingers fumbled, and the arrow clattered to the deck. “Really?”
“Really.” She hid a smile, tickled by his surprise. “The only ballistics experiments I ever partook in involved a wager on who could use a spoon to launch a macadamia nut across the lunch room and into Professor Lehanae’s wig.”
“Hm, I recall taking part in a similar experiment. Must be a universal education requirement.”
They shot while he explained his paper, and Tikaya relaxed for the first time in days. She almost laughed at her earlier guess that he might have been a captain in the war. With that passion for mathematics and those childhood fancies, he had to be an engineer. Probably the chief engineer on one of the big warships. He would have been accustomed to going toe-to-toe with captains to keep his steamer in pristine operating order.
Only after the exercise period ended, and she was again confined in her cabin, did she realize she still did not know what his history was with those symbols and why they stirred dark memories.
* * *
The first earsplitting boom yanked Tikaya from sleep. The second made her scramble out of her bunk so quickly she slammed into the foldout desk. Groaning, she rubbed her hip, took another step, and cracked her toe on the stool.
“No one should wake up this way,” she muttered.
More booms drowned her words, this time a whole round that lasted half a minute. The ship trembled with concussions that vibrated her body like a bell. Cannons, she realized, as she groped about to find her spectacles and sandals. She had heard them from afar, but never standing in a cabin under the gun deck. Shouts sounded through the aftermath of the round, though the bulkhead muffled the words. She peered out her tiny porthole. Clouds obscured the stars, and night’s darkness smothered the ocean.
Was someone attacking them? Who would be audacious enough to waylay a Turgonian warship? Especially during peacetime? Maybe it was a training exercise. She would not put it past Captain Bocrest to schedule drills in the middle of the night.
A massive jolt rocked the ship, throwing her into the bulkhead. That was no cannon firing. Psi blast. She had a cousin who studied telekinetics and could knock the fronds off a palm tree. Anyone who could damage an ironclad warship was no one she wanted to meet. Still, if this was an attack, maybe she could use the confusion to steal a longboat. She
would need to get Rias out of the brig to help. Since he had planned an escape once, he would know where to find the logs and navigation tools they would need.
Shouts rang out and boots pounded, but all the activity seemed to be on the deck above. Tikaya opened the door. Her hopes of escape sank when she spotted her guard standing outside.
The baby-face private noticed her immediately. “Stay inside, ma’am.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet, but don’t worry. It’s my duty to protect you.”
Yes, but she did not want him to protect her. She wanted him to go away. Still, his earnest eyes said he took his duty seriously, and she managed a “thank you.” Though they had rarely spoken, she had placed him in Corporal Agarik’s tiny category of People Who Treated Her Like a Human Being.
“Can we go see what’s happening?” she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.
“No, ma’am. Please close the hatch and wait inside.” A cabin door slammed open, and a sub-lieutenant struggling to buckle his belt scrambled out, a drunken lurch to his step. He stumbled off, presumably to join the others, and her guard watched wistfully. He did look back at her and add, “I’ll let you know what the commotion is about when I find out.”
Tikaya shut the door and paced her tiny cabin. Her guard wanted to join the action. Maybe she could nudge him that direction. He was young after all. Maybe—
A scream of agony erupted nearby. Tikaya froze. Though muffled, it sounded like it had come from her deck.
She pressed her ear to the door.
Somewhere down the corridor, a pistol fired, and steel rang. Shrill voices cried out, and her eyes widened. They spoke Nurian, not Turgonian.
“We should go to the brig!”
“I read that marine’s thoughts; the woman is up here.”
Her insides knotted. They were looking for her.
The Nurians must have found out about whatever the Turgonians had unearthed. Did they want her help too? To beat the imperials to the loot?
A shot cracked right outside her door.
Tikaya could help them find her or she could hide. Though her people had only superficially sided with the Nurians during the war, sharing the messages Tikaya decrypted, it ought to be enough to ensure they would treat her better than the Turgonians.
She eased the door open. The air shimmered as a wave of heat rolled in from the corridor. The invisible force slammed into the private’s chest.
She stumbled back and wrapped her arm over her eyes—not quickly enough to miss the agony contorting the guard’s face. He screamed and dropped to the deck, writhing. His sword and pistol clattered down beside him. The stench of charred flesh seared the air. In a heartbeat, the marine lay still, skin laid bare to muscle and bone, and bulging eyes frozen open.
Tikaya stared, stunned into immobility. She had never seen death, not like this. She had spent the war in an office, not on battlefields or warships.
“She down there?” someone asked in Nurian.
Tikaya tore her gaze from the downed man and leaned out the door.
Two Nurians crept in her direction. They were shorter than she and darker of skin, like the Turgonians, but they had slanted eyes and wore their long black hair in topknots. One bore twin scimitars in his hands and looked lean and sinewy beneath colorful clothing decorated with bone and beads. The other, wrapped in a flowing black robe, carried nothing. A practitioner and his bodyguard.
The bodyguard pointed a scimitar in her direction. “There!”
“Greetings,” Tikaya called in their tongue. “My name is Tikaya. Any chance you’re here to take me somewhere more pleasant than a Turgonian warship?”
But they were not in the conversational mood. As soon as they spotted her, the practitioner stopped. A glazed trance slackened his face—the sign of someone concentrating on his science. The bodyguard watched her, but also glanced up and down the hall, ensuring no one approached to interrupt his comrade.
Despite the heat lingering in the wardroom, a shiver ran down Tikaya’s spine. She ducked into her cabin just as the Nurian lifted his arm. Another wave of energy flared, and the air crackled and wavered against the metal door where her head had been. Heat scorched her face. The hem of her dress burst into flames.
Tikaya cursed, flapping the cloth to put out fire.
Footfalls thundered toward her cabin. She glanced around. Nowhere to hide. The fallen private’s sword lay in the doorway. She bent and grabbed it.
The Nurians appeared in the hatchway, shoulder to shoulder. The practitioner’s eyes narrowed again. Still crouched on the floor, sword in hand, Tikaya lunged, hoping to surprise them.
She bowled between them, ramming them with her shoulders. Where she might have bounced off burly Turgonians, her size was an advantage here, and she startled the shorter men. Both Nurians pitched opposite ways and fought for their balance.
Tikaya raced through the wardroom and into the corridor.
“Flay her!” the bodyguard called. “She must be killed at all—”
Her instincts prickled again, and Tikaya threw herself into a clumsy roll. Heat crackled overhead.
She jumped to her feet. The bodyguard charged after her. She skidded around the corner at a T intersection. A nook right to the side offered access to a ladder running up and down. She banged a rung with her sword, trusting her pursuers to hear it, then jumped through an open hatch a few cabins down. She dared not stick her head out to look, but their footsteps told her when they charged around the corner. The clatter of swords and shoes clanking in the ladder well said they had fallen for the ruse.
Tikaya could not relax. If there were two Nurians on the ship, there could be more. Cannons continued to blast on the decks above. Perhaps the whole attack was a cover to let practitioners sneak on board to get rid of her. But why? If the Turgonians had unearthed some treasure they wanted to get at, wouldn’t the Nurians find her skills of equal use? Wouldn’t they want to use her themselves?
“The captain said there was no treasure,” she muttered, rubbing sweat from her eyes. She had not believed him, but maybe that had been a mistake. Something about those symbols alarmed Rias, and it hardly seemed that some cheery treasure hunt from his youth would account for it.
More footfalls sounded in the corridor, and Tikaya ducked behind the hatch. Two marines pounded past.
She could not stay there. But where to go? If she headed to the upper deck, she could find the captain. He would protect her from Nurians. He may not like her, but he obviously had orders to keep her alive, at least until she translated the language. Still, going to him and hiding behind his back would eliminate any chance she might have to escape. Better to find Rias and steal a longboat in the commotion.
Her heart lurched. Rias. Locked down in the brig. If the Nurians were after her, might they be after him too? He would have a hard time dodging psi attacks while chained to the deck in a cell.
More marines raced through, and she made her decision. Tikaya glanced both ways, then slipped out. Hoping to avoid the Nurians, she traveled past two more ladders before climbing down to a dark hold on the bottom deck. She groped her way past sea trunks and cargo. Somewhere nearby, engines hummed. The deck trembled with the strokes of massive pistons, while above the cannons continued to roar.
She escaped the hold and found the narrow corridor leading to the brig. As she entered, another wave rocked the ship, and the great ironclad pitched sideways. The ship creaked ominously as she stumbled down the passage.
Nobody guarded the hatch at the end. The Nurians had mentioned the brig, so she advanced with care. She did not think they would expect her to flee this direction, but sweat still pasted her dress to her back, dribbled down her temples, and slicked the sword grip.
The single lantern that usually burned on the wall near the cells had moved. It was hanging—no, being held—a foot above the deck near Rias’s door.
She moved closer and, when she spotted him kneeling by the gate, ex
haled a breath she did not remember holding. He was still shackled, but the chains that had secured him to the back of the cell lay in a tangled heap next to the broken lantern cover. He held the flame directly beneath the bottom hinge.
Rias smiled when he spotted her, but kept his hands steady. Flames bathed the hinge.
“What are you doing?” Tikaya asked.
His lips shifted into a bemused half smile. “Hoping whoever designed these hinges did not factor in the relatively high coefficient of thermal expansion steel possesses.”
“You’re going to break out...with the lamp?”
“It worked on the chain bolts.” Rias shrugged. “I was fortunate the first attack knocked the lantern off the wall and within reach.”
“Yes, those foolish marines should never have left such an obvious tool down here for prisoners to exploit.” Tikaya knelt by the door and slid the sword between the hinge and the pin, which surprised her by popping free with minimal effort.
“Indeed.” He stood and moved the flame to the upper hinge. “By the way, what are you doing down here with a sword?”
“There are Nurians on board, at least two. They killed my guard. I thought they might want me as a translator as well and I was ready to jump into their arms when they flung a psi wave at me.”
Rias’s brow furrowed. “Why would the Nurians want to hurt you? They ought to be worshipping your people after the help you gave them in the war.”
She watched his face, trying to decide if his tone was accusatory, but only puzzlement furrowed his brows. “I don’t know. I figured they might be after you, too, though I haven’t deduced exactly what your part is in all this yet.” Tikaya wriggled her eyebrows to suggest he might share any time. “I decided to come break you out.”
Another jolt rocked the ship. Tikaya was not sure how long the flame had to be applied to loosen the bond between hinge and pin but wedged her sword into the crack anyway. It was tighter this time.
“I’m not sure whether to be offended that you’d think Nurian hospitality preferable to Turgonian or tickled that you came down to help me.” Rias gave her that lopsided smile again and, despite the cannons thundering above and the threat of Nurians lurking below, she bit her lip to hide a pleased grin.
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 19
