Tikaya hunted for something to block the door that she would surely be defending in a moment. Alas, there was no convenient beam for barring it shut—probably so people could not do what they were attempting.
She pushed a trunk full of spare rope to the door. Forcing queasiness aside in favor of practicality, she muscled the dead Nurian’s body on top of it to add weight.
“Where exactly are you steering us?” she panted.
Rias was a statue, leaning back, arms extended, fingers wrapped around the rope, tendons taut with the strain, but he grinned at her nonetheless. “The closest Nurian ship.”
“Oh, dear.”
A fist hammered at the door.
“The Turgonians cut the ropes,” Tikaya yelled in Nurian. “We’re taking care of it. They ran to the hold!”
A long pause answered her, and, for a moment, she thought they might believe her. Then synchronized thuds struck the door.
“A nice try,” Rias said, and she wondered how much Nurian he understood.
The chest skidded with each strike. She shoved it back in between blows.
“Get a ram,” someone yelled.
“Better ready that bow,” Rias said.
“If we’re successful in crashing this ship, how are we getting out of here?” Tikaya asked.
Rias nodded toward the cannonball holes. “Hope you can swim.”
She groaned.
For a moment, the thumps at the door stopped. Tikaya abandoned the chest and looked out the hole. They had halved the distance between themselves and the other Nurian ship, where a fire burned on the deck. People were scurrying to put it out.
“Are they tacking?” Rias asked. “Do I need to make adjustments?”
“Not yet. You’re dead on, and they’re busy. Not sure they’ve figured things out yet.”
“Let’s hope.”
The hairs rose on the back of Tikaya’s neck. Before she could shout a warning, a wave of power surged at the door. The trunk and body were flung into the room.
While nocking an arrow, Tikaya tried to shut the door with her shoulder. Warped hinges kept it from closing fully, and someone thrust it wide.
She jumped around and fired the bow, point blank, into the lead man’s chest. Shocked eyes launched an accusation at her. She forced aside guilt and kicked him into others trying to surge forward. While they struggled to get around their dying comrade, she targeted a practitioner in the corridor behind them. Her arrow sailed over the heads of men shorter than she, but bounced harmlessly off an invisible shield. The practitioner never flinched.
The Nurians cleared the fallen man away, and their renewed push demanded Tikaya’s attention. The corridor and door were too narrow for more than one to attack at once, but the seconds it took to nock and aim arrows let them push her back.
“Rias! I can’t—”
Then he was there at her side, the slashing cutlass a wall of steel guarding the doorway. He had tied the rope to the other block and tackle. The lever wavered with the rocking of the ship, but hopefully they were close enough now that their course was inevitable.
“Get in there, you fools!” the practitioner shouted. “We’re on a crash course!”
An arrow clipped the doorjamb and whizzed past Tikaya’s head. Every time she found the opportunity, she shot around Rias, peppering their attackers. Her supply of arrows dwindled.
“This is madness,” she yelled over the clamor.
“Yes!” Rias grinned at her, as if he loved every second.
A gifted swordsman made it to the front. Blade a blur, he forced Rias back.
Metal screeched in Tikaya’s ears. She drew the bow, hoping for a clear shot. Two men slipped in behind the swordsman. Tikaya shot one, but more piled inside.
A thunderous crash buried the din, and the ship lurched and tilted on its side. Men scrambled and fell over each other, sliding toward the lower wall. Tikaya tumbled into Rias, but he grabbed the jamb and kept them from falling. Even in the stern of the ship, the cracks of wood breaking against wood were audible. Water gushed in from one of the cannonball holes, which was now submerged. Men flailed and floundered, struggling to get back to the door.
“I can’t swim!” someone yelled.
“Time to go,” Rias said.
Tikaya grabbed one of the glowing orbs from a sconce before he pushed her toward the upper wall. They had to pull their way along the block and tackle to reach the escape hole. Though the orb hampered her, she refused to release it.
Finally, with Rias’s help, she clawed her way through the hole. The ragged wood tore a new gash in her beleaguered dress, but she wriggled free and slid down the hull into frigid black water.
The icy shock stole her breath. Salt stung her wounds, and she almost dropped the orb.
Rias plunged in beside her, spraying water.
The Nurian striker had rammed into the side of its sister ship, and water gushed into a great hole in the hull. Fire still burned on the deck, lighting up the night. Timber, from splinters to broken beams, littered the water.
“This way.” Rias swam away from the ships, pushing the large pieces of wood out of the way.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” She was already swimming, side-stroking with the orb clutched against her hip. “You seemed to enjoy having people trying to kill you.”
“You seemed to enjoy it less.”
“Probably—” she spit icy salt water out of her mouth, “—an acquired taste.”
They paddled away from the ships, rising and falling with the waves. Both vessels burned now and flames crawled up the sails of one. Neither would trouble the Turgonians again that night. As they swam out of the shadow of the Nurian vessels, the ironclad came into view. Only one of the two ships on its opposite flank remained, and both masts had been toppled, so it was falling behind. Tikaya and Rias, too, were falling behind. Her chest tightened at the idea of being left in the middle of the sea.
“Hope they see this.” Tikaya lifted the glowing orb overhead, waving it in the air.
“Me too,” Rias said.
The lookout in the crow’s nest shouted something down to the deck. Tikaya’s teeth chattered, and it felt as if hours, not minutes, passed before the warship dropped a boat.
“It’s fortunate you’re here,” Rias said, bumping her arm as they treaded water. “I doubt they would have bothered coming for me.”
“Not sure how fortunate I feel about going back to the Turgonians.” Tikaya swiped water out of her eyes and grimaced at the cold drops tunneling into her ears. “I guess it’s better being wanted than being wanted dead.”
“Prevailing opinions agree with that sentiment.”
Oars lifted and dipped as the craft neared. Lanterns at either end provided light, and Tikaya spotted Agarik leading the rowers. She smiled a bit, glad he had survived the chaos. He gazed at Rias with a wide-eyed, openmouthed stare of adulation and helped him out of the water first. She tried not to feel a twinge of envy. She had helped after all. At least Agarik managed to notice her second and gave her a hand into the boat. She collapsed on an empty bench between rows of burly, young oarsmen.
“Turn this dinghy around,” Agarik yelled, and the men set to work.
Tikaya wrapped her arms around herself. The breeze needled her soaking dress, cold water dripped from her hair, and she had lost her sandals in the fall so the puddles on the bottom chilled her feet.
Rias settled on the bench next to her, and she pressed closer than she normally would have. Shivers coursed through her body. He put his arm around her, though he must have been just as cold and miserable. Their proximity caused raised eyebrows and significant looks between the marines. Agarik’s jaw tensed.
“Here, sir.” A marine handed Rias a blanket.
The use of the honorific made Agarik give the man a sharp look, though Tikaya was not sure if it was quelling or curious. Rias draped the blanket over his and her shoulders.
On the short ride back, the marines peppered him with questions
. How had he gotten out of his cell? How had he and Tikaya gotten aboard the Nurian craft? Had they seen the Nurians on board their ship? Did they know what they wanted? Apparently, the Turgonian chain of command meant nobody not commanding had a clue was happening.
Tikaya thought Rias might share the story, but, back in the presence of the marines, he grew reserved and quiet. Was this the real man or had she glimpsed that person on the Nurian ship? Or neither? She liked the amiable fellow she had chatted with while target shooting best, though she suspected she could grow accustomed to the soldier she had seen tonight too. Not that it mattered. Certainly, she appreciated his help, but it was not as if she was going to develop feelings for some ex-officer from the military that had tried to take over her islands.
Still, when their knuckles bumped beneath the blanket, she gripped his hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wanting to say more, but their hulking male onlookers stilled her tongue.
Rias smiled and squeezed her hand.
Back on the warship, Captain Bocrest waited, arms folded across his chest, a scowl accompanying his usual glare. Tikaya had not expected gratitude from the man, but the anger radiating from him surprised her.
As soon as Rias came over the railing behind her, that anger found an outlet.
“How could you make such an idiotic decision?” Bocrest snapped.
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Tikaya said. “The Nurians teleported us to their ship. What was he supposed to do?”
The captain did not spare her a glance. His glare stayed pinned to Rias.
“What are you talking about, Bocrest?” Rias asked.
“You know what I’m talking about.” The captain jerked his hand at a squad of marines standing by with pistols. “Take him back to his cell.”
“Wait.” Rias lifted a hand. “Did you find the assassins?”
“The dead men in the brig? Yes.”
“No.” Rias gave Tikaya a concerned frown. “There are two others, at least, who can skulk about invisible.”
“They killed the man guarding my cabin,” she said.
“We’ll find them,” Bocrest said.
“I can help,” Rias said.
Bocrest scowled again. “You can go to your slagging cell and stay there this time.”
“Captain.” Rias stepped forward, staring down at Bocrest. “The Nurians want Tikaya dead and are making great sacrifices to ensure that happens.”
“I’m aware of that.” Bocrest did not back off, nor shrink away from Rias’s glare. “I have orders to keep her alive until she decodes the runes, and I’ll do that.”
“She’d be dead now if she hadn’t escaped on her own. You already botched your orders.”
Afraid he would land himself in irrevocable trouble for her sake, Tikaya grabbed Rias’s arm and tried to pull him away.
“I botched my orders?” Bocrest yelled, fists clenched. “If you hadn’t screwed up two years ago, you could—” He cut himself off with an audible snapping shut of his jaw, and Tikaya sensed the ‘idiotic decision’ he accused Rias of had less to do with this night and more to do with whatever had landed Rias on Krychek Island. Bocrest glared around at the watching marines. “You men have duties,” he roared. “Get this ship repaired. Now!”
Men sprinted from his wrath, leaving only Rias, Tikaya, Agarik, and the guards waiting to escort their prisoner below.
“Let me stay with her until the assassins are found,” Rias said, as if he had not heard the captain’s outburst. “Or stand guard outside her door. I’ve tangled with enough wizards to survive them.”
“You’re not her bodyguard, you’re our guide. I thought I explained that to you when you were taking swings at me.”
“A job for which you don’t need me until we arrive at the tunnels,” Rias said.
Tikaya’s ears perked. Tunnels? Was that where the rubbings had come from? She still needed Rias to explain his history with the runes.
“No,” Bocrest said. “You’re a prisoner. You don’t get your way.”
Tikaya still gripped Rias’s arm, and she could feel the tension in the knotted muscles beneath the damp sleeve. Though she hated seeing him angry, especially on her behalf, she had to wonder how much more might be revealed if she simply stood quiet and listened.
“Bocrest...” Rias tried again.
“Go. To. Your. Cell.” The captain jerked his arm to wave the guards forward.
Rias tensed and dropped into a fighting crouch. He had not noticed when she grabbed his arm, so Tikaya stepped in front of him and planted two hands on his chest.
“Don’t.” She gazed into his eyes and made herself smile, though, she would have preferred Rias stay by her side too. “I’ll be fine. You won’t accomplish anything by getting beaten up.”
He closed his eyes, seemed to struggle for his calm, and finally sighed, a deep long exhalation. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
Tikaya watched glumly as the guards surrounded him.
“This way, sir,” one said.
Bocrest’s head jerked up. “Don’t you ‘sir’ him. He’s Prisoner Five, and that’s it.”
The guard gulped. “Yes, captain.”
Head lowered, Rias offered no reaction to the terse conversation. Surrounded, he trooped belowdecks. Bocrest stalked in the opposite direction, grinding his teeth.
“Ready to go back to your cabin, ma’am?” Agarik asked.
She shook her head but followed him. “Who is he, Corporal?” She had asked the question before, and Agarik had not known, but that was the second time someone sir’d him that night. Maybe it was out respect for what they had done aboard the Nurian ship, but somehow she doubted it. She wagered that shave and haircut had made him recognizable, at least to some.
“I wish I knew.” Agarik led her down a ship’s ladder. “It seems like he must be an officer at least, someone who fought during the war. But I fought as well, and I don’t remember hearing about anyone court-martialed and exiled to Krychek.” They threaded through the wardroom, where furniture had toppled and slid against the wall, and stopped at her cabin. “He hasn’t told you?”
“Just to call him Rias. Does that mean anything to you?”
The corporal’s expression grew thoughtful, but eventually he shook his head. “No.”
Tikaya stepped into her cabin. Thankfully, the bodies had been cleared, though a few bloodstains smudged the deck.
Before Agarik could close the door, she leaned back out, remembering something. “He did say...”
Agarik paused, eyes questioning.
“If I was ever at the war library in your capital I should look up a book called Applications of the Kinetic Chain Principle in Close Combat, because he wrote it.”
Agarik froze. Utterly and completely. His mouth hung open, and he stared at her for a long moment before recovering. “I see. Thank you.”
“Wait.” Tikaya raised a hand as he started away. “You know, don’t you? Is he somebody I would have heard of?”
“I don’t—I can’t. I’m not sure. I—”
A lieutenant passed through the wardroom on the way to his cabin, and he frowned at Agarik.
“I have to go.” Agarik chopped a wave.
“Could you at least have someone bring me a towel?” Tikaya called to his receding back.
* * *
After dripping a puddle of water onto the cabin floor, Tikaya wondered if she should take off her dress and dry herself with the blanket on her bunk. What were the odds the Turgonians would supply her with a change of clothing at some point? She plucked at the damp dress. At least the sea had washed out most of the blood.
When she reached for the blanket, her gaze fell across the desk. It was empty.
The rubbings, her notes, and the reference books Bocrest had provided were missing. She searched the tiny cabin, thinking they might have been knocked off during the scramble, but no. They were gone.
A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the wet
dress. The assassins must have returned and taken them.
Tikaya eyed the corners of the cabin, all too aware that they could be right in front of her and she would not know it.
She opened the door, wondering if a new guard had been posted or if she could leave and find the captain. Sergeant Ottotark leaned against the wall outside, and she did not manage to hide her groan.
Briefly, he met her eyes, offering a hostile glare, but his gaze inevitably drifted downward. She shifted to the side to stand in the shadow of the door.
“The rubbings are missing,” Tikaya said. “I think they stole them—the Nurians who attacked me in my cabin and killed the young man standing guard.”
Ottotark’s face frosted at the mention of the dead marine.
“Can you tell Bocrest?” she asked.
“The captain is busy directing repairs, cleanup, and funeral services, thanks to the flotilla of Nurian ships that showed up tonight looking for you.”
“While I’m sympathetic to your lost men—”
He snorted.
“—you people kidnapped me,” she continued. “I never wanted to be here, so don’t blame that attack on me. If you could just tell the captain I’m not able to continue my studies unless he finds—”
The sergeant stepped forward, shoving the door further open. “I’m not your messenger boy.”
She stumbled back, glancing around for something to use as a weapon if she needed to fend him off. The sparse cabin offered nothing.
“You’d do best to remember you’re a prisoner here. Prisoners have no right to the captain’s time, nor to an officer’s cabin with a busy sergeant as your guard, a busy sergeant who’s stuck on this duty because your presence here got one of his men killed.” His low voice was gravelly, and tendons strained against the skin of his thick neck. “You haven’t done anything useful since you got here.”
Tikaya wanted to defend herself—she had helped Rias crash the ship that had allowed the Turgonians to sail away, hadn’t she?—but Ottotark seemed to want her to argue, to incite his anger. He stepped closer, and she eased back until her calves bumped the bunk.
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 22
