Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Help you, ma’am?” the marine asked, no doubt wondering why she lurked in the shadows.

  “Can I, uhm, er...” Tikaya pointed to the door before her linguistic skills could fail her further.

  Lanterns burned so it was not likely Rias would be in bed naked, though that thought made her blush.

  The marine sniggered. “Captain just said to keep him in. Didn’t say nothing about keeping anyone out.”

  “Thank you.”

  She slipped inside. A coal stove glowed cherry, spilling warmth into the room, and a narrow bunk piled with blankets awaited. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—Rias was not naked. He sat at a desk, still wearing those shackles, though a pencil tucked above his ear destroyed the felon look. She grinned at the papers scattered across the desk and on the floor all about his chair.

  Weariness darkened the skin under his eyes, but he stood and smiled. “Tikaya.”

  She strode to the desk, hardly noticing that her hip caught the corner, and wrapped him in a one-armed hug. Between her sling and his chains, it was an awkward embrace, but she did not care. After dealing with Ottotark and Bocrest, it felt wonderful to lean on someone pleasant.

  Rias laid his forehead on her shoulder. “I’ve been tasked with pinpointing the origins of the rocket and estimating the area that was affected by the cubes. I figured you’d be too busy puzzling over those runes and I wouldn’t see you for the rest of the night.”

  “Actually, I was busy almost turning Ottotark into a human torch.”

  His muscles tensed beneath her arm. He drew back to meet her eyes. “What happened?”

  Tikaya shared the story, deliberately putting more emphasis on the mystery of the tortured Nurian than the sergeant’s actions. She probably should not have mentioned Ottotark at all—no doubt Rias would worry about her—but she admitted to a little pride that she had handled the odious man herself instead of falling apart. Maybe Rias would be proud of her too. Dumping kerosene on someone was no feat of brilliance, but a month ago, she probably would not have had the wherewithal to think of anything while locked in a dungeon with a rapist on his way. A month ago, she had been hiding from the world because she was too much the coward to go back to work—to her passion—because she associated it so much with Parkonis and lost dreams.

  “Ahh,” Rias rumbled when she finished the story, and his muscles relaxed. “I feel remiss that I wasn’t there to demonstrate the use of those torture implements on Ottotark. But you’re clever and capable, and, alas for my ego, I don’t think you need my help in these matters.”

  She absorbed his praise; it warmed her more than the heat radiating from the stove. “Don’t worry. I need your help in other matters.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone has to catch me when I trip.”

  His eyes crinkled. “That has been a daily occurrence.”

  He held her gaze, and Tikaya was suddenly aware of the heat of his body. If not for the chains keeping his wrists close and his arms between them, she could have leaned against his chest and...

  Rias cleared his throat and stepped back. “I need to finish those calculations. If there’s someone out there with another rocket—”

  “Of course,” Tikaya said. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I can—”

  “No!” Rias seemed to realize his objection too loud, for he shrugged sheepishly. “I’d like you to stay. I promised you dinner, remember? And...” He dragged a second chair to the opposite side of the desk and cleared a space. “You can work with me, or you can sleep of course too.” He waved toward the bunk. “You must be tired.”

  Tikaya dug into the big pocket on the side of her trousers and pulled out the journal. “I wouldn’t dream of sleeping before sampling a Turgonian dinner.”

  “Excellent. I’ve got a treat.” Rias sauntered to a credenza. He slid a parcel wrapped in brown paper off the top, plopped it on the desk, then knelt before a cabinet. “I found the colonel’s personal stash.”

  She unwrapped the parcel and crinkled her nose. “Salty fish? I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, but isn’t this from the same provisions we’ve been eating all week?”

  “Yes. That’s not the treat.” He laughed and pulled out two small glasses and a bottle filled with amber liquid. “This is.”

  Reverently, he carried the bottle over and set it before her. Applejack.

  “That’s a thirty-year-old label.” He uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. “Since you’re from the land of rum, I thought you’d like to sample a good Turgonian alternative.”

  Tikaya sniffed the subtle apple aroma and found it pleasant. She expected the applejack to burn her throat, but the liquid slid down smoothly, like her father’s finest barrel-aged rum. “Nice.”

  Rias beamed, took a conservative sip from his own glass, and returned to his work. Though her eyes were gritty, and her muscles ached, Tikaya opened the journal to study the runes. More than once, she paused to watch him zip through calculations without the benefit of a slide rule. Despite the horrors all around them, she enjoyed the companionable moment, sitting there with Rias, him with his work, she with hers.

  It occurred to her that this was an opportunity to ask him his real name, to find out who he had been during the war and what he had done. Except the very fact that he had not told her made her hesitate. Would the truth create an insurmountable obstacle between them? Maybe she should wait. It seemed a shame to ruin this first peaceful time together.

  Maybe she was still a coward, after all. She sipped her drink. No, she would ask. Just not tonight. Tomorrow night. She would find a time tomorrow night and ask then. No matter what.

  Comfortable with the decision, she leaned back in her chair. The applejack left her with a warm muzzy feeling. Her gaze drifted to the sleeping area where the furry blankets and pillows appeared far more comfortable than anything on the ship. It was not a big bed, but she supposed a couple of creative types would have no trouble...

  No, that she would certainly not do without knowing who Rias was. “It’s too bad. I’ve finally got you in a private room with a bed and—”

  The pencil in his hand snapped, and he gawked at her.

  Erp, had she said that out loud? Tikaya stared at the amber liquid, feeling betrayed.

  “I didn’t realize that was a goal of yours.” Rias smoothed his face and slid out of his seat to pick up the pencil ends. One had flown all the way to the door. Impressive velocity. “If I had, I would have taken it upon myself to escape my cell and call upon you. In a gentlemanly manner, of course.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted you to get in trouble.” Dear, Akahe, how was she supposed to explain the context of her comment?

  “Oh, but I’m willing to make great personal sacrifices to help people achieve their goals.”

  Rias squeezed her shoulder, and a delightful shiver ran through her when his fingers brushed her neck. She sighed in disappointment when he returned to his seat without presuming to do more.

  Tikaya set her glass down and pushed it to the side.

  Rias chuckled and slid the backup pencil out from behind his ear. “It’s a potent drink.”

  “You wouldn’t think apples could get you caned.”

  “Apples are the Turgonian fruit. We make them into everything. I think I mentioned my family’s orchard.” Rias continued to work as he spoke. “I loved the trees as a kid. I was scrawny, so I’d climb them to hide from my older brothers. They loved to beat on me almost as much as I loved getting them in trouble.”

  Tikaya eyed him skeptically. “I can imagine you as young, but...scrawny? You’re, what, six and a half feet? And broad.”

  “Oh, I was always scrawny because I was always the youngest. I was the youngest child in my family, and then I went to the university four years early, so I was the youngest there. I got smashed whenever I tried to join the sports teams, and I couldn’t attract girls, because I was fourteen and they were at least eighteen and only interested in older men. Though I did finally bribe on
e gal to kiss me by volunteering to do her homework.”

  Tikaya smiled. So, he had also been the youth who did not fit in. Maybe more so than she, since it sounded as if there was less educational infrastructure for precocious children in the empire.

  “Surely, you’ve long since outgrown those troubles.” She yawned, folded her arms over her journal, and pillowed her chin. “I’m sure you could entice women of any age now.”

  The pencil paused, and he bent down to peer into her eyes. “Hm, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How old are you?”

  “Thirty. Does it matter?”

  Humor glinted in his brown eyes. “Just wondering if my fantasies have been downright scandalous or merely lacking in propriety.”

  If Tikaya had been less tired, she would have laughed at the idea of being someone’s fantasy, but she smiled blearily, her eyelids half shut. The thought, like the applejack, left her with a warm contentedness.

  “How old are you?” she murmured.

  “Forty-three.”

  “As far as my people are concerned, it’d be more scandalous that you were a Turgonian military officer than that you’re older than I am.”

  He had never told her he was an officer, but he did not deny it now. Glum acknowledgment replaced the humor on his face, and Tikaya wished she could retract the comment.

  A knock sounded at the door, and the guard walked in. He blinked in surprise at Tikaya, probably expecting her to be naked, then focused on Rias.

  “Skeldar’s team checked that mining camp like you asked,” the marine said. “It’s ten miles out. The men there were dead, same as everyone here. Same time ago. And the lookout tower at the bottom of the pass seems the same. The scouts saw no fire, no one moving.”

  Rias scribbled a note. “Distance to the tower?”

  “Fifteen miles.”

  “Thank you, private. Dismissed.”

  Grimness hooded his eyes, and he did not watch as the marine walked out. Tikaya shifted in her seat, waiting for him to finish, or waiting for an opportunity to ask him his thoughts. But she already sensed the problem. If people fifteen miles away had been killed by the same rocket...

  “Ancestors help us.” Rias sat back, eyes closed.

  “What?”

  “The rocket detonated in the air over the fort, sending those cubes in all directions where they opened of their own volition to release their contents. I can only guess at the exact nature of the substance, but based on all the data points I’ve received, we’re looking at a weapon that can kill everyone within twenty miles of the detonation point. That’s more than twelve hundred and fifty square miles.” He stared at her. “Can you imagine what would happen if a weapon like this was launched in a populated area? Our capital city has more than a million people.”

  “Ninety percent of the Kyattese population lives on our main island, and it’s smaller than that.” Tikaya thought of such a weapon in the Turgonian emperor’s hands. Why worry about subjugating her people when one could just kill them all and claim the deserted island for colonization?

  13

  The door opened with a bang, and cold air flooded the room. Tikaya sat up. Wan morning light silhouetted Bocrest.

  Confusion disoriented her for a moment. She remembered falling asleep at the desk with her cheek pressed against the pages of her journal, but now she sat in the bunk, a blanket pooled about her waist. Rias lay on the floor before the stove. He rolled his head toward the door, eyes slitted.

  Bocrest looked from the nearly full applejack bottle on the desk, to Tikaya, and finally to Rias. “This is pathetic. You’ve got a private room, a bed, booze, and a woman, and you spent the night on the floor like a hound.”

  “Ass,” Tikaya grumbled, wondering if she was too old to hurl pillows at people.

  Rias yawned, stretched, and rolled to his feet. “Careful, Bocrest. You’re starting to sound like your brutish sergeant. Officers are supposed to be an influence on their troops, not the other way around.”

  Bocrest snorted and walked to the desk. He picked up the top sheet of paper and scrutinized it, appearing as enlightened as a rock. “Did your big genius brain figure out where that rocket was launched from?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll lead a team to the location, but I have conditions. I want ten men who have taken the mountaineering course. Give me a tracker too. I need a rifle, a pistol, a knife, and I want these chains off.” Rias rattled them for emphasis. “Permanently.”

  Bocrest gaped at this list of demands. “Is there anything else this humble captain could lay at your feet, Master Prisoner? Perhaps I could grovel while I fulfill your wishes?”

  “He wants me to come too,” Tikaya said.

  “Absolutely not,” Bocrest said.

  Rias arched his eyebrows at her. “Are you sure? It’d be difficult even without an injury.”

  Tikaya hesitated. She did not want to make more work for him, but what if they found a cache of weapons and needed help disarming a rocket poised to launch? “You may need me up there.”

  “As you wish,” Rias said.

  “Emperor’s spit,” Bocrest said. “She’s got you leashed, and you’re not even screwing her.”

  The manacles ensured Rias’s punch was not pretty, but he got a fist on the captain’s nose all the same. Bocrest saw it coming and partially blocked it, but the force still sent him staggering backward. His own fingers curled into a fist, but he snorted and released them.

  “You’ll have your team.” Bocrest unclipped keys from his belt and tossed them to Rias. “But she should go with the main force to set up the base camp. What’s she going to do up there besides be a liability?”

  “She’s found more ways to be useful than any of your men thus far.” Rias beamed her a proud smile.

  Tikaya smiled back, ignoring the captain’s disgusted huff.

  “What’s she actually translated?” Bocrest asked. “Did that rocket say anything?”

  “I’m still working on what appear to be instructions,” she said. “I believe the simple phrases on the side say ‘caution’ and ‘this side up.’”

  Bocrest snorted. “That’s as useful as goat spit. Great.”

  “Captain...” Rias warned.

  “Whatever. I don’t care. If she needs to be carried, none of my men are doing it. She’s your responsibility.” He stalked out the door, not bothering to shut it. “Team leaves in fifteen minutes!”

  Tikaya slid her legs off the bed and grabbed her boots. It was the only thing Rias had presumed to remove before tucking her into bed. Her heart ached. Even if he had not leapt to her defense, she could have loved him just for being a gentleman up here in this savage land so far from the mores of civilization. She almost confided her suspicions to him, her fear that Bocrest’s mission would prove less about saving the Turgonians and more about getting the emperor a stockpile of terrifyingly powerful weapons.

  “Something wrong?” Rias sat beside her to put on his own boots.

  How could she tell him? A man whose every choice proved he still felt loyal to the empire, even after they had taken everything and exiled him. “I’m worried I made a mistake,” she said instead of bringing up the weapons. “I spoke hastily. I don’t want to be a burden on you. Maybe you could just copy any runes you find for me.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  “Yes.” A self-deprecating laugh spilled from her lips. She had never craved field work; she’d always preferred to stay in the lab, letting agile adventurous sorts bring their finds to her. When had that changed? “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “I wouldn’t want that either.” He smiled, but it soon faded. “Besides, I’m concerned about your assassins. The bodyguard may be tortured and dead, but if the wizard is still around, he’ll feel he’s running out of time. It’ll be dangerous on the mountain, yes, but I’d prefer you with me rather than with a bunch of men who don’t care.”

  By now his admission that he cared was no
surprise, but hearing him say it almost brought tears to her eyes. If only he weren’t a Turgonian.

  She leaned against his shoulder. “I care too.”

  “Good.” He leaned back. “About me, right?”

  She grinned and swatted him. She thought about doing more, but a pair of marines tramped past the door, pausing to peer inside. Then Bocrest hollered for his guide. Sighing, she finished tying her boots.

  * * *

  Tikaya eased along the narrow ledge, her metal crampons scraping and clinking against the ice. Sheer granite towered to her left while equally sheer rock plummeted on her right. A snowy canyon stretched hundreds of feet below. Though the white drifts appeared soft, she had no illusions of a landing being anything but deadly. Wind buffeted the face of the cliff, tugging at her thick braid and whipping stray strands of hair against her spectacles. Frost crystals glittered on the scarf snugged over her nose.

  “We’re close,” Rias called, voice muffled by his own scarf.

  He led the single-file squad of marines inching along the cliff face. Tikaya came second with Bocrest third. At first, the captain’s presence had surprised her, but a few curt words here and there had given her the impression he was there to remind everyone ‘Prisoner Five’ was most definitely not in charge of the team, even if he led.

  A shadow fell across the group as a black raptor as large as a man sailed overhead. This was its third appearance. The way it coasted past made Tikaya think it was scouting the group. Her imagination, no doubt.

  The sun glinted off sharp ebony talons as it flexed its legs to land on a perch a couple dozen feet above the ledge ahead of them. It cocked its head to stare at her through a calculating black eye.

  “I’m getting tired of that bird,” a marine grumbled.

  “We could make a meal out of it,” another said, voice loud and threatening, as if the creature would understand and leave.

  Tikaya caught Bocrest glancing at the bird, but he otherwise paid it little attention. He did, however, carry his loaded rifle in one hand, barrel leaning against his shoulder. Earlier, he had worn it strapped to his rucksack.