Warrior Mage

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I’ve found her,” Yanko announced, lifting his head.

  Senshoth lifted his head too. “You’re sure? It’s not a rat? Because I found a lot of those back there.” He rubbed his hand on his robe and grimaced.

  “I’m sure. That way.” Yanko extended his hand toward the end of the tunnel while he kept the gate closed with the other. It might swing open as soon as he let it go.

  “You want me to lead?” Senshoth rubbed his hand again. What had happened with that rat?

  “I’ll be right behind you. I need to concentrate to track the woman. She’s on the move.” Actually, she was hunkering in a cubby, probably curled up and miserable. The thought made his heart ache. “If you could provide a light for us, I would appreciate it.”

  “Oh.” Senshoth glanced at Dak, and Yanko was certain he would ask why Dak couldn’t hold a lamp and lead the way, but he lifted a hand and conjured a soft globe of blue. He smiled and nodded, as if he was honored to help. It was strange having an adult at least twenty years older than he so eager to provide assistance. Once again, Yanko felt guilty for leading him astray.

  Senshoth sent his blue light ahead of them, then trailed after it, glancing back to make sure he had followers. Yanko tilted his head for Dak to go first. Mostly, he wanted a couple of bodies between Senshoth and the gate. Dak narrowed his eye at the smugglers, but walked forward without objecting. The ceiling had lowered enough that he had to hunch to continue. He couldn’t be enjoying this. Yanko wondered if he was afraid of rats.

  Before following, Yanko faced the smugglers and raised a finger to his lips. Only a couple were looking at him, but that should be enough. He gave the gate a significant look, then stepped back. As he had thought it might, it groaned open a couple of inches. That made more of the men peer over at him. He made a wait motion, though he doubted they would, at least not for long, then jogged to catch up with the others.

  What had taken him a minute to travel with his mind took them ten minutes of ducking, crawling, clambering, and climbing to reach with their bodies. Earlier, Dak might have been grunting and grumbling about the low ceilings, but he had fallen into a silent mode, choosing his steps carefully in the poor lighting. He scarcely made a sound and wasn’t breathing hard, not like Senshoth, who kept kicking rocks. The clatters sounded like fireworks next to the soft patter of dripping water in the distance, and Yanko wasn’t surprised when Arayevo stirred. She had heard them coming.

  Yanko reached out to her, as if she were a hound to be calmed. He might not be able to talk to her, but he hoped she would recognize his presence.

  “We’re getting close,” Yanko murmured.

  “Should we try to surround her?” Senshoth touched his side. The robe hid whatever weapon he had there, but Yanko noted a bulge.

  “This is the only way in. I’ll go first now.” Yanko didn’t know if Arayevo had managed to secure any weapons, but she was a good shot with a bow. If she saw him first, that should keep her from trying to kill anyone.

  When they were about fifty feet away, he thought about calling out, but he couldn’t use a friendly tone, not with Senshoth on his heels. He was supposed to be her new prison escort, after all. Instead, he lifted his hand and floated a light of his own out ahead of them, a larger, stronger illumination globe than Senshoth’s. He wanted her to see them coming. To see him coming. To rescue her. He smiled.

  They climbed up a ten-foot-high cliff, the cold damp rock slippery beneath their fingers, and came up to a ledge. A couple of tunnels branched away, but only one was big enough for humans to walk through.

  Something stirred in the shadows ahead. Yanko’s senses told him the passage did not reach back much farther, but he did not want Arayevo to have to run again. Time to give her a reason to stay put.

  “Arayevo,” he called, trying to keep the delight at meeting her again out of his voice.

  The movement halted. He felt her looking at him, trying to puzzle him out, before the light brought her into sight. She had to be perplexed as to how he had come to be here. He still found the scenario perplexing himself.

  “Arayevo, you’re to come with us.”

  She stepped forward into the light. Her face was far grimier and wearier than he ever remembered, her raven hair hanging limply about her face, and she had lost weight she did not need to lose, but he recognized her, nonetheless. For a moment, his throat thickened with emotion, and he couldn’t speak. He wanted nothing more than to give her a hug.

  That silent moment proved his undoing, for she blurted, “Yanko?” and he realized with horror that he should have mouthed something to her, warned her to stay quiet.

  “No, I’m Akaron Sun Dragon. I’ve come to take you to the Golden City where you’ll be held accountable for your crimes.” Yanko held a finger to his lips, though he feared the damage had already been done. They might have fooled a simple guard, but a mind mage?

  “Yanko?” Senshoth asked, his voice flat.

  “She’s mistaking me for someone else.” Yanko stepped toward Arayevo, but all he truly wanted to do was put space between himself and Senshoth, in case the mage attacked him. He needed time to react, time to think. Not certain if he would have it, he turned, mentally bracing himself.

  Senshoth stretched a hand out, his face icy cold. Before Yanko could decide if he wanted to attack back or merely defend himself, Dak lunged for Senshoth. Before he reached the mage, he gasped and fell back, his head hammering a low-hanging portion of the ceiling. A mental attack. Yanko’s heart was beating a few thousand times a minute in his chest, but he forced himself to concentrate. He had to act before Senshoth warned his superior, something that would only take seconds for a telepath.

  Yanko gathered all of the air in the tunnels behind him and hurled it at the mage. Senshoth wasn’t far from the ledge. It wasn’t much of a fall, and he probably wouldn’t be hurt, but the pain might keep him from summoning the concentration needed to attack—or warn others.

  Dak shook off the mental assault like a hound flinging raindrops from its coat and lunged for the mage again. At the same time, Yanko’s attack landed, the gust of wind hitting Senshoth like a tornado. It lifted him off the ledge with more force than expected and flung him into the ceiling. The gale of wind almost drove Dak away too when the edge of it clipped him. But he dropped flat to the ground and kept from being flung over the cliff. Senshoth struck the rocky ceiling hard, then fell out of sight below the ledge.

  “Dak,” Yanko said, “over here. Hurry.” He had already examined the rock above their heads and found a natural fissure where he could shear off a slab of limestone. He would have to lower his mental defenses to concentrate on the work, so he hoped Senshoth hadn’t recovered from falling yet.

  Dak wore a dazed expression, but he staggered over. Yanko grabbed his arm and pulled him back so that he and Arayevo were behind him. He closed his eyes, seeing into the rock with his mind, chose his spot carefully and sent tendrils of his power into the earth, snapping connections, shearing away pieces of stone. Yanko had scarcely started when a blast of energy erupted inside his skull. He threw the vestiges of his energy at the ceiling, even as he fell back, such agony bursting in his brain that he was certain his head would explode.

  Defenses, the tiny part of his mind still capable of thought yelled. He struggled to protect himself, grasping for the tenuous concentration he needed for the task, but everything hurt too much. All he could do was curl into a ball, grabbing his head and gasping for air that wouldn’t come. A rumble filled his ears, but he didn’t know if it came from without or from within his own mind. Maybe his head was going to explode.

  Finally, it was too much. He fell unconscious, his last thought that he hoped he hadn’t condemned them all.

  * * *

  Yanko came around slowly. A headache pounded behind his eyes, and he winced, not wanting to open his eyes or wake fully. Only the touch of gentle fingers to his cheek convinced him otherwise. His head was resting on a pleasant pillow—or was that someone’s leg?


  “Sorry to disturb you, Yanko,” Arayevo said, “but there’s a lot of shouting going on in the tunnels, and I think that wizard went for help. Also, we’re stuck. It’s quite rude of you to leave me with your hulking Turgonian friend here. The way he’s stomping around like a caged tiger is unnerving.”

  Yanko opened his eyes to Arayevo peering down at him, barely visible in the dim light of a single lantern sitting on the ground. Its wan light did little to illuminate the damp gray walls around them. He didn’t even know where the lantern had come from. Dak? Yanko had been using magic to light the way.

  “Probably not important,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, an unpleasant metallic taste lingering in his mouth.

  “What?”

  He would have liked to continuing lying there with his head cradled in Arayevo’s lap, but it didn’t sound like they had much time. “How long was I out?” he asked, forcing himself to a sitting position so he could assess the situation. He almost passed out again as another wave of pain rolled across his mind. If he had needed a lesson as to the importance of keeping one’s defenses up in the presence of a mind mage, he had it. He felt fortunate to be alive.

  “Just a few minutes,” Arayevo said, “but we’re trapped, and I don’t know how long the air will last.”

  To Yanko’s surprise, he had succeeded in bringing down the slab of limestone over the end of the ledge, if more sloppily than he had wished. Countless smaller rocks had fallen, forming a pile around the slab. A big pile. He had sealed them inside a dead-end tunnel.

  “The air should be fine for a couple of days,” Dak said, waving at their room and the other small tunnels branching away. Unfortunately, Yanko had already checked those passages and knew they didn’t lead far before also dead-ending. Nor did they offer a source of fresh air. “I doubt the commissioner and your new mage friend will leave us alone for that long.” Dak’s one-eyed stare wasn’t exactly baleful, but he didn’t look like he had much sympathy for Yanko. He had been struck by Senshoth’s attack, too. It was not fair that he was up and walking around when Yanko felt like throwing up. Given their limited confines, he decided to try to avoid that.

  “If this was an attempt to rescue me, Yanko, I do appreciate it,” Arayevo said, “but I’m not sure I’m in a better position than I was a half hour ago.”

  No, she wasn’t. At least then, they hadn’t known where she was. Yanko had led the other mage straight to her.

  He sighed and forced himself to his feet, using the rock pile for support.

  “Earlier, you spoke of making a thirty-foot hole from the surface to the cave with the crew in it,” Dak said.

  Yanko peered at the ceiling above their heads, glad he hadn’t inadvertently brought the whole thing down around them when he had been working on that slab. “I was perhaps less aware of gravity and the displacement of large rocks than I should have been when I made that claim.”

  “I see.” Dak kept his tone flat and unemotional, but he must be irked. He had been enjoying his life, helping his people, thwarting evil Nurians, and Yanko had come along and dragged him into this mess.

  “I still think I can drill a hole. I’m just worried that the rock that would have to be displaced would fill our chamber.” Not to mention crushing them in the process. Well, no, they could hide in one of the side passages. If he was very careful, he could possibly cut through without bringing down any extra rock. If he had more power as a fire mage, he could burn through it, as he had with the lock, rather than trying to create controlled earthquakes. But he didn’t think he could manage to melt however many tons of rock lay above them. Also, this enclosed space might grow too hot for humans.

  “How wide would your hole be?” Dak asked.

  “Wide enough for us to climb up it, I suppose.” Yanko hoped Lakeo was up there somewhere, would notice a hole opening up in the cliff top, and could run over with the rope he had left with his gear.

  “Three feet? And I estimate we’re about twenty-five feet under here. Do you concur?”

  “Uh.” With his senses, Yanko felt his way through the rock above them, to the dirt and scruffy tufts of grass and finally open air. “That’s about right.”

  “That would displace roughly one hundred and seventy-seven cubic feet of rock,” Dak said. “I’m rounding up.”

  “Naturally.”

  “This chamber is what? About fourteen feet long by eight feet wide? Eight feet high? It’s roughly shaped but let’s call it a grushnol ersugtoth.”

  “A what?” Yanko looked at Arayevo, who only shrugged back at him. She was as bedraggled and unkempt as when he had first spotted her, but her eyes gleamed. By the badger goddess, she wasn’t enjoying herself, was she?

  “I don’t know the terms for volume equations in your language.” Dak spread a hand. “A rectangle. A rough one, but we have close to nine-hundred cubic feet of space to fill. Even if you bring down more than expected, we should have room to climb out.”

  It sounded promising on paper—or in Dak’s head—but the idea of drilling a hole with them down underneath all the rock made Yanko uneasy. Still, he waved for them to back into the smaller side passages. He crouched at the front, facing the open chamber. Before turning his attention to the rock, he stretched out toward the rest of the tunnel system itself, wanting to make sure Senshoth wasn’t waiting out there to torment him further while he was in the middle of working on this. But the mage had left—nobody was within a hundred meters of their spot. Beyond that...

  “Oh,” Yanko said.

  “What?” Dak asked warily.

  “Your friends are out, Arayevo.” And they were giving the guards a lot of trouble. That accounted for the shouts he had heard—he had the impression a full-fledged battle was going on out there.

  “The crew?” she asked. “You mentioned them before, but I couldn’t imagine why you had come for them. Or how you knew I was here, either.”

  “Long story, but I need passage to the Kyatt Islands, and your Captain Shark said he would take us if I freed his crew.” As soon as Yanko spoke, he realized she might interpret that the wrong way, that he had come for them instead of her. He rushed to correct himself, so she would know the truth. “I wasn’t going to do it—I mean, I didn’t know why they had been incarcerated—but then Shark described you.” He glanced over his shoulder, but Dak was between him and Arayevo, and he could barely see her. “I had to come for you, Arayevo,” he said softly, turning back toward the chamber. He didn’t want to make moon eyes past Dak. This wasn’t the time for moon eyes, anyway.

  “Thank you, Yanko.”

  “The rock,” Dak said. “The prison break won’t distract them forever.”

  “I know.” Yanko wanted to explain that this was going to be hard, more difficult than the uncontrolled chaos he had created thus far, and that it might not turn out well... but Dak already sounded impatient. He wouldn’t want to hear excuses. Besides, powerful warrior mages weren’t supposed to make excuses. Even if he wasn’t even yet a student, he felt he should do his best to act worthy of his mother’s robe while he wore it.

  He felt his way up through the layers of rock, seeking the weaknesses, finding preexisting bubbles and cracks, trying to exploit those gaps and weakness in a way that would create a passage people could climb through but that wouldn’t drop too much rock into their chamber. He started from the bottom, and soon clumps of rock thudded onto the floor in front of them, accompanied by a rain of dust.

  Dak pulled his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose. Arayevo backed farther into the tunnel. Yanko kept working. By the time he had burrowed through five feet, sweat dripped into his eyes and he was breathing hard, as if he were sprinting up the side of a mountain rather than sitting on his butt and staring at the floor in front of him. The need for precision made everything four times as hard. He prayed for strength from the elephant god.

  “The shouts have died down,” Dak observed.

  “I hope the crew got out,” Arayevo. “Most of them, anyway. Some
of those people are criminals through and through. The captain’s not a bad man, though. Cares about making money and doesn’t want to be beholden to any governments or laws, so he finds trouble now and then, but he’s not a killer, unless it’s in self-defense.”

  “Why were they arrested?” Dak asked. Did he care? About Nurians? Maybe he wanted to know if he and his unwelcome charge would be safe sharing a ship with these people.

  Reminding himself to concentrate and ignore the conversation, Yanko worked his way through the next five feet of rock.

  “Smuggling Turgonian weapons into Nuria for the rebels,” Arayevo said. “I was excited to visit your empire. I only saw part of one of the port cities, but the locomotive was brilliant. And all of those huge metal steamships. I know our mages can do wonderful things with magic, but your cities—those huge, tall buildings—are quite impressive.”

  If the flattery appealed to Dak, it didn’t come through in his voice. His only response was, “You support one of the rebel factions?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t really know. I haven’t been paying attention. Is there more than one?”

  Dak didn’t respond at all this time. Yanko, sensing that he might think Arayevo dull, when that wasn’t true at all, risked dividing his concentration to say, “Our newspapers haven’t been publishing details of the rebellions. I think we’re supposed to keep on believing that the Great Land isn’t in trouble.”

  Dak grunted. “I have noticed that the Turgonian papers are covering it in more depth.”

  Yanko didn’t know what to think about that. Would the empire—the republic—use the information of Nuria’s troubles to its advantage? As if the threat of widespread hunger and civil war wasn’t enough to spur Yanko forward on his mission, the notion that his homeland could be invaded by a conquering nation was even more distressing. What if Dak was here for far more than rescuing a few prisoners?