Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I’m not used to confiding in people,” he said. “Being a captain or an admiral, it’s a solitary vocation. You’re expected to be infallible, even omnipotent. Sharing your thoughts, showing any kind of fear or hesitancy, might crumble that facade, and that’s something men need to believe in when chaos is erupting around them and odds seem impossible.”

  “I’m not in your chain of command, Rias.”

  That drew a smile. “I know. And I’m thankful for that. I’m glad you’re here to remind me… Yes, of course, the weapons need to be destroyed. That’s too much power for one man to wield, too much temptation. The easier we make it to kill, the less time there is to master the art of knowing when not to.”

  Tikaya nodded—it was everything she had hoped he would feel—but his earlier thoughtfulness made her suspect more remained unsaid. “But?”

  “But…” Rias combed his fingers through his hair, spraying flecks of water. “You’re right: I am tempted by the emperor’s offer. I can’t help but wonder if I could have it both ways. Help them with their mission, get my life back, and figure out how to make the weapons disappear later on.” He picked at the hem of his towel. “They’re selfish thoughts, not honorable ones, but dear ancestors, Tikaya, I’ve missed this.” He waved to encompass the tunnels and the marines camped outside the pumping house. “Command, purpose, a challenge. When I’m not Admiral Starcrest, naval strategist, I’m not sure who I am or what else could be out there for me.” He turned his eyes toward her, the question in the air.

  Me. That was her first thought, but she kept it to herself. She was not fool enough to believe that she could dump herself in his lap as the answer—a man like him needed more stimulation than a relationship offered—but her second thought offered a neater solution. She hoped. “Do you know what the prime groupings in this language mean?”

  His brow furrowed. “No… Did you figure it out?”

  “I haven’t an idea.” She tapped a fingernail on the sphere. “I’ve learned that what we’ve seen is one of four languages these people used, and this one is all skewed toward mathematics and science. I may be able to translate it eventually, but the numbers are beyond me. Figuring it all out, finding useful applications for our own world, it’d be the work of a lifetime. For someone interested enough to stick with me for that long.”

  “Ah?” A hint of speculation entered his eyes. “But you made it clear I wouldn’t have a place on your islands.”

  “There are other countries in the world. Maybe we could find one where you’re not wanted dead on sight.”

  “That might be a challenge. Doubly so, since I’m a penniless vagabond with nothing to offer you except myself.”

  “I’m rather fond of yourself.” Tikaya scooted to the edge of the table to sit closer to him. “And…” She laid a hand on his bare arm. “Did you not say you appreciate a challenge?”

  His gaze dropped to her hand, then returned to her face, and he smiled, the quirky half-smile that made her insides tangle. “This is true.”

  She leaned into him, breathing in the scent of lye soap. His bare thigh touched hers, warm even through her clothing. Too much clothing. She really ought to…

  Rias slid his fingers through her hair, and she forgot her thought as goosebumps rose across her flesh. He removed her spectacles, and set them aside.

  “So, have you decided?” He bent and kissed her neck, warm breath tickling her skin. “Is this thing the bed?”

  “Uhm.” Tikaya laid her hand on one of his broad shoulders, then slid it down his arm, tracing the dips and rises of the muscles. “What?”

  He drew back, eyes narrowed in mock accusation. “You’re not thinking about runes, are you?”

  “Furthest thing from my mind.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, it’s definitely a distant second place to something more prominent.”

  “Oh, good.” He tilted his head. “I am the something, right?”

  She grinned. “Let me answer your first question. I think our current seat is the human equivalent of a coffee table. I believe that sphere over there is the bed. You get in and warm air floats you up and supports you. You can just lay there or there’s an option for, ah, undulation.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  He slid off the table, faced her, and slipped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him, lips parting, and invited in his warmth. She tangled her fingers in his damp hair, pulling him closer even as his arms tightened around her. Where he had been hesitant before, asking permission, he was sure now, and she felt his need. And her own. It had been a long time for both of them, and she could never remember wanting someone so much. Not just for now, but forever.

  His grip loosened, and she voiced a muffled protest, but his lips smiled against hers, then he knelt. He gazed up at her as he unlaced her boots, and her breath caught at the adoring tenderness in those gold-flecked eyes. She recovered and dug into the buttons of her uniform jacket. Her fingers didn’t seem to work as well as they should.

  “I miss my dress,” she muttered.

  “Me too.” Rias’s eyes crinkled as the first boot clunked to the floor.

  She shucked the jacket, annoyed when her arm caught in the sleeve. By now, he knew she was no graceful gazelle, but it would have been nice to undress competently.

  She started to tug the shirt over her head, but hesitated. It was silly—he had already seen her naked and was clearly interested—but a self-conscious twinge stilled her hands. With Parkonis and those scattered few before, she had shared bench space in the cute-but-not-beautiful part of the arena. Even before Rias turned into some legendary Turgonian hero, she had known he belonged up front, in the I-could-have-anyone-I-want seats. Tonight, he wanted her, but if by some miracle they made it out of here, would that change? When there were more attractive options available?

  “Tikaya?” Rias asked gently, concern in his tone. The second boot had joined the first, along with the scratchy wool socks, but he still knelt, face tilted up, watching her.

  “Sorry, it’s nothing.” The future was a murky incorporeal place; best to enjoy what was real, what was now.

  Rias stood, body solid and warm between her legs, but tense. “Please, tell me. I don’t want any more secrets, any more misunderstandings. I’m on your side out here, above all others.” His eyes probed hers. “Do you trust me?”

  She blinked. “That wasn’t what I was doubting. I mean, I wasn’t doubting. I was just wondering if…if you saw me, back when you came to Kyatt to talk to our president, if I’d been in your path somewhere along the way…would you have noticed me?”

  “Ahhhh.” Rias grinned and the tension melted from him. “Indeed so.” His eyes grew hooded, sultry, and he leaned into her. “Especially if you’d been wearing that dress that so nicely accents your curves.”

  He slipped his hands beneath her shirt and massaged his way up from her waist. She shivered at the sensations those callused but gentle fingers stirred. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, and down to her neck, and she closed her eyes, arching into him.

  “You do know…” he murmured against her throat, lips sending spirals of heat to her core. “Those dazzling blue eyes are rather rare in Turgonia. Exotic.” He spoke slowly, lazily, kisses punctuating his words. “And it’s always a challenge to find a lady of sufficient height.”

  She would have laughed, but his mouth returned to claim hers, and she met him with equal intensity, humor forgotten. He broke away only long enough to say, “You’re a beautiful woman, Tikaya, and I love you.”

  She gave him a fierce hug before turning to other matters. There was not much talking after that, and fortunately he proved more adept than she at removing military uniforms.

  • • • • •

  Tikaya woke with a start. The soft light of the room left her confused as to the time. She was in the sphere, with its shelf of air acting as a mattress. Though she had no blanket, a cocoon of warmth kept the alien bed cozy.

  Rias sat next
to her, head cocked, ear toward the window.

  She touched his bare back. “What is it?”

  “I think I heard a scream.”

  “Not one of mine?”

  “Not this time.” He smiled and kissed her before crawling past her and out of the sphere. He reached the window before she maneuvered off the air cushion.

  “Better get dressed.” Rias jogged to their piles of clothing and tossed hers on the bed.

  “What’s going on?” She tugged her shirt over her head and tied her hair back.

  “I can’t see. There’s some kind of fog out there.”

  As soon as Tikaya had trousers and boots on, she hustled to the window. A gray-blue haze made it impossible to see more than a few feet. She could not make out the reservoir, the walls, or the ground where the marines camped.

  Rias belted on his sword and checked the rifle.

  “Wait,” Tikaya said as he headed for the lift. “What if it’s poisonous? What if everyone is already…”

  Rias hesitated, one foot on the blue circle.

  A yell of pain pierced the walls and was cut off.

  “They’re not dead yet,” he said.

  But he did retrace his footsteps and find the towel he had used earlier. He tore it lengthwise, handed half to her, then wrapped the other half around his head to cover his nose and mouth. She tied hers and followed him down the lift.

  Rias slid the door open and paused to listen before venturing out. “Stay close,” he whispered.

  They slipped outside. The haze stung Tikaya’s eyes. Even through the cloth, she smelled an odor reminiscent of burnt coconut.

  Rias led her toward the camp. Visibility ran only a few feet in the dense fog. They reached the first prone form, Agarik, still under his blanket.

  “Is he…” she started.

  Rias knelt and checked for a pulse. “He’s breathing.”

  “Sleeping?”

  Rias shook Agarik’s shoulder, which elicited a snore, but nothing more wakeful.

  “Not the type you can be roused from apparently,” Rias said.

  They crept farther and found more sleeping marines. None of them could be shaken awake, and Rias stopped trying.

  At the edge of the fog, a hint of green clothing appeared on the ground to the right. Tikaya stepped over a marine to find herself staring at an unknown face with blood still streaming from a slashed throat. She struggled for detachment—and to keep from stepping in the spreading crimson pool. The dead person was small and thin-boned with a green shirt and brown trousers that lacked any hint of military uniformity. Definitely not Turgonian, but she was not sure of the nationality.

  “Rias?” she whispered.

  He had disappeared in the fog. She walked in the direction she had last seen him, but tripped over one of the marines. Her reaction was too slow and, almost as if she floated in water, she toppled face-first to land on the man. He grunted but did not wake.

  Confused at the heaviness of her limbs, she pushed herself up. It felt as if a hundred pound rucksack burdened her. The cloth covering her face might delay the fog’s effects, but she would be snoring alongside the marines soon if she did not get away from it.

  “Rias?” she called a little louder.

  “Tikaya?”

  She nearly tripped again. That wasn’t Rias. That wasn’t any Turgonian. It sounded like…

  She put a hand to her chest. It couldn’t be.

  “Tikaya?” the voice came again. “Are you here?”

  She closed her eyes. The voice, so familiar, was speaking in her language.

  “Over here,” she said. She did not say his name. She still did not believe it could be him. How could it be? He was dead, his ship sunk over a year before.

  She held her breath as the fog stirred. A shape coalesced.

  “Parkonis,” she croaked, lifting a hand.

  He was a slight figure in comparison with the Turgonians, and he looked even thinner than she remembered. His curly red-blond hair, always a mess, had grown and stuck out in every direction, much like the beard hiding his chin and neck. Anxious blue eyes looked her up and down. He was the one who had watched from the opposite side as the marines entered. Oh, Akahe, if she had been close enough to identify him earlier, would she have…

  She glanced behind her shoulder. Where had Rias gone?

  Parkonis started toward her, arms wide, a white toothy grin escaping the beard. But his toe bumped against the fallen green-clad man.

  His smile faltered. “Tatkar, no.” His gaze darted a dozen directions. “One of them escaped the gas. We have to—”

  A dark shape slipped out of the fog behind him.

  “No!” Tikaya shouted before she even saw the bloody dagger.

  She lunged forward, knowing she could never stop the assassin in time. He, too, wore a cloth across his face, but it did not hide the intent in his cold, dark eyes.

  Rias stepped out of the fog behind Sicarius and dropped a hand on the assassin’s shoulder. The dagger froze.

  Parkonis whirled, took in the tableau, and stumbled back. Eyes still fixed on the assassin, Tikaya stepped forward and gripped Parkonis’s hand.

  “I have no idea how he’s here,” she said, talking to Sicarius who seemed to be deciding whether to finish what he had started or not, “but this man is a gifted archaeologist, and if anyone can help you get your weapons, he can.”

  Parkonis’s Turgonian was as good as hers, and she had no trouble reading the incredulous look he gave her—helping the empire was the last thing he wanted to do. She squeezed his hand, hoping he would recognize the don’t-say-anything signal. Rias’s gaze fell to the hand hold, and guilt washed over her at his pained wince. He closed his eyes for a long moment.

  Tikaya lifted her free hand and spoke as much for him as for the assassin. “Let’s figure out what’s going on before we do anything else.”

  Rias pulled a mask over his face, but instead of responding he released Sicarius and disappeared into the fog.

  “Brace yourself,” Parkonis whispered in Kyattese.

  Tikaya opened her mouth to warn him the assassin understood their language, but the hairs on the back of her neck leaped to attention. A heartbeat later, blinding whiteness engulfed the cavern, and a thousand cannons roared in her ear. Her feet floated from the floor, and someone—Parkonis?—wrapped his arms around her. She had the impression of weightlessness, of her body moving toward the chasm.

  “What’s going on?” she yelled, but she could not hear herself over the clamor in her ears.

  With her senses overloaded, it took a moment to realize what was happening: Parkonis was rescuing her. And she did not want to be rescued, not if it left Rias to wonder if she had scurried off with her old lover.

  She thrashed. She had to escape before they reached the chasm. Her elbow caught Parkonis in the gut, and she felt rather than heard his pained exhalation. Regret mingled with desperation—she did not want to hurt him.

  Parkonis shouted in her ear, but she could not hear words above the roar. She squirmed again, determined to free herself. He let go with one arm, and she thought she had her chance, but something cold and coin-sized pressed against her temple. The world blinked out, and she knew nothing more.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tikaya woke slowly, mind groggy. She lay on her back, her head in someone’s lap. Rias? No, concerned blue eyes peered down at her. Parkonis.

  She struggled to sit up. A woman and a man in marine blacks stood above her. Colonel Lancecrest had not bothered removing the name tag from his wrinkled jacket, though she would have guessed his identity without it. Greasy salt-and-pepper hair stuck up in spicules, bags haunted his dark eyes, and furrows creased his weathered face. He looked like a man with nothing left to lose.

  The woman had straight blonde hair and pale skin, so she might be Kyattese. Crow’s feet lined her cold green eyes, and her thin lips flattened further under Tikaya’s scrutiny.

  “Where are Tatkar and my men?” Lancecrest asked.
>
  “Dead or captured,” Parkonis said. “Sorry, we—”

  “Idiots.” The colonel clenched a fist and stalked away, back rigid.

  “Hate that man,” Parkonis muttered.

  Tikaya rubbed her face and tried to clear the wooziness from her brain. Another cavern stretched around them, this one with cracks and buckles marring a floor decorated with bat guano. Its pungent smell tainted the air. Stalactites hung from a ceiling far overhead. No sign of a camp or recent habitation marked the cavern, but her spine tingled with the telltale sense of nearby practitioner work.

  A fifty-foot-high butte rose in the center, a natural formation with a steep, jagged face. A single chamber with transparent walls took up the space on top. Lit from within, the bright interior revealed dozens, maybe hundreds, of bristling rockets. Similar to the one in the fort, they stood upright, their outsides loaded with dense strings of colored cubes. Larger black cylinders stood in the middle, and Tikaya had no idea what they might do, but she doubted anything up there existed for a purpose other than devastation.

  There was no obvious way to get to the chamber. Two broken pillars and the remains of a ramp had crumbled and collapsed. A cool draft whispered against her cheek. If bats were living in the cave, there must be access to the outside nearby. Several tunnels led from the cavern.

  “Thank you for your help, Gali,” Parkonis said, addressing the woman. “I thought that sleeping gas would be enough, but you were right: one of their guards was too alert.”

  “Tatkar was my colleague for years.” Gali turned icy green eyes on Tikaya. “You better be worth it.”

  How nice. Tikaya had found people as amiable as Bocrest to be her new captors.

  “She is.” Parkonis rested a hand on her shoulder.

  A thousand questions for him burbled in her mind, chief among them how he was alive and what he was doing with relic raiders, but she would wait until she could get him alone to ask. As long as he was here to vouch for her, she might have the freedom she needed to investigate those weapons and plot their demise. Maybe she could even destroy them before the marines showed up.