You’re welcome, Jaxi said smugly, as if she was proud she’d convinced Azarwrath to do the work for him.
I was encouraging Telryn to grow as a sorcerer, Azarwrath said stiffly. And also practice using his power.
I’ll use it now, Trip thought, hoping to head off an argument about age and naps.
He knelt beside the old boat, resting his hand on it and examining it with his mind more than his eyes. In the shadows, his eyes could barely distinguish it from the sand.
“Please tell me that isn’t our ride out there,” Rysha whispered.
“Not yet.” Trip closed his eyes and concentrated.
Her groan wasn’t heartening.
Not daunted, he examined the lifeboat’s wood and iron parts. The craft was more wood than metal, which was more difficult for him to manipulate. He couldn’t melt wood and shift it into other shapes.
Trip searched the bottom of the harbor again. This time, he found a rusted anchor. He hadn’t used his power to lift anything out of the water before, but he didn’t want to keep asking Azarwrath for favors, so he tried to channel the water and condense it the way he did with air when he lifted things. In attempting to do so, he created currents, not unlike what he’d done when he’d created a tidal wave the week before. On a whim, he twirled them, making something similar to a small, controlled tornado.
The water rotated, forming an upside-down vortex that tugged the anchor from its resting spot, then lifted it far more quickly than Trip had envisioned. The anchor flew straight out of the water and up. He rushed to shift his attention from the water to the air, cushioning his rusty treasure so that it would float gently over to the beach rather than losing momentum and landing back in the water with a huge splash.
I’ll give that extra credit for creativity, Jaxi said.
It would have been better and required less energy expenditure on his part if he had used my method, Azarwrath said.
You must be tons of fun as a teacher.
I’ve instructed numerous young handlers over the years. That stiffness had crept into Azarwrath’s tone again.
Did they die of boredom after you wilted their eager little egos?
They became powerful sorcerers.
Are you sure some didn’t die of boredom? Jaxi asked. I suspect you of having a selective memory, Azzy.
While they insulted each other, Trip used a combination of brute force and magical power to lever the anchor into the boat. Once it rested on the bottom, he melted it slowly, separating the quality material from the rusted exterior, then smoothing it over the hole in the bottom. He formed screws and did his best to seal what became a thin sheet atop the wood. Something like a rubber gasket would have been ideal, but he didn’t want to spend the whole night scavenging the harbor for parts. If the rowboat leaked, it should be a slow leak, and they could get to the barge and back before it mattered.
He flipped it over, shoved it off the sand and into the water, and grinned like a boy when it floated.
“My lady,” Trip said, extending an arm toward his new craft, imagining himself as her butler, offering her an arm into the family steam carriage. Or did she have a separate chauffeur for that? How many people worked for her family?
He pushed the thought out of his mind. Besides, he should imagine himself as a handsome suitor rather than a servant. In the fairy tales of old, the butlers never got the ladies.
“If we take a walk along the harbor together, is it going to be like this?” In the dark, Rysha’s face was impossible to read, but she sounded amused. Maybe bemused.
“I hadn’t planned to stop along the way to fix a boat, if that’s what you’re asking. I suppose I might be tempted to pick up interesting materials I found on the beach.”
“Interesting materials found on the beach?” Rysha accepted his arm and assistance into the boat, though she could have easily jumped in without getting wet. “Or on the bottom of the harbor where they’ve been rusting for centuries?”
“Naturally, the most interesting finds would be the ones hardest to reach.”
Trip brushed her shoulder as he sat on the bench beside her. She tensed, and a faint green glow seeped from Dorfindral’s scabbard.
She muttered something unpronounceable—Trip knew the word and still regarded it as unpronounceable—and the light faded.
“I see Dorfindral objects to me flirting with you,” Trip said.
He supposed it was silly, but he’d thought the sword might start reacting differently to him after he’d assisted Rysha in reprogramming it with new command terms. But it had tried to kill him the whole time he’d been doing it.
“You were flirting with me?” Rysha asked.
“Well, I made you a boat.”
“This is for me?” She reached out and touched the wet wooden side, the barnacles still attached inside and out, including on their equally wet seat.
“I would have just levitated across if I’d been alone.”
“Ah, I see. In that case, I may need to name this fine craft. Perhaps I shall name it after my mother.”
“The mother who, as you said, objects wholeheartedly to your commission in the army?”
“Indeed.” Rysha prodded one of the poky barnacles and smiled. “I think you forgot to scrounge oars off the bottom of the harbor.”
“Not really.” Trip channeled a tiny tunnel of wind behind them and pushed at the back of the boat. The wood creaked, making him doubt his assessment of the craft’s soundness, but it moved forward.
It needn’t last for long, he reminded himself.
“You’re a talented man, Trip,” Rysha said, leaning her shoulder against his. “I enjoy going on adventures with you. Even though my butt is now soaking wet.”
“They say mutual discomfort is the way that harmonious souls bond.”
“Wise words, even if you pilfered them from the songwriter, Lord Yaringtor.”
“Pilfered? At worst, I paraphrased.”
I think you should just put your arm around her and kiss her, Jaxi said. Your flirting skills leave a lot to be desired.
What makes you say that?
The fact that she didn’t know you were flirting with her.
Thanks for the advice, Jaxi.
You’re welcome.
After the boat cleared the docks, Trip manipulated the wind, turning them toward the barges. He angled out wide, hoping to come in from the far side and remain unnoticed. The warehouse wasn’t well lit on the side opposite the nearby palace.
One of the guards walked out the front door of the warehouse and fished in a cigarette tin. Trip winced and wished there were clouds in the sky poised to conveniently drift in front of the moon.
Relax, Jaxi said. We’ll add some camouflage. You can focus on wooing your lieutenant.
I’m not going to woo her when her butt is wet.
You’re not much of an opportunist. Why don’t you offer to dry her clothes? With a gold dragon as a sire, you should have a knack for warming things up.
Warming them up, or incinerating them with the fiery flames of the hells?
Given that your girlfriend’s butt cheeks are involved, I suggest mere warmth.
The guard with the cigarette inhaled and watched the harbor around him, his eyes too alert for Trip’s comfort. For a few seconds, those eyes shifted in his direction. He stopped manipulating the air, worried the man could see their boat. Or sense it. Trip didn’t think he had dragon blood, but that might be hard to gauge if it was a small amount.
A rumble came from the street near the head of the docks, and a steam carriage rolled up, the metal gleaming under the street lanterns. As new and modern as the latest Iskandian models in the capital, it seemed an anachronism in a city set a couple hundred years in the past in all other matters.
Most other matters, Trip amended, remembering those high-speed armored boats that had been powered by Referatu magical artifacts, not unlike Iskandian fliers.
Four cloaked and hooded figures stepped out of the carriage. The
night wasn’t cold, so there was little reason for the hoods, unless the people didn’t want to be seen.
Trip thought of the cultists and their raised hoods, but they favored white attire. These people wore darker clothing, and they chatted easily, a few laughs ringing out over the harbor. One laugh belonged to a woman. Was this the Silver Shark? She leaned against another figure, linking arms with him or her.
A couple of armed men also stepped out of the carriage. The broad-shouldered and silent types, they took up bodyguard positions.
On the warehouse barge, the guard dropped his cigarette, stamped it out, and hustled back inside.
Worried they wouldn’t have time to snoop, Trip channeled the wind again, moving the rowboat to the far side of the barge and out of view from the docks.
A word of warning, Telryn, Azarwrath said. The woman that just got out of the metal conveyance has dragon blood.
“It doesn’t look like we’ll have much time to snoop,” Rysha whispered, her gaze toward the docks.
Trip grimaced. “You’re right about that.”
5
Rysha climbed out of the rowboat and up the side of the barge, with Trip giving her a boost to reach the railing. Fortunately, it wasn’t that far above their heads. The waves were calm here in the harbor, and she doubted these vessels ever left its protected waters.
After turning the remains of the anchor into a chain and hook to secure their rowboat to the barge, Trip followed Rysha up to the deck. She marveled at his ingenuity, even if magical power gave him much more versatility than most engineers. Still, she wondered who else would have thought to dredge a boat from the bottom of the harbor and fix it up instead of “borrowing” one from somewhere else.
“Back door?” Rysha pointed toward the rear of the warehouse, the end opposite of where that guard had stepped out on deck. She didn’t know if such a door existed, but it was dark and shadowy back there, so she would prefer going that way.
Trip hesitated. “The animals are in the back half of the warehouse.”
“Are you worried they’ll bark?”
“Bark, growl, croak, roar. All of that.”
“Neither you nor the soulblades can magically soothe them?”
Rysha worried about dallying. She could hear the voices of the people who had arrived at the docks, and she also heard their steam carriage chug away. Rysha assumed they were coming out to the barges, and that she and Trip wouldn’t have much time to snoop.
“I’ll try.” Trip led the way down the narrow aisle between the wall and the railing. The majority of the barge was devoted to the warehouse, leaving little deck space. “That woman has dragon blood, so I’ll need to be careful about how much power I draw upon.”
Rysha rested her hand on Dorfindral’s hilt; an eager warmth emanated from it. The chapaharii blade had hummed on her hip as they’d approached the barge, no doubt aware of the animals if they had dragon blood. It seemed to know what they were talking about now because it thrummed under her touch, as if to say it was ready to guide her arms in battle.
“Can you tell if she’s a trained sorceress? Or would she be a shaman out here?” Rysha hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman and had no idea what nationality she was.
Trip didn’t answer right away. He was probably consulting the swords.
“We can’t read her,” he said as they rounded the back corner and headed for an unassuming metal door. “That means she knows how to protect her thoughts, so she’s had at least some training.”
Trip laid a hand on the door, not checking the latch, at least not in the usual way. A soft click sounded as a lock unbolted. He pulled the door open and stepped into the shadowy interior.
Rysha smelled hay and animal droppings as she followed him inside. Life stirred nearby, rustlings, soft growls, and hisses coming from both sides.
Trip walked slowly, his hands spread instead of resting on his sword hilts, and he seemed to radiate a placating sense of serenity. Even behind him and oblivious to magic, Rysha felt it. It made her want to stretch out on a sheepskin rug with him, their bare toes touching as they lounged in front of a crackling fire. Amused, she wondered if the animals were experiencing similar feelings.
Her fingers brushed cold metal bars, and something growled at her. Something large.
She hustled forward to stay closer to Trip. Even though Dorfindral’s battle-hungry signals were trying to override Trip’s suggestions of relaxation, Rysha had no desire to fight these creatures. She had no idea why they were caged up in here, but she immediately disliked the woman for keeping them imprisoned.
Trip paused, and in the dark, Rysha bumped into his back.
“What’s Dorfindral telling you about these animals?” he asked softly.
“It wants to kill them.”
“Anything else? Can it tell… I sense minor magical artifacts—is it called an artifact if it was made in modern times?—embedded in some of their chests.”
“My texts didn’t mention modern artifacts,” Rysha said. “Most of them were Iskandian textbooks and insisted magic and dragons didn’t exist anymore.” She almost launched into the three definitions her books had offered for historical magical artifacts—there were archaeological terms to differentiate between manmade and dragon-made ones, as well as devices of unknown origins—but she doubted Trip truly wanted an answer right now.
“I can’t tell what they do, but Jaxi and Azarwrath believe they’re for controlling the animals.”
“I guess that makes sense. If you were ever going to let that thing in the back that’s growling like a tiger out of its cage, you’d want a way to keep it from eating you.”
“It’s a lion. With wings.”
“Then it’s all the more likely to eat you.” The idea of a winged lion intrigued Rysha, but she also found it scientifically puzzling that such a creature could have evolved. “Though flying is technically cheaper, energetically speaking, than walking or running, heavy creatures aren’t designed to fly. It’s why birds and dragons have hollow bones. I suspect a lion with wings would have a tremendous metabolic tax when flying. Like hummingbirds, but even more so. Did you know that when hummingbirds hover, they use as much as eight times more energy than when at their basal metabolic rate? I can’t imagine how much effort a lion would have to expend to keep its body aloft. It would be ravenous all the time if it was flying often.” Realizing she was rambling and this wasn’t the time for it, she finished with, “Sorry, that information probably won’t be useful for finding your little sister. Or Dreyak’s murderer.”
“Perhaps not, but you’ve ensured I’m not going anywhere near that lion’s cage.”
“I aim to be helpful.”
They moved away from the cages and into an open area, and Rysha could make out a few shapes as the darkness grew less absolute. A door ahead of them stood partially ajar, letting in lantern light from whatever was in the next room. Trip headed toward the doorway, his boots barely stirring the straw that covered the floor. Without pausing, he stepped through, then turned toward the corner where a set of stairs rose along the wall and over the door they’d just come through.
Rysha peered ahead before following him, toward aisles and aisles lined with barrels, bolts of fabric, sacks of spices, grains, coffee beans, and who knew what else. The exotic scents in this area were far more appealing than the animal scents from the other room.
“Truly a warehouse,” she murmured, then clamped down on her tongue.
A chair scraped on the floor on the other side of all those aisles. From her spot, Rysha couldn’t see anyone, but lantern light was coming from the same direction as the noise, a corner near the far door. The guards likely had their card table set up there.
The Silver Shark is supposed to be a businesswoman, Trip said, responding telepathically. Someone successful enough to pay off the enforcers and have laws made. At least that’s the impression I got.
Is anyone upstairs? Rysha responded silently. Not that she minded his gentle touch in h
er mind. Even though he was only sharing words, she couldn’t help but remember the way he’d used a few tendrils of his magic when they’d slept together, touching her not just with his hands but with his mind. She lamented that they hadn’t had a private night together since their first one in the cavern, because she wanted to experience that—experience him—again.
No, not yet. There’s an office and a bedroom up here. If there are interesting documents, I’m sure they’ll be in one of those rooms.
I like interesting documents, Rysha thought, bringing her focus back to the mission.
I know you do.
A playful feeling of warmth trickled into her along with the words, and she wondered if he’d sensed her wandering thoughts. Probably. It was quiet back here, and they were close, so what would distract him?
The four people that arrived in the carriage are on a boat on the way out here now, Trip added, stopping in front of one of two doors on a landing that overlooked the rows of towering goods. We may only get a chance to snoop in one room. Office or bedroom?
Office. But didn’t you say you wanted to talk with the woman? This may be your chance.
Trip waved two fingers and again magicked the locked door open. That was before I knew she had dragon blood and could hide her thoughts. I’m not an expert on the old-fashioned way of interrogation.
They stepped into a tidy office, Trip closing the door behind them, and the warmth from a fire burning in a stove wrapped around them. Two large oil paintings hung on the back wall, and Rysha stared at them in surprised recognition, a pair of nearby lanterns providing enough illumination to see the landscapes. Though she hadn’t traveled to Cofahre, she’d seen illustrations in books and knew the huge—and distinctive—granite mounds framing Lake Fallen Armies. She also recognized the Blood Fields with their signature orangish-red grasses and blue flowers.
“This woman is either from Cofahre or quite taken with it,” Rysha said, aware of Trip moving straight to a desk and bookcases full of ledgers and scrolls.
Unraveled: Heritage of Power, Book 4 Page 6
