“We can fast if necessary,” Borti said. “It helps with visions and meditation.”
Horti poked him and gestured with his hands.
“My brother agrees,” Borti said.
Horti shook his head vigorously and raised a fist.
Borti grinned. “Actually, he said I could fast and that he would eat my share.”
“Just… get on board.” The captain’s sigh was on the long-suffering side. He turned to walk up the gangplank but paused as startled shouts arose from a ship docked farther up the pier.
Zenia sucked in a startled gasp, and her fingers tightened around her dragon tear.
Jev turned in time to see two men in gray-and-white watch uniforms walking along a gangplank ahead of a troll, whose wrists were bound with heavy iron shackles. His feet and tattooed chest were bare, and he wore only a kilt. His shaggy white hair hung halfway down his back and shadowed his face.
Two more watchmen walked behind the blue-skinned troll, pointing pistols at his bare back.
“What ship is that?” Jev asked the captain—Yug had stopped halfway up the gangplank and was also watching.
“The Shifting Sky,” Yug said. “It’s been in dock the whole time we’ve been here—three days. Why would there have been a troll onboard?”
“It’s not a freighter, is it?”
“Merchant ship out of Drovak. It—”
The two watchmen leading the troll abruptly pitched to the side, falling off the gangplank. The troll roared and spun, ramming the men behind him with his shoulders. His wrists were still shackled, but that didn’t stop him from delivering powerful blows with his muscled arms.
Pistols fired, but Jev couldn’t tell if bullets struck the troll or if he knocked the weapons aside first.
Jev drew his sword and started toward the ship, but Horti and Borti charged past at a dead sprint, drawing weapons of their own—a pair of one-handed axes for Horti and a mace and dagger for Borti.
The troll sprang off the gangplank and ran down the pier, straight at the former monks. He roared again, and a wall of wind blasted in from the side. Even from two dozen yards away, it whipped at Jev’s hair. It hit the twins like a solid wall, and their feet left the pier as they were hurled over the side.
“Shaman,” Jev blurted, though it was a statement of the obvious.
He hoped Zenia’s dragon tear would help, for with the twins out of the way, the troll ran straight toward them. Jev positioned himself so the troll couldn’t angle toward Zenia. Jev couldn’t imagine why the escaped prisoner would want her, but a protective urge welled up inside of him, and he lifted the elven blade, prepared to defend her with his life.
“Syshax,” he whispered, the word to activate the sword.
The silver glow that emanated from the blade wasn’t that noticeable in the bright sunlight, but the troll must have sensed the magic, because his step faltered. His gray eyes slitted, and his lips peeled back in a snarl. He picked up speed again.
Jev braced himself. He was aware of shouts coming from both ends of the pier and of guards charging up from behind him, but for the next few seconds, he would be alone against the troll.
Or so he thought. Three steps away, as Jev prepared to swing, the troll veered away. He ran and jumped off the side of the pier and disappeared into the water between two docked ships.
Jev took a step, thinking of leaping into the water after the troll—how fast could the prisoner swim with his hands shackled?—but gunfire rang out, and he halted. The watchmen who’d been charging up the pier ran to the spot where the troll had leaped off and fired into the water.
Careful not to get in the way, Jev stepped up to the edge of the pier. The troll hadn’t reappeared yet, so the watchmen were simply guessing with their shots. Thinking their enemy might swim under the pier and come up on the other side, Jev jogged over to take a look. He passed Zenia, who stood with her eyes closed, blue light leaking out between her fingers as she gripped her dragon tear.
Shouts came from the deck of their steamer. The troll’s head popped out of the water near its bow.
Jev reached for his pistol, but more of the troll rose out of the water. More than should have been possible.
The shaman twisted and kicked, his wild white hair whipping about in wet chunks as he flailed as much as he could with his wrists bound. He kept rising, and Jev glanced at Zenia. Her eyes were still closed, but he had little doubt she was responsible.
“He’s over here,” Jev yelled—the watchmen were still firing into the water on the other side of the pier.
The gunshots halted, and as the men ran over, the troll floated into the air above their heads.
“Don’t fire,” Jev ordered as several of them took aim. “He’s a captive prisoner.” He stepped over beside Zenia. “He is captive, right?”
She nodded without opening her eyes. “They may want to knock him unconscious, though, as he clearly has magical powers and might get away again.”
The troll collapsed onto the pier in the middle of the group. A weight seemed to land on his back because he couldn’t rise. The watchmen hesitated and glanced at Zenia. She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful for a moment. Was she communicating with her dragon tear?
The gem must have done something, because the troll stopped moving, all the tension slipping out of his limbs. He lay crumpled on the pier as if he’d fallen asleep.
“You can take him now,” Zenia said to the senior-ranking watchman. “Be careful with him. I was too busy capturing him to see many of his thoughts, but I got the impression that he is a spy and fears he’ll be in grave trouble with his people because he’s been captured.”
“I knew it,” one of the watchmen who’d been escorting the troll growled. He came up, waving for his people to grab their prisoner, then bowed to Zenia. “My thanks, Zyndari. We had no idea he could wield magic and would be so dangerous.”
“You’re welcome, and it’s Captain Cham.”
“Zyndari Captain, of course.” The watchman bowed to her again and jogged to help his comrades before she could correct him.
“Why would he assume…?” She frowned and looked at Jev, then glanced at his blade.
Realizing it was still glowing and that he still clenched it, Jev sheathed the sword. “Likely because you’re not wearing an inquisitor robe, and typically only someone from the zyndar class would have a dragon tear that powerful. Or maybe it’s just that haughty little tilt of your chin that you do so well.” He winked at her.
“My chin isn’t haughty.” She touched it and lowered it almost to her chest. After a brief baleful glare, she shifted her gaze to the departing party.
Jev spotted a familiar figure gliding up the pier, a dark green cloak wrapped around his body and a hood pulled low to throw his face into shadows, even on the bright sunny morning. A couple of the watchmen glanced at him, but if they found his attire suspicious, they didn’t stop to question him. His skin wasn’t blue, and they had a more concerning prisoner to worry about. Jev wondered how long it would take for the watch and the population as a whole to learn to recognize Lornysh as the new elven ambassador and, therefore, someone they shouldn’t harass.
For some reason, Lornysh carried a pack over his shoulder. He wasn’t planning on coming along, was he? The day before, Jev had spoken with him, and he’d said he had too much to do here now that he had official responsibilities, including overseeing the rebuilding of the elven embassy.
“You missed a fight with a troll,” Jev said as Lornysh came to a stop in front of them, keeping his hood up.
“I don’t think I get to battle trolls anymore,” Lornysh said. “I have to invite them to my office for tea to discuss international concerns like civilized people.”
“You don’t have an office yet,” Jev noted.
“The rubble has been cleared.”
“So, it’s an open-concept office, eh?”
“Does it count as a fight if all you did was stand in the way and wave your sword?” Zenia
asked, her tone distracted, as she was still watching the troll. The watchmen had reached the boardwalk and were leading their prisoner toward a waiting steam wagon.
“If doing so caused my enemy to wet himself and flee,” Jev said, “it certainly does.”
“I don’t think he got wet until he landed in the water.”
“Did your dragon tear tell you that?” Jev asked.
“I didn’t ask. We don’t spend a lot of time sharing thoughts of our enemies’ urinary habits.”
Lornysh lifted his gaze toward the sky. “This morning, I was regretting that I wouldn’t get to go with you. I’m less regretful after listening to you two talk.”
“Don’t envy us, Lornysh,” Jev said. “One day, you too will find a woman with whom you can engage in the romantic talk of lovers.”
Zenia snorted.
Lornysh’s lips flattened, and Jev remembered too late that his friend had lost his elven love. He wished he could retract the joke.
“I should go with them and volunteer to question the shaman further,” Zenia said, waving toward the watchmen. “To see if I can get information out of him about why he’s here. I hate to delay my quest, but it could be important.”
Jev opened his mouth and almost said that the watch could handle that, or that they would bring in an inquisitor with a dragon tear designed for mind-reading, but he believed Zenia’s dragon tear was more powerful than anything anyone in the city had. And it was also possible the watch wouldn’t be as competent as he would hope and that this news wouldn’t make it to Targyon.
“Go ahead. I’ll tell the captain that we need to wait a couple of hours.” Jev thought of the troll scouting party that he, Zenia, and Lornysh had dealt with scant weeks earlier. From what they had determined, it had been the forefront of a full-fledged invasion force. Even though they had ousted the scouts, and the reports sent to the Crown Agents’ office had said troll, orc, and ogre activity had quieted of late, Targyon was worried the troops might still be waiting overseas somewhere, ready to be sent in.
“Good. Thank you.” Zenia waved at Lornysh, touched Jev on the arm, and trotted off after the watchmen and their prisoner.
“I’m sorry about that joke about lovers,” Jev said quietly when he and Lornysh were alone. “I didn’t think, uhm. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Lornysh sighed. “I liked it better when I hadn’t told you anything of my past.”
“Does that mean you accept my apology?”
“It means you didn’t need to give one. Just forget about… everything.”
About the woman he’d loved and planned to marry who was now dead? Jev didn’t know if he could do that, but he nodded, accepting that Lornysh didn’t want to speak about it with him. If Lornysh hadn’t been under the influence of a painkiller the night he’d been wounded, he might never have brought up his past.
“What brings you to my posh new ship?” Jev waved at the steamer.
“It’s yours?”
“It’s Targyon’s. Once he learned he had a ship, he was pleased to lend it to Zenia and me.”
“How long did it take him to learn he owned it?” Lornysh asked.
“He found out yesterday when I was lamenting that we’d have to take three different ships to find our way to Izstara shores. His secretary told him. Apparently, he has three steamers. The perks of being king.”
Lornysh grunted and swung the bag off his shoulder. “I brought you a few items that might help with your quest. Humans aren’t loved where you’re going.”
“I’ve heard.” Jev thought about pointing out that they hadn’t been loved in Taziira and had managed to survive, but since they’d started a war there with Lornysh’s people, it was perhaps not the most tactful thing to bring up. “I’m confident we’ll make it. We have Zenia’s dragon tear, Cutter’s hammer, three former monks, and this new sword of mine.” Jev tapped the hilt of the magical elf blade. “I suspect all the orcs and trolls of Izstara are trembling in fear right now.”
“If cockiness is the ally you plan to take on your journey, I’ll start building your funeral cairn now.”
“You do have all that extra rubble.”
Lornysh gave him an exasperated look. Jev held up his hands in an apology. He was being cocky. Or maybe perky, as Zenia had called it. He was excited to leave the capital—and all the problems that haunted him here—behind and didn’t want to think about the possibility of death.
“I’m sorry,” he said more soberly. “What did you bring?”
“Magical elven artifacts.” Lornysh pulled some wooden carvings out of his bag and held them up.
They featured unicorns, squirrels, stags, and other woodland creatures. They were decently crafted, but the workmanship seemed poor by elven standards. Jev had also never heard of wooden items being imbued with magic.
“You just happened to have a collection of them in the nightstand next to your bed?” Jev asked.
“I don’t have a nightstand. Or a bed, currently.”
“An open-air office and an open-air bedroom? The ambassadorial life isn’t as posh as I expected.” Jev held up a carved squirrel. “Am I correct in assuming these are fake but that you think I should play the role of a tradesman and attempt to pass them off as real?”
“Simply attempt to sell them. If you show up in Izstara for no apparent reason, you’ll arouse suspicion. It’s already unwise that you’re going in a state-of-the-art steamship. You’ll be targeted for theft, if not kidnapping and blackmail. Or worse.”
“But wooden squirrels will help?”
Lornysh gave him a flat look and thrust the bag toward him. It was surprisingly heavy.
“There are tins of curry and mint too,” Lornysh said. “Some of your local spices appeal to the palates of other races and will sell quite well. Try them before the carvings, which are, as you deduced, a hoax. I thought the natives might find it believable that you had yourself been hoaxed and look on you with pity or contempt rather than finding you dangerous and worth killing.”
“Thanks. I think.” Jev juggled the bag so he could carry it along with Zenia’s belongings. “Is curry the reason you’re staying?”
Lornysh’s eyes glinted with humor for the first time. “It’s not the companionship of the people.”
Jev wondered if spices were what had caused the elven princess to visit and listen to Targyon reciting poetry.
“Be careful out there, Jev,” Lornysh said more gravely. “I regret that I can’t make the trip with you. I think you’ll need all the help you can get.”
“I will be careful. Despite my cockiness.” Jev gripped his friend’s arm. “Thank you.”
As Jev carried the bag and Zenia’s belongings onto the ship, he wondered how concerned he should be that everyone thought this expedition would be deadly.
3
“You could have asked me before inviting them,” Rhi said, smacking her bo against her palm as she sat cross-legged on her bunk.
Zenia, lying on the bunk opposite hers and wishing her stomach would grow less queasy, said, “They’re as big and burly as ogres. Why wouldn’t you want them along?”
“They’re weird. The mute one races rats. The chatty one breeds them. That’s their brotherly hobby that they partake in together when they’re not training. I heard they meditate for advice from the founders on which rats will make the most promising racers and win the competitions.”
“There are competitions for such things?”
“Monthly races down by the docks. People put money on which rat can navigate a maze the quickest.”
“I suppose there are worse forms of entertainment.” Zenia eyed a green glass buoy wrapped in a net that hung from the ceiling as a decoration. She wished it would sway less. “I’m encouraged that they do something innocuous like that instead of more dubious pastimes.”
“Rat-racing can end up in fistfights, and there was even a murder once. There’s a lot of money on those races. How were you never called in to investigate them?”
“It’s a mystery.”
Zenia closed her eyes and rested her hand on her stomach, wondering if seasickness was something that went away after the first day, or if she would have to look for a bucket every afternoon. She’d been out on a fishing boat once, but the waters had been calm, and she didn’t remember having any problems. It wasn’t storming, and the sky was blue outside her porthole, so she was surprised the waves were going up and down—with their ship carried along for the ride—to such a strong degree. Rhi didn’t seem bothered by it.
At first, Zenia had been disappointed that the captain had put Jev in a cabin with Cutter, since it could have been her and Jev’s first time to sleep in the same space together and see what it was like to talk quietly as they dozed off—and maybe do a few more physical things before dozing off. But if she ended up throwing up all over the riveted metal deck, she would rather do it in front of Rhi.
She just hoped she could rally enough to read the books she’d borrowed from the castle library, three tomes on the tribes, cities, and animals typical on the northern end of Izstara. Right now, even thinking of looking at words made her stomach churn, so they were still tucked in her pack. If she grew desperate enough, maybe she could talk Rhi or Jev into reading to her. She wanted to know what they were in for before they arrived.
A knock sounded at the hatch.
“I hope that’s not those weirdoes asking if we want to participate in rat races,” Rhi said.
“Can you let whoever it is in?” Zenia felt worse when she stood up, and since she hadn’t gone searching for a bucket yet, she worried about the possible result if she did so.
“Come in,” Rhi bellowed.
“I could have done that,” Zenia murmured.
“Doubtful. You look too wan to yell.”
The metal hatch opened with a clunk, and Jev stuck his head in.
“Is everyone decent?” he asked. “Is it safe to come in?”
“That depends. Zenia looks like she’s about to puke, and since I haven’t seen her do that before, I’m not sure what her range is. How strongly do you feel about those shoes?”
Dragon Tear (Agents of the Crown Book 5) Page 3
