MindMage: BlackWing Pirates, Book 2

by Connie Suttle

  MindMage

  BlackWing Pirates, Book 2

  Connie Suttle

  SubtleDemon Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  22. List of Characters and Places

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Connie Suttle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  As always, this book is a result of collaboration. If it weren’t for the support of my editor, my cover artist and my beta readers, it would be less than it is. All mistakes, as usual, are mine and no other’s.

  ISBN-10: 1-63478-003-5

  ISBN-13: 978-1-63478-003-2

  To Walter, Joe, Larry, Sarah, Lee, Dianne and Mark

  Thank you

  Chapter One

  Falchan

  Randl Gage

  "That's not scary." Salidar DeLuca shook his head as I used a finger to turn the three-dimensional image I'd created. "I've never seen anybody touch their images, and I know plenty of powerful people."

  "Maybe they've never tried. This is my dream from last night," I added, surveying the image from all angles, searching for a clue as to what actually happened.

  The scene was from Bornelus—the same place where nearly a year earlier, a massive, concrete block, filled with the skeletons of sacrificed humanoids, had been removed from the planet. The following night, the empty pit had been filled in, as if by a giant, magical hand.

  Today, that same pit had been almost half-emptied of the dirt that filled it. There was no explanation for it. No reason for doing it, either, unless the Prophet wanted to announce his return.

  That made no sense, either. Why would he advertise his presence anywhere, especially if he wanted to attack the Joint Alliances Conclave again?

  For me, nearly six years had gone by, as I'd ended up on Falchan five years in the past after facing off against the Prophet. Salidar was waiting on Falchan for me, to train me in the art of the blade and many other disciplines, before sending me after the Prophet again.

  I'd been ill-prepared the first time I'd gone against the Prophet, and only luck and Zaria's medallion had kept me alive.

  Salidar had focused my time and energy most of these six years, but I'd searched for the Prophet and honed my mage skills in any free time I had.

  I still considered the Prophet a sorcerer, who also held the skills of a necromancer. That would frighten even the bravest among us. Somewhere in Queen Lissa's dungeon on Le-Ath Veronis, two reanimated corpses were held inside an impermeable glass prison.

  They hadn't moved after the Prophet's disappearance.

  They also hadn't decomposed. Not only had I asked Salidar for that information, but I'd searched for it mentally, finding it easily enough.

  As a result, I found myself hoping that the Prophet couldn't see those bodies so easily. It could make Queen Lissa a target. She was powerful, but the Prophet was an unknown, and I had no idea whether he could harm her or those about her.

  If he were determined enough, he could find someone to harm; I understood that quite well.

  "Your time is winding down, you know," Salidar interrupted my thoughts.

  "I know." He'd taught me much in the time we'd been given. "My concern is how to explain this to Director Griff, Travis and Trent." I deliberately left Sabrina off that list—I'd come to realize she wasn't for me, and did my best to let that heartache go.

  "I don't think it'll be hard," Sal shrugged. "It may be harder to explain those blades you forged for yourself."

  "You were the one to tell me the tale of the hero whose weapon nobody else could carry," I pointed out.

  "But that's fiction—a fairy tale of sorts. You made it real, and I still haven't figured out how."

  "How many advancements started out as fiction?" I turned a steady gaze on him.

  "True," he conceded with a shrug.

  BlackWing X

  Sabrina Kend

  "Captain Anderson," I dipped my head to BlackWing VII's commander. She'd been transported aboard X to discuss recent events on Bornelus.

  "Dori," Travis grinned as he swooped into the Captain's cubby, where Captain Anderson and I waited for Travis and Trent.

  "Good to see you, Trav," she grinned back at him.

  "What's happening with Bornelus?" Travis asked her.

  "Micro-drones transmitted disturbed ground where the concrete block used to be," Dori replied. Her short, curly blonde hair suited her, and with blue eyes, I figured she drew plenty of looks.

  Something about her, however, felt dangerous. As if she had claws and was prepared to strike if anyone made an improper move.

  "Dori," Trent folded into the Captain's cubby, rather than bothering to walk from his cabin.

  "Hey, Trent," Dori nodded at Travis' twin.

  "Dori's telling me that the ground has been disturbed around the concrete block's former resting place on Bornelus," Travis brought Trent up to speed.

  "Anything other than disturbed ground?" Trent asked. He pulled a chair closer to the Captain's desk and sat, flipping his long, black braid over a shoulder.

  "It's ah, really disturbed," Dori explained.

  "In what way?" Travis asked.

  "As in the hole is more than a third empty, now. Images from last night show the hole filled in and grass and weeds growing over it. This morning, a big chunk of it is gone, along with grass, weeds, tree roots—everything."

  "That's a disturbance, all right," Travis rubbed his chin. "No explanation, I take it?"

  "None. We've been ordered not to approach the planet. Kooper wants bigger drones sent tomorrow."

  "It's been almost a year since the concrete block disappeared," I pointed out. That wasn't the only thing that had been gone almost as long.

  Travis held out hope that Randl was alive. I wasn't so sure, and as more time passed, any hope I'd had dwindled to nothing.

  Trent stood with his brother on this, and I'd learned to stop arguing with them. Randl wasn't coming back; they merely refused to admit it.

  "Does this mean the Prophet is back?" Dori asked the question we were all pondering.

  "That would be a logical assumption," Travis rumbled. He wasn't happy; I could hear it in his voice. "Kooper asked us to meet with you and proceed to Bornelus. Larger drones will be sent to the surface then to take samples. XII is on the way, too, in case we need backup."

  XII had a science crew aboard—it made sense that they'd come if they were available.

  "I talked to Mom," Trent said. "So far, not a twitch from Akrinn and Lorvis' bodies—they're still crumpled where they fell after the Prophet was blown off Pyrik."

  "Maybe he's forgotten them. I would have," Dori shrugged.

  "I was hoping that those bodies would be the gauge for the Prophet's returning strength," Trent shook his head. "As long as they were unmoving, it gave me hope that the Prophet hadn't recovered. I suppose it's too much to assume he'd ne
ver recover." That statement was followed by a heavy sigh. "They never decomposed, though. Mom says so."

  How Lissa found time to report on Akrinn and Lorvis' undead existence baffled me—she was a Queen with council meetings and two new babies to keep her busy. I'd seen images of Wayne William and Willow Wynter—they were as cute as any babies ever, but they were a handful, no doubt.

  Travis and Trent were googly-eyed—their term, not mine—over their brother and sister, and showed me new images whenever they got them, which was often. Winkler sent them more frequently than Lissa, if I understood things correctly.

  During the past year, too, I learned that Travis and Trent had asked someone to mute their attraction to me, so we wouldn't carry things too far. The explanation was this—that they didn't want disruptions on the ship, or the possibility that there could be accusations of favoritism.

  That meant I had more than two years to go on my stint for the ASD, which included forced celibacy.

  I'd been offered a mute on my affections, as Karzac the physician termed it, but I'd refused.

  I was beginning to regret that decision.

  A lot.

  I wished for Randl during the worst times—to talk to. To get me through the worst of my physical cravings.

  David, of all people, told me how wrong that would be, if Randl were still alive. Randl had been in love with me, and I'd completely missed that about him. I felt guilty, too, that he'd experience the same pain I felt.

  It's a moot point, I scolded myself. Randl is gone.

  Bornelus

  Randl

  I'd waited until Salidar was asleep before transporting myself to the deserted planet. Night was just falling on this portion of the planet, with a weak sliver of moon hanging low in the sky.

  Insects and night birds were singing and calling—I had myself shielded so well they'd never realize someone had come. Wind moved tree branches not far away, their hushing sounds adding to what should have been a peaceful night on Bornelus.

  Sometime during the second year of my training with Salidar, I'd learned to fold space. He'd urged me to try it, after I'd demonstrated other skills only a warlock or a wizard might achieve.

  Folding space was terrifying at first until I became used to it, because there is a moment of the darkest dark, where even my mindsight won't reveal anything. I'd never been in such conditions before, and it still unsettled me.

  Nevertheless, folding space is now a part of my gifts.

  Kneeling on the ground beside the unusual excavation, I placed my hand upon the dirt and plant detritus at the edge. Like the graves the Prophet had emptied, this was precisely cut into the earth, as if he couldn't bear the concept of a ragged removal. Every root and stray twig had been excised as if by a laser.

  Snorting softly to myself at the imagined obsessive foibles of a mass murderer, I reached out with my mind to discover what I could about his unusual revisiting of this killing ground.

  Yes, I could sense that he'd been here the moment I arrived. It had been too optimistic to hope that he'd disappeared forever.

  I blinked as the images came to me—of him, spreading his arms and commanding the dirt to disappear—neatly, of course. Nothing more came, however. I was still as confused about this act as I'd been before my arrival on Bornelus.

  Deep in the ground, however, and not far away, lay more of the creatures that attacked us when we'd first come to Bornelus. They were waiting for someone—anyone—to arrive. I'd hidden my presence from prying eyes, or they'd have sensed me.

  Standing and stretching, I considered that perhaps there was a reason for this after all. Director Griff would surely send someone to examine this new twist in the Prophet's plans.

  It was a trap.

  I had a decision to make. Reveal my continued existence to him and those coming to Bornelus, or let them walk blindly into the death or subjugation the Prophet planned for them.

  Just in time to throw the ASD into chaos before the rescheduled Joint Alliances Conclave.

  Reaching out with my senses, I searched for Director Griff's current location, then folded space to Le-Ath Veronis.

  New Fangled Bar and Restaurant, Le-Ath Veronis

  Kooper Griff

  "What do you think it means?" Kell asked. He and Opal had joined me for a drink at New Fangled, to discuss the latest events concerning the Prophet and Bornelus.

  "No idea. There's no reason for it, as far as I can see." I tossed back the shot of bourbon and waited for it to burn a path to my stomach. "I have three ships on the way now; X, VII and XII."

  "Probably a good idea," Opal agreed. She'd settled for a glass of wine, while Kell and I had our favorite bourbon. I barely paid attention to the man who settled on the barstool next to mine; I merely put up a shield to make our conversation private.

  "It won't do any good," he said while nodding to the comesula bartender to give him the same thing I was having.

  I went still with shock. He'd been gone nearly a year, and most people thought he was dead.

  I slammed back another shot of bourbon before turning toward him. "Why are you here?" I croaked. "Now?" I added.

  "Had some things to learn," he shrugged. He looked older, somehow. I began to have suspicions that he'd been gone more than ten months—in his existence. I wished I had a way to contact Zaria, because she'd surely known where and when Randl had been. "Besides, I had to come now to warn you," he went on. "Sending those ships to Bornelus is sending them into a trap."

  "Fuck." I pulled my comp-vid from a pocket and began tapping messages. Randl set a clay container in front of me while I warned the ships to stay well back from Bornelus' orbit—and sent mindspeech at the same time to those aboard the ships who could receive it.

  "What's this?" I asked, once I'd gotten replies from all three BlackWing ships. I nodded at the clay pot.

  "Soil samples I just took from the hole. Won't be any different from the many other soil samples you've taken during the past year or so." Randl thanked the bartender and lifted his glass of bourbon to me.

  "A trap. I should have guessed," I let my shoulders sag.

  "He wants your ships, Director," Randl's sightless eyes bored into mine. "And your people—dead or alive, it doesn't matter."

  "Fucking, bloody, ass-scraping hells," I cursed.

  "Agreed." Kell said. He'd been listening carefully with Opal at his side. Both nodded at me before raising their glasses to Randl.

  "Wait—you can fold space?"

  "Yes." Randl emptied his glass and thumped it on the bar, letting the bartender know he wanted another shot. "And a shit load of other things, too," he added.

  "You learned a lot from Travis and Trent," I observed. Shit load was one of Lissa's favorite terms, and most of her children used it regularly.

  "Didn't learn it from them," Randl lifted his second shot and tossed it back.

  "Who, then?"

  "Can't say. Sorry, Director."

  "Are you back, then?"

  "I think so. I sent mindspeech. Haven't heard back, yet."

  "I'll put your back pay in your account."

  "Thank you. I probably need clothing."

  "I'll have uniforms made."

  "Then I'll buy the civilian clothes I need."

  "Can I ask you to report to X in three days?"

  "If there isn't a problem. I'll let you know if there is. By the way, can we reverse the trap?" He lifted an eyebrow at me.

  "How?" I frowned at him. That thought hadn't occurred to me.

  "You send in old junkers disguised as the newest model ASD cruisers. Set them to detonate the minute anybody sets foot on them."

  I held my breath for a count of five. "How soon?" I asked after slowly releasing a sigh.

  "Two days should do it. It'll piss him off, but we need to let him know we won't fall for all his shit."

  "I'll see what I can do." My words were dry.

  "Thanks. I have errands to run. I'll let you know whether joining X is an option."


  "Make it soon," I said as Randl rose, dropped a credit chip on the bar and walked out.

  Avii Castle, Le-Ath Veronis

  Quin

  "Brandl?" Dena and I walked into the office he kept at Avii Castle. He'd spent most of his time here after Randl disappeared. He'd never given up hope that Randl was alive, however.

  He and I shared that notion.

  Brandl looked up from his comp-vid—he was working late, as he usually did. His light-brown hair was sprinkled with more silver than it held a year earlier, and his eyes were clouded by a deeper sadness.

  "Queen Quin," Brandl rose quickly from his chair and dipped his head respectfully.

  "Brandl, you're a friend and you don't have to do that," I pointed out for perhaps the hundredth time. "Besides, I have good news."

  "What good news?" he blinked curiously at me.

  "I heard from Randl. He'll be here in an hour."

  Brandl went still with shock, his mouth open. I think he forgot to breathe for several moments. I was prepared, in case a short bout of healing was necessary.

  "Pap?"

  Randl arrived early, surprising all of us.

  Chapter Two

  Avii Castle, Le-Ath Veronis

  Randl

  Quin and Dena left when Pap started crying and wouldn't let me go. After a few moments, I felt my own tears dripping onto my cheeks.

  I hadn't seen Pap for nearly six years. At least I'd known he was alive; he hadn't known that about me. "I'm so sorry, Pap," I apologized, my words cracked and whispered.

  "I'm happy, Son," he squeezed me again before letting me go. "Probably look like a mess," he wiped wetness from his cheeks.

  "You look like my Pap," I said. "And I love you, no matter what."

  "Are you hungry?" It was the standard parent's question for a child, I think.

  "Yeah. I just had two drinks on an empty stomach, so food wouldn't hurt."

  "Come on, let's go to the kitchen, then, to see what we can get."

  What we could get turned out to be a hot roast-beef sandwich, an idea which Avii Castle's cooks had borrowed from Queen Lissa's kitchen. It consisted of toasted bread, topped with plenty of shredded roast beef and covered with delicious brown gravy. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until my first bite.