“The rest of the crew escaped too,” Arayevo told him, “but they’re taking their time arriving.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Yanko was the one responsible. He made it possible for us all to escape.”
Arayevo beamed at Yanko, and he stood taller, thrusting his chest out. Maybe that kiss hadn’t meant anything, after all. Or maybe it had something to do with the smuggler’s nationality, whatever it was. Yanko had read that some cultures were very open with physical affection and that even men exchanged kisses.
“Is that so?” Minark eyed him from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the robe.
Yanko needed to take off the garment. What were the odds that he would receive his own private cabin on the ship where he might hide out below decks and study for most of the trip? He had promised to help crew the vessel if necessary, but maybe enough of Minark’s men would return, so that would not be needed.
“As agreed,” Yanko replied. “I assume your offer still stands. How soon can we leave for Kyatt?”
“You’re a pushy brat, aren’t you?”
Alas, he had been downgraded from kid back to brat again. Apparently, the captain was one man who wasn’t impressed by warrior mage robes. Or maybe he had Yanko pegged for a fake by now.
“Trouble is coming,” Yanko said. “Leaving before dawn would be wise.”
“Guess what, kid? Trouble is here.” Minark flung a hand toward the blockade, then dug something out of his pocket. “Here. Take a look at what you would have to get us through. Fog isn’t going to work, not here.” He tossed something at Yanko’s face.
Yanko caught the hard cylinder. A spyglass. He extended it and walked to the railing for a better look at the ships.
“He can help, Captain,” Arayevo said. “He’s talented.”
“Talented at what? A few hours ago, he was pretending to be a bard. Now he’s a warrior mage? One who barely looks old enough to have weaned himself from his mother’s teats?”
“A bard?” Arayevo chortled.
Yanko sighed as he extended the spyglass for a look. Yes, Arayevo of all people knew he couldn’t sing. He found the first of the warships at the north end of the harbor, anchored south of the big rock jetty. Not only were the running lamps lit, but men patrolled the decks alertly. They wore the uniforms of the Nurian army, red with blue trim. The two sailors he spotted wore the greens and grays of naval officers. A true rebellion from within. What if the entire military had been siphoned away from the existing government somehow? The civil war wouldn’t last long if there was nobody left fighting on the Great Chief’s side.
Yanko was about to move on to the next ship, but the spyglass chanced across a robed woman standing on the forecastle deck. A red robe. Warrior mage.
He grimaced and shifted the spyglass away from her, afraid she might sense his visual intrusion. Then he stepped behind a lifeboat, realizing that someone out there might be looking across at him and noting his red robe. From behind cover, he continued his scan. Maybe the other ships would have less alert crews. It was the middle of the night, after all.
But similar personnel patrolled the decks of the other ships, ships bristling with cannons and harpoon launchers, in addition to what the mages could bring to a battle. All of the military personnel were armed with swords and bows, ready to engage in battle at any moment. Not every vessel claimed a red-robed mage, but every one had a magic user on watch, many weather or fire specialists. Since it was the middle of the night, that probably meant one or two more rested below decks. In the general population, the gifted only made up one in a hundred people, but military duty was a requirement for most who went to the mage schools, including Stargrind, so it wasn’t surprising that a greater number of them would be on the warships. And had all of these people agreed to rebel? Or had some of them simply been dragged along by their captains? So long as they were willing to follow orders, it didn’t matter.
“You think a few wisps of fog will fool them, kid?” Minark asked, ambling over.
“If it’s spread widely enough, they might not find us in it until we’ve already passed. You said this was a fast ship, didn’t you?”
“It’s fast. But nobody’s faster than a cannonball. Or an irritated mage.” Minark plucked at the shoulder of Yanko’s robe. “A real mage.”
Dak must not have found the smuggler threatening, for he didn’t run over to loom behind Yanko this time. He had procured a spyglass, as well, and was leaning against the railing, watching the warships.
Yanko removed Minark’s hand, tempted to use more force than necessary, but in addition to those charms, the smuggler carried pistols and a cutlass on his belt, the butts and hilt worn from much handling. Yanko’s sparring was improving, but he had only been in combat once now; Minark probably saw real combat on a weekly basis.
“Find your crew,” Yanko said, “and I’ll worry about the warships.”
“I’m not letting my ship get shot to the bottom of the harbor for you.”
“You said you’d give us passage if I freed your crew. Does your word mean so little to you?” Yanko had used a similar tactic on Dak, and it had worked, but he didn’t know if the captain had an honorable streak.
His jaw tight, Minark gazed over his shoulder toward Arayevo. She smiled and nodded back at him.
“You better figure out something good, kid.” Minark stalked away, tapping three times at a bugle-shaped charm on his belt. That was one of the trinkets that was more than decorative, with a faint energy humming about it. “Put out the lights, Arayevo. We don’t want anyone noticing our ship over here, not if we’ll be moving soon.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Yanko might have been relieved, but he was too busy dealing with a fresh wave of nerves. Now he had to find a way past those ships.
One of the coyotes in a cage yapped at the moon. Yanko rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Maybe a couple of distractions piled atop each other? Get the warships looking toward the docks, and they might not notice a ship slipping out between them?
He wished it was a cloudier night. A talented weather mage might be able to bring in a small, compact storm, but tampering with the weather on a large scale was always discouraged, since it tended to have unpleasant consequences. If the makings for real fog were in the air, he could have helped them along, but a steady breeze swept down the shoreline. It would be hard to make his fog linger. Maybe smoke would be better. If something were burning, it might produce enough smoke to hide them. But there was nothing out there to burn except for ships. Yanko eyed the Kendorian freighter wreck Dak had pointed out.
“There’s Maw and Garolok,” Arayevo said from the railing, pointing to the boardwalk.
Minark nodded as if he had expected nothing less. The bugle charm. It must be keyed to his crew members to call them back. Indeed, two more men ran out of an alley and headed for their dock. Yanko would have been impressed by their eagerness to return to duty, but then two women shaking their fists stepped out of the same alley.
“If you can’t pay, don’t come sampling our wares,” one bellowed after him.
Yanko dropped his face into his hand. He hoped the watchmen on the warships were observing the sea instead of the docks. With most of the waterfront asleep, all the activity around Minark’s ship was sure to be noticed.
Dak walked over and joined Yanko at the railing. “Can you ignite black powder?”
Since it came out of nowhere, the question surprised him. “Not with a match, I assume you mean?”
“From a distance.”
“Depends on how far a distance.”
Dak gazed toward the warships. “They’ll have armories. Kegs of powder for the cannons.”
“Oh.” Yanko shuddered at the idea of blowing up a ship full of people. Rebels or not, they were Nurians. And human beings. “I—do you think your friend’s old freighter might still have some black powder in it? I’d been thinking that I could burn that vessel without hurting anyone.”
Dak shifted his gaze
down to Yanko.
“I know Nurians are all... the enemy to you,” Yanko said, “but these are my people. The prison was already a mistake. I never meant to help criminals. Or become one myself.”
“The freighter might not have been salvaged, since it’s so close to those warships. And since it hasn’t been out there long. It does have a few cannons, so there may be stores below decks.”
“Good,” Yanko said, in response to the information and also to the fact that Dak hadn’t called him a sissy or a hypocrite. “I’ll see if I can find them.”
Yanko spent the next fifteen minutes in the shadows—Minark’s orders to douse the lamps had been followed—sensing out the layout of the sunken freighter. Since he hadn’t had time to rest after the prison breakout, his brain protested further use. There was a school of thought that said the more a mage practiced and pushed himself to the reaches of his endurance, the stronger and more capable he would become. Another school of thought proclaimed that mages who pushed themselves too hard broke and went crazy. He hoped the former would prove true for him.
A great deal of water had flowed into the freighter through a huge gap in the hull, one received when it had run into that rock. In other spots, cannonball holes dotted the exterior, though they hadn’t caused as much damage. He worried that any powder room that might be below decks would be underwater, but the wreck was high enough on the rock that the upper level cabins and store rooms remained dry. He clenched a pleased fist when he found mostly dry kegs of powder.
He could have simply lit the wood of the ship on fire, but this would require less power on his part, and it would create a much bigger boom. More smoke. Smoke, Yanko would add to, after he put his first distraction into play.
More crew members had come aboard while he concentrated, most heading straight to duty stations. A couple carried lanterns, so they noticed Yanko’s robe as they passed. The Nurians bowed and greeted him as Honored Warrior Mage. Those from other nations offered greetings that ranged from, “Good, a mage,” to “Nice dress.” Yanko didn’t see the men who had tried to mug him, so he hoped they hadn’t been a part of the crew. It comforted him that Dak had remained close while Yanko had been concentrating on other matters. He may not consider Minark a threat at this point, but the rest of the crew was new.
“We’re ready,” the captain said, walking over. “You have a plan, kid?”
“All of your crew is here already?”
“Enough of them. Those who didn’t hurry to get aboard will miss us in the morning when they’re looking for their pay.”
“Hm. Yes, I have a plan.” In addition to scouting the wrecked freighter, Yanko had reached out to the animals in the zoo and had examined the locks on their cages. All of them had been simple, far easier to break than the one in the prison. Now, with the captain looking on, he waved a hand, severing one lock after the other. Nobody would be able to see that far from the ship, but one of the coyotes howled, and a tiger roared, pleased at its freedom. Dogs answered the wild cries from the streets of Red Sky, and it soon sounded like a jungle had descended on the city.
“You doing that?” Minark asked.
“Step One, yes.”
Minark extended his spyglass toward the warships. Someone drew up his ship’s anchor, and the Falcon’s Flight glided away from the dock.
“They’re going to be looking right over us to check out that noise. I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Minark said.
Yanko waved his fingers again, shifting his focus out to the freighter this time. The first keg exploded with a deafening roar. Minark jerked around, gaping in that direction.
“Steer us around the back side of the wreck,” Yanko said, “between it and the south jetty. I’ll make sure there’s a lot of smoke in the air.”
Minark’s eyebrows rose with skepticism. “We’ll give it a try.” He jogged toward the helmsman at the wheel.
“I see he’s supremely confident in my abilities.” Yanko glanced at Dak, whose hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. “You must be too.”
“I do not like to rely on magic.”
Thus far, Dak hadn’t shown surprise at any of the mental science usage that had gone on around him, but it would be shocking if a Turgonian embraced it wholeheartedly.
“Does that mean you think the odds are against us getting through without being fired at repeatedly and then boarded?” Yanko asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re a pessimistic man.”
Dak gave him a sidelong look. “You’d want an optimistic bodyguard?”
“I suppose not. I wouldn’t want him to believe nothing bad would happen to me, then wander off to play dice instead of watching my back.” Maybe pessimism was listed as a desirable quality in that bodyguard handbook Falcon had mentioned.
“Tiles.”
“Pardon?”
“We Turgonians play a strategy game called Tiles.”
“Strategy? So even your games revolve around war?” Yanko shouldn’t be surprised. The Turgonians had conquered their entire continent within a matter of a few generations and had kept Nuria at bay for centuries, despite their unwillingness to study the mental sciences.
“Yes.” Dak nodded toward the freighter, which was blazing impressively in the aftermath of the explosion. “We’ll be behind it soon.”
“I know.” Yanko had already been creating extra smoke, and he pushed the process even further so it clouded the air above the ship and also close to the water. With luck, those watching would believe something like pitch was burning. He wished he could add that to the scent of burning wood, but he had never studied making illusory smells. It would take a lifetime to learn all that was possible with the mental sciences, if not a hundred lifetimes.
Roars and human cries sounded on the waterfront. With the freighter burning, Yanko didn’t know if anyone on the warship would be focused on the animal chaos ashore, but twice the number of lights were burning over there now, as people ran around with bows and lanterns.
The Falcon’s Flight glided into the smoky pall. It had passed the last of the docks and was angling toward the south jetty. Crewmen scampered soundlessly through the rigging, putting out the sails. Aware of how high the masts stretched, Yanko worked to spread the smoke, creating a vertical cloud and not just a horizontal one. He also did his best to obscure the auras of the living beings on the ship, lest the mages sense their presence, just as Yanko could sense the presences of others, when he thought to look for them.
“Your animals are eating people,” Lakeo said, joining them, her bow in hand as she cast nervous glances toward the warships. She also had the pessimism necessary for the bodyguard position.
“They’re simply scaring them,” Yanko murmured without taking his focus from the smoke. “I made a deal with them. Their freedom for some noise before they run up into the mountains.”
He was trying to keep the flames from burning too brightly on the wreck, lest it light up their masts and sails even in the haze, but he could only manage so many things at once. Already his head throbbed. He tightened his hands around the railing for support. Once they made it past those warships, he could rest. Assuming none of them gave chase...
“If you say so. I just saw a city watchman run by with a patch torn out of the seat of his trousers.”
Yanko ignored her, knowing she couldn’t see anything in the smoke. He could barely see her three feet away.
Then an unfamiliar presence whispered across his senses, one he immediately identified as the probe of one of those mages. At least one person was suspicious. Yanko tightened his grip on the railing and tried to further camouflage their ship from mental senses, not just visual ones. But he was trying to do too many things at once. A gale of wind blew in from the sea, shredding his clouds of smoke into ribbons.
Dak stirred at his side. “We’re going to be visible.”
Yanko tried to regather the smoke, to create more to combat the wind, but it was too late.
“A ship!”
someone in the blockade cried. “Ready weapons!”
Thumps and clanks came from behind Yanko. He spun around, reaching for his own weapons, for his kyzar, anyway—he didn’t have the mental energy to contemplate an attack with the mind. Minark was stomping toward him, fury in his eyes.
“Kid, you better—”
Dak intercepted him, planting a hand on the captain’s chest. Minark snarled, grabbed it, and tried to shove Dak to the side. He might as well have tried to shove a mountain. Not only did Dak not budge, but he flipped the captain onto his back and, in less time than it took to blink, had a dagger pressed to the man’s throat.
“I’m working on it,” Yanko said, though his mouth was dry. He hadn’t expected that degree of initiative from Dak. Of course, the moment Minark had attacked him, it had become self-defense rather than bodyguard work.
Trusting Dak to keep the captain at bay, Yanko spun back toward the railing and the warships. Enough smoke remained that his view was obscured, but he knew they were out there, full of armed men, weapons, and wizards. He groped for some brilliant solution, some way to delay their attack until the schooner could make it past the jetty and out into open water, but the only thought that popped into his mind was sending fish, one by one, leaping out of the water to smack into the chests of the mages. It was idiotic, and he did not have the mental energy left to find a fish, much less compel one to work for him. He wished he had not wasted precious strength on communicating with the animals in the cages and freeing them. He might have wanted to let them out because of personal feelings, but what had that done to help against the warships?
A boom rang out from the mouth of the harbor, the noise drowning out the crackle of the flames from the freighter. Yanko winced, hoping the cannonball would fly wide, that it would take the warships time to find their range. But what would happen when they did? A light craft meant for speed, the smuggler’s schooner wasn’t armored. Yanko fanned more smoke to life. It was all he could think to do, create more camouflage and hope it made them hard for the gunners to target. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t matter to the mages, who could see with more than their eyes.
Warrior Mage (Book 1) Page 17
