The rat had disappeared down a gullet, and a few of the dogs sniffed the air toward the beach. Yanko wished he had food in his pocket for them, though he supposed the ocean was a plentiful source of it. He gazed toward the shallows, searching with his senses for fish swimming near the surface.
A school of them flitted about in the moonlight, not far from shore. He hesitated because, as his mother had chastised him about, he was reluctant to kill even sea creatures. But the starving and abandoned dogs saddened him, and he found himself using telekinesis to make a net from floating seaweed. He wove the strands together and swept his trap toward shore to capture numerous fish, then hurled it out of the water before they could escape.
Jhali cursed as the seaweed net and ensnared fish sailed over their log and into the grasses. The dogs yelped and leaped away. But as fish wriggled free, flopping in the grass, the pack closed in, some of the starving animals snapping down the floundering meals whole.
Yanko opened his eyes to Jhali staring at him.
“I’m going to head back to town,” he said, rising to his feet and hoping to forestall her calling him naive or foolish. She’d done so before, and he couldn’t imagine someone with the cool practicality of a mage hunter understanding his feelings for animals.
“Over there,” a male voice said from farther up the beach.
Yanko jumped, noticing eight figures on the beach striding in his direction.
“There are only two of them. Kill them and take the sword. It’ll sell for a fortune.”
Yanko touched the hilt of Sun Dragon’s scimitar. He glanced back at the log, but Jhali was gone.
The would-be murderers and thieves stood between Yanko and the route back to the city. One of them had to have the ability to use magic—or a Made device that sensed it—or the group never would have found him. It wasn’t as if he’d been waving the scimitar around during his time in the city.
Yanko walked toward them with his arms spread, though he doubted it would do any good. They’d already said they planned to kill him. And Jhali, too, but she’d slipped away, and they likely hadn’t seen in which direction she’d gone. He hadn’t even seen it, and he’d been sitting next to her.
None of the eight men wore the uniforms of the watch. That heartened him. They were common thieves, most likely, or men who’d turned to thieving out of desperation. They were as gaunt and bony as the dogs.
“I am a mage, my friends.” Yanko tried not to wince, since it was a lie. He might have power, but he still hadn’t been to an official school. What he was, by his country’s definition, was a rogue magic-user. “Do not pick a fight with me, or I shall call a pack of wild dogs down from the rocks to eat you.”
A few of the men snorted.
Bark for me, my friends, Yanko thought, touching the minds of several of the dogs and convincing them that these men represented a threat and that they should warn their pack mates about them.
One of the dogs barked, and the others joined in. It lacked the haunting refrain of a coyote pack, but a couple of the men did stir uneasily. The group stopped advancing and eyed Yanko from ten steps away.
“I fed them,” Yanko said. “They’ll cheerfully come to my defense.”
Well, perhaps not cheerfully, but Yanko thought he could convince the dogs to come bark in person. Or he could knock the men into the water with a large gust of wind. But he found himself reluctant to hurt people who were in dire straits already. Even if they wanted to kill him for his valuables.
“Will you feed us if we leave you alone?” someone muttered wistfully from the back.
“Shut up.” One of his comrades elbowed him.
Yanko knew it was a risk to split his attention, but he found another school of fish in the water. The dogs would eat more, he was certain, if these men didn’t wish to take any home.
The leader snarled, waved for the others to follow, and strode toward Yanko. Fish flew out of the sea. Yanko might have simply set them down, but seeing the leader advancing made him hasty. He ended up pelting the men with fish.
They whirled toward the sea, brandishing cudgels and dented swords scrounged from who knew where. A wet fish slapped the leader in the face before tumbling to the sand.
The dogs must have caught the scent of fresh food. They swarmed down out of the rocks and grass, heading straight for the men. A couple of the thieves raised their clubs, but the rest sprinted down the beach toward town. The brave ones lost their bravery when they stood alone, and they also retreated.
As no fewer than twenty dogs leaped upon the second round of fish, Yanko noticed Jhali crouching near the grass in a position that had been behind the group before they ran off. She straightened, turning to watch them go and lowering the dagger in her hand.
Yanko skirted the dogs—they were too busy snapping up the fish to take heed of him—and joined her.
“You were going to sneak up on them?” he asked.
“And hold a blade to the leader’s throat, yes.” She looked down at her dagger, snorted, and sheathed it. “I thought we’d surrounded them.”
“I’m not sure if I should admit out loud that I’m pleased you want to surround people with me.”
“Probably not.” She looked at the dogs, now sniffing around in case they had missed any fish. “My mission would have been a lot easier if you were more of a lizard’s ass.”
Yanko lifted his eyebrows. “And if I hadn’t woken up at an opportune time.”
“At an inopportune time.”
“You wouldn’t have felt the tiniest bit bad if you’d succeeded in killing me?”
“Not then.”
“What about now?” Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. He felt bolstered by her willingness to banter with him—and consider him not a lizard’s ass.
She gazed at him, but it was hard to read her face in the shadows. For a moment, he thought she might answer, but she shook her head and started walking back toward the city. He trailed after her, knowing his discussion with Dak wouldn’t be made easier by delaying it.
“Where are you going next, White Fox?” Jhali asked over her shoulder.
“Yanko.” If he could get her to surround people with him, maybe he could get her to call him by first name. “I’m going to try to convince Dak and Consul Tynlee—and her lovely yacht—that we should visit this Seventh Skull Island where so many mok—so many families are being taken. And that we should rescue them.”
She eyed him at the slip. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered correcting it, but he didn’t want her to think he only cared about those prisoners because they were from honored families. Admittedly, he cared about them a lot more because his kin might be among them, so it was still a bias, but he would happily help commoners if they were there.
“A boy I ran into said my family is among them,” Yanko said, “and I want to get them out, of course, but it sounded like hundreds of people, including mages, are imprisoned there. If we could free them, they might help with the war. At the least, I’m hoping someone there will have a lead on Prince Zirabo.”
“Help with the war? Do you care who comes out on top? I don’t even know who any of these idiots making war on each other are.” Jhali shook her head.
“I want someone who will put the needs of the people above personal gain.”
“You’re still naive, White Fox.”
How had he known he wouldn’t get through the night without being accused of that? “Yanko.”
She grunted. “I don’t know where I should go. That’s why I was going to visit the shrine. In case… oh, I don’t know. It’s not like the gods care about mage hunters.” Her voice turned savage as she added, “Clearly.”
“You don’t think that when your sect was attacked, some of the mage hunters might have been taken prisoner?” When he’d brought up the idea earlier, she hadn’t reacted, but he still thought it seemed logical. Why murder people when they could be stored away as potential bargaining chips for later use? “Maybe you have friends alive and just have t
o find them.”
Jhali walked with her jaw set, neither shaking her head nor responding. Yanko couldn’t tell if she was thinking it over or had already dismissed it.
“You should probably come with me to check,” he added.
“Yanko, I’ve been trying to kill you for months. Why, by all the delusional furry and scaled gods, would you want me to stay with you?”
He kept himself from triumphantly pointing out that she’d used his first name. She wasn’t in the mood for triumph.
“You’re not trying to kill me anymore, right? You just helped me surround thugs.”
“Like you needed my help.” She sounded disgusted.
That he hadn’t needed her help? Or that nobody seemed to need her help at the moment?
Since she’d just learned that everyone she knew and had grown up with was likely dead, he wouldn’t begrudge her being grumpy. Or disgusted. He wished he knew how to fix things for her.
“A mage always needs backup.” He smiled and risked her ire by patting her on the shoulder. “Why do you think I keep talking Dak into going on adventures with me?”
“Someone speculated that you might be lovers.”
Yanko tripped in the sand and fell on his face. He rushed to stand up again, wondering if it was dark enough that he could say there had been a rock in his path. A giant rock.
“Someone?” he asked, his cheeks heating. “If it was Lakeo, you can’t take anything she says seriously.”
“Ah,” Jhali said.
“Also, I like people with girl parts. I mean girls with girl parts. Women.” By the badger goddess, why was he mangling this explanation? For that matter, why did he feel the need to explain? Now that he thought about it, he believed Jhali had been joking.
“I’m relieved we’ve established that,” she said dryly.
He didn’t say anything as they walked back into the city, a soft drizzle starting to fall and helping his cheeks cool off. It wasn’t until they reached the dock and Jhali turned down it with him that he asked, “Have you decided to come help us free those people?”
He didn’t mention that he hadn’t convinced anyone else to go yet.
Jhali sounded glum as she said, “I have nowhere else to go.”
12
When they returned to the yacht, Yanko parted ways with Jhali and looked for Dak but didn’t find him in the cabin they shared. Yanko blushed at the memory of Jhali’s joke—he hoped it had been a joke. Maybe he needed to start using his persuasive powers to try to get his own cabin on ocean voyages.
He found Lakeo and Arayevo in their cabin, explained his plan, and asked if they wanted to come or stay. Arayevo was delighted with the idea of heroically rescuing prisoners. Lakeo said they’d get themselves killed and that it wasn’t likely Yanko could talk anyone into taking them on the self-imposed mission. Yet she had agreed to go if he did. They both had. He wasn’t sure if it was that they had faith in him and wanted to help Nurians, or if they were simply disinclined to stay in the unfriendly Yellow Delta.
When Yanko returned to his cabin, Kei squawked from the back of the chair bolted to the deck. His feathers were ruffled up, and he looked cold. Yanko brought him a handful of seeds. Earlier, the bird had gone out to explore or seek food or mates or whatever it was parrots did during daylight hours, but he always made his way back to Yanko’s cabin for the night.
“I hope you’ll stick with me long enough to get you back to your home,” Yanko murmured, suspecting the parrot missed his tropical island from time to time.
“Yanko?” Tynlee asked, leaning into the cabin. “Is Dak with you?”
She stood in the doorway with a cup of tea in her hand and fluffy green and yellow slippers on her feet.
“Sorry, no. I was just looking for him.” He pointed at the slippers. “I’m going to assume you didn’t buy those in Turgonia.”
“I did not. I did buy some huge furry white grimbal slippers, but they’re too large for travel.”
“Furry or fluffy?”
“Furry. I haven’t noticed that Turgonians are into fluffy, but there’s nothing untoward about making garments out of hide and fur. Shaggy seems to be acceptable there, no matter what the climate.”
“They’re an odd people.”
“Funny, they say the same thing about Nurians.” Tynlee smiled, but it faded quickly. “If Dak returns tonight, would you… ah, never mind.” She shook her head ruefully.
“Is something wrong?”
When Yanko had left the yacht, Tynlee and Dak had been chatting amiably. He’d expected to find Dak still aboard.
“Just that he’s a big, gruff, suspicious, crusty Turgonian.”
“I thought you liked that about him.” Yanko decided not to mention that Dak also had those muscles she seemed fond of.
“I do. Just not the part where he’s suspicious of me.”
“He’s suspicious of me a lot of the time too,” Yanko offered.
“Yes, but you don’t want to kiss him. I presume.” Tynlee arched her eyebrows.
“Uh, no.” Yanko was definitely going to start getting his own cabin on ships.
“Oh, it’s my fault, I suppose. I’m used to being the elusive Nurian diplomat. Enigmatic and inscrutable.” She wriggled her eyebrows.
Yanko looked at her fluffy slippers but did not comment on whether or not they suggested enigmatic inscrutableness.
“He’s quite aware that we manipulated him into sailing with us,” she added.
“I know.” Yanko nodded and didn’t point out that she had done the manipulating, not when he’d told her everything and hoped she would help. “He distrusts Nurians in general, and diplomats, politicians, and mind mages likely get elevated to a higher level of distrust.”
“Well, at least I’m not a politician.”
“Consul Tynlee…” Yanko had meant to ask Dak for assistance first and figure out a means of transportation to the island after he knew if he had a bodyguard, but he wasn’t here, and Tynlee was the only person he knew with a ship.
“You want to use my yacht to rescue prisoners?” she asked.
Yanko scratched his head. “Were you mind snooping?”
“Sorry, but you were taking a tediously long time to finish that sentence. And you need to learn to keep up your mental barriers. There are all manner of unscrupulous telepaths in the world, you know.”
Since Yanko was asking for a favor, he decided not to mention that there was probably a reason Dak didn’t easily trust mind mages.
“Would you be willing to take us to the island?” Yanko asked. “It could turn into an adventure that you could write about in a novel.”
“I’d always intended to write about other people’s adventures in my novels, but I’ll speak to the captain and see if he knows the location of this Seventh Skull Island.”
“Thank you, Honored Consul.” Yanko pressed his hands together and bowed.
Tynlee started to answer but leaned back into the passageway and looked toward the steps. Yanko sensed Dak coming down them. He hesitated when he saw Tynlee.
“Good evening, Dak,” she said. “I was just about to bid Yanko goodnight. I shall do the same to you unless you wish to speak again.”
“Not at this time.” Dak’s voice sounded stiff and formal.
Yanko suspected they’d had a tiff, or maybe she’d simply pressed too hard asking him for details on his past, and he’d worried he was being interrogated. Yanko had never had any luck with relationships, so he wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to advise either of them.
“Goodnight then.” She bowed, lifted a hand toward Yanko, and then retired to her own cabin.
Dak waited for her to shut her door, frowned thoughtfully at it, and shook his head as he entered the cabin he shared with Yanko. His hair was damp from the rain, and there were more bruises on his knuckles than there had been a few hours earlier.
“Did you also go out to seek guidance from the gods?” Yanko asked.
Dak grunted and sat on his bunk,
reaching for his boots. “It would have been from my ancestors, but your people neglected to install suitable shrines.”
“What would a Starcrest ancestor shrine look like?”
“The one in the orchard back home has a moss-covered statue of the first Starcrest in it, along with the attack wolf that he supposedly trained to rush into battle with him.”
“You do your worshipping in an orchard?”
“It’s less worshipping and more leaving offerings so the spirits of our dead ancestors don’t haunt us. Most people don’t really believe that would happen, but they visit the shrines with their bribes just in case.” After removing his boots, Dak flopped back on his bunk. “You get any guidance?”
Yanko thought of the dolphins. “Nothing obvious, but I do have an idea. Unless…” Yanko glanced at his bruises. “Did you question someone?”
“Several someones. I was trying to get to a high-ranking Swift Wolf here in town.”
“Did you pummel your way up the chain of command?” Yanko imagined Dak foregoing bribes and blackmail for a more direct method of finding the head of an organization.
“More or less. But the man overseeing the faction’s actions in the city isn’t that high up overall. I gathered the leader is behind some of the fight in the Great City right now. But this man confirmed that the rebels are still rounding up mages and moksu and sending them to the camps. They’ve been doing it gradually over months and believe they’re sapping their enemies of their resources by doing so.”
“Did you find out anything about Zirabo?” Yanko asked.
If Dak had a lead, Yanko would be obligated to push his rescue plans aside and prioritize the prince.
“Nothing solid,” Dak said.
“Something intangible?”
“Only guesses based on what wasn’t said.”
Yanko waited to see if he would expand on that, but he didn’t. “Want to hear my idea?”
He expected Dak to grunt without enthusiasm or maybe give him an exasperated glance, but he looked over and said, “Yes.”
“We rescue the prisoners at the Seventh Skull Island internment camp.” Yanko smiled, hoping enthusiasm would help sell the idea. “There are reputed to be hundreds and maybe even thousands of people there. Well-connected people. It seems possible, maybe even likely, that someone in a group that large would know what happened to the Great Chief’s children, those still alive. And they should be grateful to us for rescuing them and willing to answer our questions.”
Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3) Page 21
