“I’ve heard Turgonians will eat anything.”
“Only soldiers, and only if it comes out of a package labeled Military Rations.”
“Such standards.” Pey Lu followed him away, stopping at the railing outside of earshot for Yanko.
The big Turgonian waved behind them with the spyglass, then offered it to her. She shook her head, merely gazing in the direction he had pointed, her eyes closing to slits.
Yanko wrangled the kelp bed with his mind, pulling it after the ship so he wouldn’t lose it, but he also tried to find what Gramon was pointing out. The sea rose and fell, and he didn’t have the view he would have from the crow’s nest, but he had been practicing his magic back here by the railing for the last two hours. If a ship were behind them, he should have seen it. The only ships in sight were the ones flanking the Prey Stalker, other vessels in his mother’s fleet. A pod of whales cruised past in the distance, shooting water from their blowholes. An impressive sight, but he doubted it was what Gramon had pulled Pey Lu aside to discuss.
Yanko shifted his attention slightly, watching the pair with his peripheral vision. He wouldn’t dare try to poke into his mother’s thoughts—even if she had admitted that mind magic was not a specialty of hers, she would surely feel a telepathic intrusion, especially from someone as inexperienced as he. But Gramon? Yanko doubted he’d had Dak’s training at turning aside magical attacks.
He frowned down at the kelp, hoping his mother would think his concentration was focused on the task she’d assigned if she looked over, but he tried to hear the Turgonian’s thoughts, the way he could hear an animal’s thoughts. He didn’t pry in; he just cupped his senses around the man’s head, like a mitt prepared to catch a ball.
An image of an underwater boat came to him. Yanko’s breath caught. Were Dak, Arayevo, and Lakeo following after them? If the craft was deep enough, that could explain why he hadn’t sensed it. Maybe it had surfaced long enough to ensure it was following the fleet and Gramon had glimpsed it then, that periscope popping briefly above the water.
When Yanko stretched out with his senses again, he directed them below the surface of the water. There, at the edge of his range, he detected the cylindrical metal craft, fish and octopuses swimming away from it in alarm. He tried to get a feel for the auras within, wanting to know if Dak and the others were there, or if this was another Kyattese vessel, sent to find the lodestone. The Kyattese presence on that island suggested that even if his mother had spoken truly, that their government was willing to pay her for retrieving it, the Kyattese would prefer to recover it themselves. To avoid the steep payment? Or to avoid being beholden to an infamous pirate?
Despite repeated attempts to sense the occupants, they were too far away for him to identify, and too much other life filled the ocean, nearly overloading his mind. It was unfortunate, because he wanted to assure Dak that he was all right, at least for the moment, and let him know that he and the others should focus on getting to the island ahead of the pirates. If they had the journal, they should know as much as Pey Lu did, and if they could get there first...
“Then the Turgonians get the rock,” he muttered to himself, realizing what he was hoping for. Should he truly be rooting for that? His people needed the lodestone. But, if he failed and that couldn’t happen, it would be better for the Kyattese to find it than the Turgonians.
“Where’s my kelp?” Pey Lu asked, her voice disapproving.
Yanko jumped. He had been concentrating so hard that he hadn’t noticed her returning. He also hadn’t noticed that the kelp bed had fallen too far behind the ship to see.
“Ah, it seems my telekinetics skills need even more work than my pyrotechnics.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he reminded himself that even if his mother was helping him, he could not forget that they were not allies in this. They could never be allies, not as long as she chose this life.
“We’ll find another target,” she said eventually. “I’ll give you some tips.”
Yanko smiled bleakly, fighting back the natural urge to thank her. She was the enemy. He had to keep reminding himself of that, even if she was teaching him. That did not change anything. It couldn’t.
He looked toward the sea behind them, thinking of his comrades. What would happen if they tried to rescue him, and he found himself in the middle?
“I’m ready,” he said, aware of Pey Lu watching him, but he feared that he was anything but ready.
Chapter 16
On the third night aboard the Prey Stalker, Yanko woke in the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. He lay on his back, under a thin, coarse blanket, staring up at the dark ceiling of the cabin he had been given, the cabin of a man that Dak had killed, as Yanko had later learned. He didn’t hear anything except the creaking of the rigging and the spray of the water against the hull below his porthole, but something definitely felt off. His first thought was that the dead man’s spirit was here to haunt him.
A faint beam of moonlight slanted through the porthole. Kei slept on the back of the chair, his beak buried in his feathers. Whatever had woken Yanko had not disturbed the bird. Of course not. Why would a dead pirate haunt a parrot?
His second thought was that Dak, Arayevo, and Lakeo might have sneaked aboard the Prey Stalker. Perhaps not Dak, since he would need to pilot the underwater boat—the pirates had no battle to distract them this time, so the craft would not simply be able to clamp on and cut a hole in the hull. But Arayevo and Lakeo? Might they be sneaking around in the passageway right now, trying to find him? If so, they would be looking in the brig, not in the officers’ cabins.
Yanko reached out with his mind, trying to sense them. But he sensed something much closer than the brig, a presence alone with him in the room. And it wasn’t a ghost.
With his instincts screaming in his mind, he hurled himself out of his bunk. A shadow leaped through the air, landing on the spot he had vacated. A dagger slashed down, ripping into the pillow. Tiny goose feathers flew into the air, and Kei woke with a screech.
Yanko rolled across the floor, trying to put space between him and his silent assailant, but he soon crashed into the built-in wardrobe on the far side of the cabin. The shadow sprang toward him, having no trouble telling where he was in the dark room.
With the techniques he had been working on that day, Yanko used his mind to hurl the only piece of furniture that wasn’t bolted down. The chair flew upward, blocking his assailant’s path. Kei’s wings flapped uproariously as he was forced off his perch, and Yanko heard the smack of wood striking flesh. He used the distraction to jump to his feet.
For a second, the figure stood within the moonlight shining through the porthole, revealing white clothing and a wicked bone dagger in a gloved hand. Sensing another attack coming, Yanko hurled a wall of air, trying to knock the person back onto the bunk. The figure braced himself—no, herself. This was the mage hunter he had encountered on Kyatt. He couldn’t imagine how she had gotten here, but there was no time to ponder it. The air attack glanced off her, barely stirring her clothing. She leaped at Yanko, leading with that knife.
If he’d had his sword, he might have parried the attack, but he could only dodge. His foot caught on the fallen chair. He tried to fling himself over it and away from her, rolling across the floor, crashing against the base of the bunk, and cursing the lack of room. The door. If he could find two seconds, he could simply run out the door.
A thud sounded as something sank into the wood of the bunk right next to his ear. She’d flung her dagger? No, it was another weapon, a throwing star. He could hear the metal quivering as it reverberated an inch from his ear.
She sprang for him before he could climb to his feet again. He struggled to gather concentration quickly enough to do anything. Her bone dagger. He might not be able to attack her effectively, but what about the weapon? Was it reinforced by magic? No. With a thought, he snapped the blade, just as he snapped rock when he called upon his earth magic.
She improvised
in mid-air, dropping the broken knife and throwing a punch at him instead. He blocked with his forearm, realizing there was no time for more magic, that he would have to rely on physical defense. But she was fast, and it was hard to see what was happening in the dark. He only managed a partial block, enough to keep her from landing on him fully, but her arm darted past his. He ducked his chin to protect his neck. Knuckles slammed into his temple. Those knuckles landed with surprising force, especially since she was a woman. His skull clunked hard against the base of the bunk. He got his knee up enough to thrust her body away, but she gripped him with her hands, one finding his throat.
Even with all the sparring he had done with Dak, Yanko couldn’t match her speed. All that sword practice was of little use in a grappling match.
Her hand tightened on his throat, her thumb digging into his airway. Desperation flowed through his body, giving him strength. He ripped away from her, creating a wall of air around his throat to protect it. At the same time, he flung an image into her mind. If he’d had time to rationally consider his attack, he wouldn’t have tried it, because like Dak, she should have defenses to block any mental assaults. But he wasn’t thinking—there wasn’t time for thought. The image he sent was the same one he’d used against the pirates on the beach, one of a wall of fire enveloping her, of her entire body charring, of intense pain as she was burned alive.
She gasped and drew back. Only a few inches, but it was enough. He got his feet under him and leaped up. He grabbed her, spun her toward the wall, and jammed her against it. Before she could recover, he yanked her arms behind her back, twisting them upward until she arched onto her toes, pain making her body rigid. Yanko did his best to keep the image of the fire in her mind, to bypass her defenses and make her believe she was helpless.
“Puntak, puntak,” Kei cried, flapping about the cabin, looking for a place to land.
The door flew open before Yanko had decided what he should do with his prisoner. His mother stood there, a scimitar in one hand, a ball of orange light floating over her shoulder. Concern flashed across her face before she took in the scene and realized Yanko wasn’t in danger. The concern startled him, because he hadn’t expected it from her. She smoothed her features quickly, and he wondered if he had imagined it.
“What’s this?” she asked mildly.
Because of the way Yanko had the assassin’s face mashed against the wall, she was looking right at Pey Lu. The mage hunter curled a lip, but did not respond. Her white clothing wrapped her from head to toe, but some of her face was visible, enough for him to see the loathing burning in her dark eyes. He didn’t know if that loathing was for him or for Pey Lu. Maybe both.
“One of Sun Dragon’s people,” Yanko said. “I have no idea how she got here.”
“We’ll find out.” Pey Lu pushed the door open farther. Footsteps sounded in the passageway as curious pirates came to see what was going on.
Some of the rigidness went out of the assassin’s body as she slumped in defeat.
“A mage hunter?” Pey Lu looked Yanko’s prisoner up and down. With her free hand, she pushed the woman’s hood back, brushing aside the band that held back her hair and covered her forehead. “A young one, but I suppose they start training them young, don’t they?”
Yanko knew very little about mage hunters or how they were trained. He could only see part of the woman’s face since he still held her against the wall—even with his mother for backup, he worried she might get the best of him if he eased up. She had very nearly killed him. Also, the woman continued to glare at Pey Lu, utter hatred on her face.
Pey Lu leaned her scimitar against the wall and searched the prisoner. The arms Yanko gripped flexed, the woman’s shoulders tightening. He kept his hold, one Falcon had taught him as a boy, usually by pinning Yanko with it. Pey Lu found the rest of the prisoner’s throwing stars, a folding knife, a garrote, and three vials. She also removed a ring with a tiny compartment. The mage hunter growled deep in her throat. Was there poison in there? Something she could use to kill herself if captured? That seemed more of a Turgonian thing to do than a Nurian tactic, but Yanko had heard mage hunters were fanatical to their organization and to their missions.
“Let’s take her to the brig, Yanko,” Pey Lu said when she finished, leaving the weapons pile on the floor. She met his eyes with a nod. “Good work in subduing her. Even a young mage hunter is a formidable opponent.”
The expression on her face—was that pride?—surprised Yanko. It pleased him, even if it shouldn’t, even if he kept telling himself that her opinion did not matter. He admitted a hint of pride in himself, too, though perhaps he shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if he had subdued her easily. He was surprised that the mental attack had worked. He didn’t think it would have worked on Dak. Of course, he had never tried on Dak. And, as his mother had pointed out, he tended to be stronger when he wasn’t thinking, when he was reacting and attacking on instinct.
“This way.” Pey Lu tilted her head toward the ship’s ladder at the end of the passageway.
Yanko followed, pushing his prisoner ahead of him. Gramon joined them before they reached the steps, the Turgonian walking out of Pey Lu’s cabin, his feet bare and his shirt only half buttoned.
“We have a guest?” he asked, scraping his fingers through mussed gray hair.
“A mage hunter,” Pey Lu said over her shoulder, not appearing worried that the assassin walked right behind her.
If she escaped Yanko’s grip, would she attack Pey Lu first? Or Yanko? It had been his quarters that she had barged into first. But maybe she had been sent to kill both of them, and she had chosen what she assumed would be the easier target first? Back when they had spoken, Sun Dragon had implied that Yanko—or his family—had wronged the assassin at some point, that it was more than professional duty, an assignment accepted, that had driven her after him. He wondered if she would answer his questions if he asked them. Would he be given the opportunity to question her?
“Is there a reason we’re keeping her?” Gramon asked.
“I want some answers,” Pey Lu said.
“A dead mage hunter is a safe mage hunter. Isn’t there a saying about that?”
“A Turgonian saying, I believe.”
“A wise people.”
Pey Lu snorted and did not look back.
The talk about killing her made Yanko uneasy. If it had happened in the battle, when he’d been defending himself, it might have been understandable, but he could not imagine eliminating her now, no matter what her intentions were toward him.
She did not try to escape as Pey Lu led them to the deck below, either sensing that Yanko was paying a lot of attention and had a good grip, or just knowing that the odds were stacked against her. The ceiling had been repaired, and when Pey Lu held open a wrought iron gate, it and the adjoining bars appeared sturdy. Yanko walked his prisoner in, then let her go and stepped back quickly, clanging the gate shut with his mind.
“Good to see the telekinesis coming along,” Pey Lu said dryly, turning the lock.
The prisoner turned around to glower at them, but she did not attempt to lunge out or grab the gate. Yanko’s reaction had probably been overkill. Still, she had tried to assassinate him. It was hard to be blasé in the aftermath of that.
The prisoner’s face was utterly neutral. She clasped her hands behind her back and stared at a spot on the wall between Pey Lu and Yanko, avoiding eye contact with either of them. She had the mien of a soldier in a prisoner of war camp, awaiting a death sentence. Yanko shifted his weight from foot to foot, disturbed by the thought, even if he couldn’t articulate why.
She had tried to kill him not once but twice, here and in that cave on Kyatt where he had dropped rocks on top of her. He didn’t see signs of what must have been grievous injuries, at least not on her face. Little else of her body was exposed—the white silk and cotton garment, something between a robe and a wrap, hugged her torso and legs from wrist to ankle, also covering her neck. Sun Dragon must have
had a healer among his people. She did have a faint scar above one eyebrow, but it appeared far older than one she might have received in that rockfall.
Her face was young, he realized with a start, looking straight at it for the first time. That intimacy didn’t seem such a presumption with her gazing at the wall beside him instead of challenging him with her own gaze. She couldn’t be much older than he. Twenty? Twenty-two? Certainly no older than Arayevo, but there was none of Arayevo’s warmth and zest for adventure in those cool detached eyes. Yanko decided she was pretty, even with much of her form hidden beneath her clothing, with delicate features that seemed at odds with her profession. She was about two inches shorter than he and appeared to be of pure Nurian descent, her fine bones making her thirty or forty pounds lighter than him. He was glad his mother had not come in when she had been pinning him to the deck and crushing his windpipe. Even if she was trained as an assassin, and he’d always spent more time with magic than practicing at battle, he would have been embarrassed to have been bested by her in a physical confrontation.
“Yanko?” Pey Lu asked.
Gramon snorted, and Yanko had the feeling she might have said his name more than once.
Lost in his own world, as usual. “Yes?” He hoped Pey Lu’s mage light did not show the pink tint to his cheeks.
“Go back to sleep,” she said.
“Pardon?”
Gramon snorted again. “Such a polite boy you have. Obtuse, but polite.”
Yanko scowled, more embarrassed than he might usually have been by the slight, perhaps because his mother was looking on. An assassin who wanted to kill him was also looking on.
“Not too obtuse,” Pey Lu said quietly, her eyelids lowering as she regarded Gramon through her lashes. A slight warning in that look? “He survived a mage hunter’s attack, after all.”
The mage hunter ignored the comment and the rest of the conversation, a faint tightening of her jaw the only indication that she heard them at all.