The Roar of the Lost Horizon Page 3

  Nate did not have the chance to respond. There was another ring and rasp of metal as the duelists’ swords came together again, and then Ed the bear man yelped and pushed away from the captain, a red stain blossoming where her blade had bit into his flesh. He looked at the wound with a savage light in his eyes as cheers erupted from the female captain’s side of the street. Ed’s glare shifted from the shallow cut on his arm to the captain as she turned to take her possessions back from the very relieved and smiling cabin boy. Then Ed rushed at her, and the cheers gave way to cries of warning. The captain whipped around just in time to throw up her sword and block Ed’s slash, and then they were back in the thick of the fight, blades slamming together once more. People from both sides of the crowd drew their own weapons, but before anyone could rush in to kick off an all-out brawl, there was a sudden pressure in the air off to Nate’s left, just at the edge of Ed’s side of the crowd, followed by a loud bang, and then something small and deadly ripped across the air and grazed past the captain’s bicep to shatter into the bricks of the far wall.

  The captain cried out and fell back, clutching at her injury. Blood seeped through her fingers as smoke from the pistol shot wafted through the alley, and everyone went still. Even Ed, who had missed being shot by no more than a hand’s breadth. Fury and confusion warred on the bear man’s face as his gaze slipped over his own crew, trying to puzzle out where the shot had come from as the female captain did the same.

  Nate’s magic was warm in his blood as he followed the creased trail of the gunshot back to its origin, trying to fathom why one of Ed’s crew would have taken such a risk. The gunman—who, Nate saw, had already hidden his weapon and slipped towards the back of the crowd—could all too easily have been jostled by one of his neighbors, or planted his foot wrong on the uneven stones of the street, or overswung the barrel of the pistol as he’d drawn the weapon and cracked off the shot. One tiny mistake, and it would have been Ed the bear man with the gunshot wound instead of the captain, whose face was contorted with anger and pain as the blood seeped between her fingers.

  A shrill whistled sounded from somewhere up the street, the Solkyrian enforcers finally coming to see what the commotion was about.

  Ed gave the wounded captain one final look of scathing hatred and snapped, “We’ll finish this another day, if you live to see it.” Then he turned and ran, chasing the rest of his crew down the street.

  Nate’s side of the crowd hesitated just long enough for the captain to look at them all and bark, “What are you waiting for? Run!” Then they broke, most of them disappearing into the twilight.

  The cabin boy and a broad, pale-skinned man stayed to help. The boy took a firm grip on the captain’s belongings and trotted after her as the pale-skinned man stripped off his own coat and draped it across her shoulders. It was far too large and nearly drowned her in the fabric, but it hid the blood. The pale-skinned man took hold of her uninjured arm and started to lead her down the street. They started fast but the woman grimaced and had to slow.

  “I gave you an order,” she growled as they passed Nate.

  “Fight’s over, Captain,” the pale man returned. “And Dax would kill me if we came back short a captain.”

  The cabin boy nodded in fierce agreement as he followed them.

  The enforcer’s whistles came again, piercing the darkening air as the last of the crowd scattered.

  Nate hesitated. He knew that, with the way those three had just gone, the alley would take them in a slow curve back to the main street. The enforcers were coming from the opposite direction, but those were the ones that were intentionally making noise. The other enforcers, the quiet ones waiting in ambush, would pounce as soon as the whistles had flushed out the fighters. Some of bear-man Ed’s crew may have already tripped into the trap; they’d gone the way of the main street, and if they weren’t quick enough to turn around or duck down another side street, they’d be caught. Nate could not say why, but his stomach soured at the thought of imperial enforcers arresting the captain who had dueled to defend a cabin boy. He ran after her. She and the others jolted in surprise when Nate cut in front of them.

  “This way,” he said, his voice low, and gestured to another alley so narrow, the pale man would have to go through sideways. Nate dove into the shadows and moved quickly, bursting out the far end and scanning the street for signs of the enforcers. All was quiet, and Nate moved to let the others out.

  For several moments, no one else emerged from the darkness, and Nate wondered why he had expected them to trust him. Then the captain stepped out, clutching the oversized coat around her. The cabin boy came next, still holding on to the captain’s possessions as if they were made of solid gold, and then the pale man stumbled out after them, huffing and grumbling about apparitions leading them down tight spaces. He stopped when his eyes fell on Nate.

  “Oh, he was real,” the pale man said. “Good, I’d much rather be murdered by a human than a ghost.”

  “Quiet,” the captain hissed. She looked at Nate. “Which way?”

  Nate waved them down the street, opposite the way they’d been heading, before cutting down another alley and bringing the small group away from the shrieking whistles of the enforcers. It was full dark when they finally came to a stop beneath a flickering street lamp several blocks away. Nate got a better look at the captain then, and he blanched when he saw how much the pain and blood loss had ghosted her complexion. She needed a doctor, and soon. Nate told her as much, and then flushed at his own stupidity. She had a gunshot wound in her arm. Of course she knew that she needed a doctor.

  But to Nate’s surprise, the captain chuckled, if dryly. “Solkyria’s as likely to arrest me as stitch me up, but don’t you worry. I have a substitute.” She tilted her head at the pale-skinned sailor, who grimaced.

  “Just once,” he said, “I would like to step on this island without getting someone else’s blood on me.”

  The captain smiled more fully and turned back to Nate. “I would normally shake your hand,” she said, “but I don’t think you’d appreciate that right now.” She waggled her blood-covered fingers at him. “But know that I mean it, boy, when I say you have my thanks.”

  Stunned, Nate could do little more than blink and nod in response.

  The sailors turned to leave. “I’d love to know who shot me,” the captain said as they stepped away.

  “I know who,” Nate said. He swallowed hard and dropped his eyes to the ground when they all turned to look back at him. “I suppose that doesn’t do you much good now, though.”

  “Nonsense,” the captain said. “That would let me know who I need to stab the next time we see that crew.”

  Nate started to smile, but it occurred to him that she was being serious.

  So Nate told them about the shooter. He had been a lanky, thin-haired man with a straight, narrow nose and the weathered, wind-scarred skin of someone who had been at sea for years.

  “Gray hair, or black?” the captain asked.

  “Gray, mostly,” Nate said, and the sailors nodded grimly.

  “Whiteleaf,” the pale man spat. “Probably could’ve guessed that one. No one else stupid enough to try something like that with their quartermaster in the line of fire.”

  “You’re certain that was the man who shot me?” the captain asked.

  Nate nodded.

  She looked ready to take her leave, but then her eyes locked on the spot just over Nate’s left eye, where his Lowwind tattoo sat on his brow. Her breath hitched for a moment, and a strange intensity came over her. “How?”

  The pale-skinned man looked at her sharply. The cabin boy looked mildly confused, but said nothing.

  Nate’s mouth went dry again under the close scrutiny of the captain. He gestured to his tattoo, figuring that would suffice.

  It did not.

  The captain took half a step closer. “How did you know?” she asked, her voice low.

  Nate tensed, ready to bolt. Whatever this captain wanted o
f him, it was nothing good, and likely nothing that Nate could actually do.

  But the captain froze, her gaze sweeping over Nate’s posture, and then she drew back. “There’s no need to be scared, boy.” She extended a hand to him. “I have no wish to hurt you.”

  Nate let his attention drift to the blood on her fingers before snapping his focus back to her face, and then to the broad, pale man behind her. He could probably outrun them both. Probably.

  The captain grimaced and withdrew her hand. “Mr. Novachak,” she said over her shoulder, “why don’t you and Kai head back to the ship and I’ll be there shortly.”

  The pale man shook his head. “Can’t leave you like this, Captain.”

  “Nikolai,” she said firmly, turning to him.

  The pale man held her gaze for a long moment before heaving a sigh and tapping the cabin boy on the shoulder. “Come on, Kai, we’ll go slow and double back to make sure our frost-touched captain hasn’t collapsed in the middle of the street.”

  The captain waited for them to move out of earshot before speaking again. By then, Nate had edged away, and the gap between them was noticeably larger. She did not try to close it. Instead, she simply gazed thoughtfully at Nate’s tattoo.

  “Those fools gave you the lowest mark they could, didn’t they?” she said. She stared at him a moment longer before murmuring, “Self-righteous idiots.” Louder, she said, “I am Captain Arani, and I have reason to be interested in your Skill. Very interested.”

  That made Nate pause. Part of him bristled at hearing someone call the academy instructors fools and idiots, least of all a Veritian. He knew the name Arani came from that island deep within the Coral Chain, where its inhabitants were said to spend their days lazing on lush beaches and idling away their lives. Supposedly, that was some form of passive defiance against their rulers. Veritia had been an imperial colony for hundreds of years now, but its people did little to merit the resources and education brought to their island, choosing instead to reap the benefits of their status as part of the Solkyrian Empire for far less of the work than Solkyrian-born citizens put in.

  This woman, however, was a ship captain, and she had just faced off against a bear-man for the sake of a cabin boy. That did not quite match up with what Nate expected of Veritians.

  What was more, she’d said that she was interested in his Skill. He doubted that she was familiar with Skill magic, but he knew he should correct her mistaken belief that he was a Lowwind of any use before it got him into trouble. She clearly wanted him for her ship, whether he was willing to join her or not.

  “I’m not strong enough to help with your sailing,” Nate said warily.

  Arani waved him off before pulling the oversized coat tighter around her shoulders. “My crew can sail just fine without a wind worker spoiling them with easy breezes, but that’s not why I want you.”

  Nate threw an uneasy glance over his shoulder, wondering if anyone from the Veritian captain’s crew was sneaking up behind him in the dark. No one came. When he looked back at Arani, the intense gleam in her eye had not faded.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Nate, ma’am,” he said.

  “Well met, Nate.” The corner of Arani’s mouth twitched. “You didn’t really see who shot me, did you?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t lying,” Nate said quickly. “It was—”

  “No, I’m sure you correctly identified him. What I mean is, you didn’t see him fire the gun. But you knew it was him.” She tilted her head. “Am I right?”

  Nate nodded slowly.

  This time, the captain took a step forward, but she stopped herself when she saw Nate tense again. She glanced up and down the empty street before saying, “Tell me how.”

  Nate frowned and wondered if he should leave. No, he knew he should leave, but for reasons he could not fathom, he stayed. “There was a crease in the air from the pistol shot,” he said. “Sharp, leading back to where that man was standing. He tried to slip back into the crowd, but it definitely led to him.” Nate swallowed and cleared his throat. “But that’s basic wind reading. Any Lowwind could do it.”

  “Not like that,” the captain said. “Maybe they could sense some strong gusts from an approaching storm, but what you just did…” Her brows twitched together thoughtfully. “You’re not just any Lowwind.”

  Nate opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. He did not understand what this woman wanted from him, but he had the sense that disagreeing would get him nowhere. And she wasn’t wrong; unlike other Lowwinds, Nate could not turn, stop, or summon the wind. Somehow, he did not think that she wanted to hear that.

  Arani shifted under the massive coat, wincing when her injury rolled against the fabric, and then again when another enforcer’s whistle sounded from a few streets over. “I’m afraid I need to take my leave,” she said, sounding genuinely regretful, “but I would like to speak with you again.” She peered at his tattoo one last time, as though trying to memorize the shape of it. “Come to the harbor at ten bells. I have an opportunity for you, and from what I know of the Solkyrian Empire, you’ll want to hear me out.” She gave Nate another smile, this one grim. “Ten bells,” Arani said, turning away. “Don’t be late.”

  Nate stared after the captain long after she had disappeared into the dark. He felt very strange, now that he was alone. Obviously, he was not going to sneak through the city in the dead of night to meet with what was clearly a gang of sea criminals that were more likely to kidnap or kill him than offer him a job that “not just any Lowwind” could do. That would be stupid. Arani the Veritian captain was lying to him, and he would not get himself caught up in whatever mess she was trying to spin. He turned and firmly set himself on course for his parents’ home.

  But his heart was beating hard against his chest, steady and persistent as it asked, over and over again, What if? What if? What if?

  Chapter three

  The Captain’s Confidants

  There was very little dignity in being carried aboard your own ship no matter how much blood you had lost, Iris decided. She doubted she would forget the panicked look that passed among the crew as they watched the boatswain haul her up on to the deck, or the sly calculations from a few of the less loyal ones. Unfortunately, Iris was in no condition to throw her shoulders back and saunter across the deck as though it would take far more than a wounded bicep to fell Captain Iris Arani. She had lost too much blood for that. Far more blood than the ship’s boatswain and substitute doctor was comfortable with. She knew that, because he kept saying it.

  “At some point,” Iris said to Nikolai Novachak as he prodded at the back of her arm, “you should maybe try stitching it closed.”

  “I’ll do that when I know for certain there isn’t part of a bullet in here,” the boatswain retorted. “How you southerners have survived so long without basic medical training, let alone conquered half the archipelago, is beyond me.”

  There was a snort from quartermaster Dax. “The empire has plenty of educated doctors,” he said. “Just not among its Skilled or colonials.”

  Iris grunted. “Remind me to conscript one of them the next time we run across a Solkyrian ship.”

  “Happily,” Novachak grumbled. “You’re lucky this is just a graze, not a full bullet hole in your arm.”

  “Doesn’t feel so lucky,” Iris murmured.

  She grimaced as the suture needle finally jabbed into her skin. Novachak had mixed a little sleeping draught into some tea to help dull the pain, which Iris had tried to refuse at first, but he had insisted and would not stitch her up until she’d downed it. Even though the herbal mixture made her head fuzzy, she did have to admit that if she’d thrown the stuff overboard like she’d originally threatened to do, the minor surgery would have been agony. Still, she hissed in pain as Novachak clumsily stitched her wound closed.

  The man may have received basic medical training while growing up in the Frozen North, but basic training was a far cry from professional f
inesse.

  “This would be easier,” Novachak noted, “if you’d let me do this out in the open with proper lanterns around us.”

  They were in Iris’s private cabin at the stern of the ship, shut away from the eyes and ears of the crew. Usually, momentous decisions on the Southern Echo were put to the vote of everyone, not made in secret.

  This was one of the rare exceptions.

  “I needed to talk to you two alone,” she said. “You’re the only ones I trust with this.”

  “That’s going to be a problem when you need the crew’s cooperation,” Dax remarked.

  Iris waved him off with her uninjured arm, which prompted a stern tap from Novachak. “If I tell them what I mean to do, they’ll never be able to keep it to themselves,” she said. “They’ll know our intent when we’re on a firm course with a comfortable head start.”

  “And when we’ve confirmed that the boy can really do what you think he can,” Novachak added dryly.

  Iris narrowed her eyes, but she smirked down at the wooden floor of her cabin as she thought back to the boy’s explanation of how he’d known who the shooter was. The excitement bubbled in her chest once again. “You were there,” Iris said to Novachak. “You know what he can do.”

  The boatswain shrugged his massive shoulders. “I know he can lure us down alleys so cramped and smelly, not even the enforcers dared to follow us.”

  Iris’s smile was a bit more biting this time. “I fit down that alley perfectly fine,” she said. There was a brief pause before the needle stabbed into her arm again, a bit harder than necessary.

  “You’re the one who knows what we need for this frost-touched adventure of yours, Captain.” A suture pulled taught as the boatswain knotted it off. The stitching felt uneven over the wound, but at least it would hold. “But that boy’s going to need a lot of training before he’s ready, I think.”

  Dax’s expression turned grim. “Another fail out of the imperial academy, I take it?”