The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [124]
He felt something small strike his head. Then again.
He used his finger to probe his hair, worrying that embers from the fire were striking him, but the palm of his hand came away wet. More water fell, primarily on the Gorovna. The water cooled the air just enough for Nikandr to run the length of the perch. By the time he made it clear of the heat he was exhausted, and he couldn’t seem to clear the smoke from his lungs.
Two jalaqiram standing within the stone garden had their arms spread to the sky. Azurite gems glowed brightly in the dim light as they commanded the rain to fall against the ships. Rain hissed and steamed as it struck the Gorovna’s deck.
Nikandr saw Father standing nearby. With the blood along the side of his face, the dirt and glass in his hair and beard, the haggard look upon his face, it looked like he alone had defended Radiskoye against the traitor dukes. He stared at Nikandr with a strange mix of emotion on his face, so much so that Nikandr felt uncomfortable.
Ranos broke away from several soldiers and gave Nikandr a long hug, breaking the spell. “I didn’t know if I would see you again.”
“Nor I you.”
Movement caught Nikandr’s eye. Near the broken doors leading into the palotza, he saw a woman being watched by a strelet. He didn’t recognize her at first—she wore a dirty riding outfit, and her hair was tied back behind her head in a long tail—but it was Atiana. She stared at him with a soft expression, a worried expression. Stranger than the show of emotion, however, was her mere presence. He had thought her gone with the rest of her family. What was she doing here? And what had happened on the eyrie when Zhabyn had been called to the edge of the ship?
Three sotnik and a polupolkovnik came and spoke with Father, and as they did Jahalan and Udra arrived. The skiff that Nikandr had seen returned to him in a moment. “Father, forgive me, but I beg your permission to take the Gorovna.”
Father turned and regarded Nikandr anew.
“The skiff that was ripped from the Olganya... Ashan escaped with it—he and Nasim, both. I can still find them, but I must leave now.”
Father looked to the east. The night still reigned, but there was a band of indigo along the horizon. “The sun is already starting to rise. The blockade will find you before you could find such a small ship.”
“That’s why I need to hurry.”
“Ashan could be headed anywhere.”
“Nyet. He is headed toward Ghayavand.”
When Nikandr had last discussed it with Ashan, he had seemed mystified by the possibility that Nasim might be one of the three arqesh who had destroyed the island. Whether or not that was true was no longer the point. Ashan believed it, and he would take Nasim there to discover the truth.
He also understood that Ashan would need him. The bond that was shared between him and Nasim was unmistakable. It was the key to a very large and complex problem—he’d admitted as much when they’d spoken of Ghayavand. Nikandr didn’t care, though. He sensed a need to discover the nature of their connection as well, and if it meant traveling to a distant island to do so, then he would answer the call.
Nikandr explained as well as he could, as quickly as he could, to his father. “I’ll bring them back for you, Father,” he concluded. “Please.”
“You won’t find them.”
“If I fail, I’ll return. I’ll bypass the blockade. It hasn’t truly begun in any case.”
“They have two dozen ships, Nischka, with more on the way.”
Outside, the two jalaqiram had put out the fire on the Gorovna and were trying to stem the tide on the Tura, but it was too little, too late. The ship was damaged beyond repair. By now the fire would have compromised the ability of the windwood to maintain its buoyancy. Soon the ship would sink and snap its mooring lines, as heavy as any waterborne craft.
“Father,” Ranos said, “they wanted the arqesh and the