More? Taylina asked.
Your town is rather small, isn’t it? I have been thinking that I should help the humans on the mainland. They’re trying to oust the Cofah conquerors. If I help them, surely they’ll want to worship me too. Of course, they may want to worship me even if I don’t help them, because I’m magnificent, but assistance with their foes would most certainly ensure their loyalty.
That… seems like a noble thing for you to do. If somewhat self-serving, she added to herself. But I will miss you if you leave. You’ll still visit, right? The thought of having built this temple only to have him fly off to another part of the world filled her with sadness.
Of course, I’ll visit. We’ll visit. Often. And bless my followers.
We?
Yes, you are my high priestess. I would not go off to find more worshippers without you.
But I can’t leave. My family and people—
Will be a short flight away. You know I can cross all of Iskandoth in a few hours, correct?
I… did not realize that, no. Taylina had never been to the mainland or farther than the next closest island in the chain. That was three hours away by sea. She couldn’t imagine flying across a large portion of the world in such a short time.
As a dragon rider, you shall do it often!
That’s a permanent position? Taylina asked. She had assumed it a temporary offering for that night they’d worked to defeat the Cofah. Since then, she had been so busy with the temple and with helping the town rebuild that she hadn’t considered further flights astride a dragon.
I am wounded that you have spent so little time speculating about riding with me.
Sorry, I’ve been busy building your temple.
Understandable, but a barely acceptable excuse. I shall attend to these worshippers, and then we will leave tomorrow to explore and see how we may help more of Iskandoth.
Just to be clear, by attending your worshippers, you mean healing their ailments, right? Not just eating their tarts?
It can be both. Dragons are versatile.
Taylina snorted.
Even if she hadn’t been daydreaming about flying with him, she admitted that she would be extremely curious to see the rest of the continent—perhaps even the rest of the world?—atop the back of a dragon. Especially if they could indeed return to visit often. And was it hubris to believe that she and Bhrava Saruth could help against the Cofah? On a greater scale than they had in the harbor?
Of course it’s hubris, but hubris is wonderful. It takes hubris to change the world!
And to ask people to become your followers?
Naturally. We leave tomorrow! Assuming you are truly ready to become a dragon rider. The dog’s bushy eyebrows seemed to arch.
“I’m ready,” Taylina murmured.
THE END
Encrypted
by Lindsay Buroker
Copyright © 2011
Introduction to Encrypted
Encrypted is the second novel I published, and it’s still one of my favorites, even thirty-odd novels later (between my name and my pen name, I’ve lost track of the exact total). Encrypted is set in the same world as my Emperor’s Edge series, which you’ll be introduced to next in this bundle, but it takes place twenty years earlier and thousands of miles away, so you don’t need to have any familiarity with the other series.
Originally, I had planned for my second novel to be the second book in the Emperor’s Edge series, but when I first looked up advice on getting an agent and publisher, most of it suggested not writing a second book in the same series, in case the first one didn’t sell. A lot of the agents also said they weren’t even vaguely interested in swords and sorcery or any D&D- or Tolkien-inspired fantasy (basically anything written in a made-up world), but that was what I had always read and loved, so I stuck with it in the hope that I would get lucky. (Fortunately, the Kindle and a simple way to e-publish came along, and I didn’t have to get lucky.)
Writers can often cite inspirations for stories, especially those that are first in a series. Encrypted and the sequel Decrypted were inspired by Lois McMaster Bujold’s series The Vorkosigan Saga. They’re science fiction rather than fantasy, but they’re some of my favorite books. Her first one is a romance wrapped up in an adventure wound up in a bunch of politics. The hero and heroine are from very different cultures and start out as prisoner and captive, but end up working together, as tends to be the case in these scenarios. They’re both smart people, which is something I love in main characters. But, have you ever noticed that it’s a lot easier to find smart, geeky characters in science fiction than it is in fantasy?
I enjoyed starting with a similar setup and putting it into a fantasy setting. My hero was a brilliant military strategist for his people during a war, and my heroine, who happened to be on the opposite side during that war, was the cryptanalyst who helped her people decode the enemy messages. They’d worked against each other for years without ever meeting. And when they finally meet… oh, I shouldn’t spoil the story for you, right?
I will say that Encrypted was my first attempt at writing any kind of romance. Admittedly, my romances always tend to be secondary to the plot and the adventure and the explosions, but there’s definitely a love story in there. I was a little surprised to find I enjoyed that aspect, as I’d never been a romance reader growing up and hadn’t particularly cared if it was in the fantasy and science fiction I read or not. These days, it’s often a part of my plots, though sometimes it takes seven or eight books for my heroes and heroines to get their happily ever afters!
Once I’d decided on smart, geeky heroes, I had to come up with a story that gave them both an opportunity to use their smarts. (One of my pet peeves is when characters are introduced as being highly intelligent and then never do anything particularly bright in the story. Even worse is when the author repeatedly tells us the heroes are smart, and then they do a lot of really dumb things. It is tough to write genius characters, especially when they’re supposed to be a lot smarter than you are, but I tried very hard to make my heroes believable.) I came up with a big mystery for them to solve and pulled in some science fiction elements because that allowed me to create a scarier and more daunting scenario that was truly alien to both of them. Also, having this huge, overarching danger that could kill them instantly and threaten the entire world gave them a lot of reasons to work together. That was important since Tikaya, my heroine, suspected from the beginning that our hero Rias was someone she really shouldn’t be working with—and definitely not falling in love with!
As I said, Encrypted is the second novel I published, and I only went on to write one sequel (and one short story) with the characters, as compared with some of my other series with seven or eight books. Part of it is that the novel wasn’t a big seller for me and part of it was that my focus was on my Emperor’s Edge series at the time, but I also hadn’t designed it to be the start of a big story. I enjoyed writing the sequel, but Encrypted is definitely a complete story in and of itself. These characters were a lot of fun for me to write, and I think the story came together well. Not easily, mind you. I started out as a seat-of-the-pants writer, rather than an outliner, and I remember figuring a lot of the story out along the way and having to go back and significantly rewrite the last third. In the end, I think everything worked out, and I hope you’ll enjoy the adventure!
Prologue
Tikaya Komitopis slid one finger down the encrypted message while she translated the plain text letters onto a fresh page. She smiled. Her new key was working.
As she revealed more lines, giddiness stirred in her belly. She forced herself not to rush, not to get ahead of herself. Finish translating the message, then read it.
Tikaya tuned out the susurrus of voices in the war room. She ignored the sweat moistening her freckled hands and the mugginess of the salty air that failed to stir the leaves in the palm trees outside the window. A wisp of blonde hair escaped her long braid and dangled before her spectacles, but she
ignored it too.
Only after she copied the Turgonian admiral’s signature did she grab the paper with both hands, devouring the message.
Tikaya shoved her bamboo chair back so quickly it toppled to the floor. She glanced about the desk-filled room. Everyone had stopped work to watch the door where her supervisor stood with the president. Their graying heads tilted toward each other, some discussion on their lips.
She blinked. When had the president arrived?
Then elation sent her racing across the room, sandals slapping the wood floor. Perfect. He should know first.
“Mr. President?” she called, though he was already looking her way. “I have—”
Her hip rammed the corner of a desk. She flailed for balance, tripped over her own feet, and pitched forward. The president caught her in an awkward embrace. Mortified, she lurched backward and found her feet as heat swarmed her cheeks.
“Professor Komitopis,” he said gently, amusement in his blue eyes. “Do you surf?”
Tikaya stared at him in bewilderment, then over his head and out the open door. In the bay, a steamer rumbled toward the docks while a few students straddled surfboards near the beach.
“No, sir,” she said, letting puzzlement into her tone.
“Don’t start,” the president said.
Her supervisor snickered. Oh. She was being teased for her clumsiness. The men’s eyes held no spite, but that did little to abate the heat plaguing her cheeks. It was bad enough she stood two inches taller than either man; she had to stumble around like a drunken sea lion in front of them too?
“You have a message?” the president asked.
The importance of the note flooded back to her. “Yes, yes. The war, sir. It’s over.”
The president’s eyes widened.
“Or it will be in a couple weeks,” Tikaya said. “Listen: ‘Admiral Dufakt, by his Ancestrally Ordained Imperial Highness Emperor Raumesys’s order’—I love it when they use that long title in their encrypted communications. You don’t even need frequency analysis when you’ve got such an obvious key phrase. Every time they—”
“Tikaya,” her supervisor whispered. “The message.”
“Oh, pardon, sirs. The Turgonian emperor says, ‘warships are to stand ready to facilitate troop removal and diplomat transportation for treaty negotiations.’” She tapped the page. “That’s the official part that went out fleet wide, and this second paragraph came on another page. I believe it’s a personal message between admirals.
“‘That’s it Dufakt. With Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s death, we’ve gone from dominating the Nurian forces to scrambling to survive encounters with those ancestors-cursed wizard ships. Having the Kyattese cryptanalyst hand over so many of our decrypted missives to the Nurian government exacerbated our problems. How an island full of scientists managed to steal so many of our correspondences, I’ll never know, but I do wish Starcrest had lived to punish them, especially since taking over their piddling nation was his idea. We’ll recoup and get the Nurians next time. Send along your recommendations for promotions. Signed Acting Fleet Admiral Mourncrest.’”
“Good news, yes, indeed,” the president said.
His head tilted to the side, eyes far away for a moment, and Tikaya recalled he was a telepath. He must be getting a message from some aide back in his office. Or maybe his wife wanted him to stop for groceries on the way home. Tikaya had never studied the mental sciences and did not know how likely that was, but she smirked at the thought of the president popping into the market for sugar and bananas.
When his eyes focused on Tikaya again, concern hooded them, and her amusement evaporated. His tone turned grim when he spoke: “Step outside with me, please, Professor.”
Tikaya handed the note to her supervisor, and an uneasy flutter vexed her stomach as she trailed the president.
A breeze wafted in from the ocean, making it feel cooler outside despite the sun radiating off the sidewalk. Seagulls squawked in response to a steam horn blasting in the bay. The president stopped in the shade of a jackfruit tree.
“The work you’ve done for us this last two years has been phenomenal, Tikaya. I’m grateful, and if our nation knew about it they would be too.”
She shrugged, embarrassed by the praise, and prodded a fallen jackfruit with her toe. “Thank you, sir, but I’ve just been hunkered in a room, playing with symbols. It was different from my regular work but similar. A fun challenge.” The president’s eyebrows twitched, and she winced. She should not call anything related to the war fun. Too many had died. “The men and women who risked their lives to obtain the missives are the heroes.”
“I’m grateful to them, too, but their names aren’t the ones starting to show up in Turgonian naval orders.”
“My name isn’t...” She froze. The Kyattese cryptanalyst. That had been in the message, not for the first time. The Turgonians seemed to believe a single person responsible. Her. The humid air did nothing to stifle the chill that raised the hair on the back of her neck.
“If they find out who you are,” the president said, “your life will be in danger.”
“They won’t figure it out,” she croaked, mouth dry. “They won’t. They’ll be looking for a cryptanalyst, not a philology professor buried in a back room at the Polytechnic, deciphering dead languages on dusty scrolls and tablets.” Why did she sound like she was trying to convince herself? “We don’t even study cryptography on the islands; surely they’ll think it was some Nurian who worked with us.”
“I hope that’s true, but...I hear you’re good with a bow.”
For a moment, the topic shift befuddled her. Then realization dawned and made her shake her head. “In the field in the back of my parents’ house, yes, sir. But I couldn’t shoot anyone.”
“I suggest you keep up your practice in the months ahead.”
Tikaya closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She did not even like hunting. That had always been her brother and her father’s domain. She shot because she found the repetitive, mechanical task conducive to thinking, to problem solving. She had worked out many language puzzles while plunking arrows into the straw targets on her parents’ plantation.
“I hope you understand that I cannot regret bringing you into this,” the president said, “not when you’ve been so pivotal to our people retaining their freedom. But I do...owe you a great debt. I will do everything possible to deflect foreign questions about your involvement, and I will pray for your safety in the months and years ahead.”
“I understand, sir. If anything does happen, I don’t hold you responsible. I had to do this. I wouldn’t enjoy living under imperial rule.” She sensed his grimness and wanted to reassure him. “Those warmongers probably make their professors wear swords to class, and, given how easily I can trip over my own feet, that’d be a death sentence for sure.”
The president smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
“Something else, sir?” she asked.
He sighed, his gaze toward the sea. “Yes, the reason I called you out here... I just learned the bad news. It’s about your fiancé.”
Fear tightened Tikaya’s chest. “Parkonis?”
“I’m sorry. The Turgonians sank the Eagle’s Spirit off the coast of the northern island. There were no survivors.”
“They sank—” Her voice cracked. “No, they wouldn’t have... The Spirit is an archaeology vessel! It doesn’t even have a cannon.” She gripped the tree for support.
The president placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know.”
Tikaya sank to the grass and buried her face in her lap. She did not want to believe Parkonis was dead, but hot tears streaked down her cheeks and dampened her dress.
The war was over, but she had nothing to celebrate.
1
Moisture slicked the handle of Tikaya’s machete, and sweat saturated her hemp dress. Her blade rang as she scraped leaves free from a stalk of sugar cane.
Sunset approached, and she had yet to cut a hand,
leg, or other notable appendage. Maybe she was finally growing competent with the machete. The hilt slipped in her damp palm, and she nicked her thumb. Maybe not.
She lifted her spectacles to wipe moisture out of her eyes. A reflection in the glass made her jump.
Machete in hand, she whirled toward the cleared area behind her. A man towered a few paces away, a dagger and cutlass at his belt, and a muzzle-loading rifle crooked in his arms. His bronze skin and dark hair would have marked him a foreigner even if the black military uniform with its fine factory weave did not. It was a uniform she had not seen in a year, not since the war ended, but she had not forgotten its significance: Turgonian marine.
Several paces lay between her and the wagon where her bow rested on the driver’s seat. She had kept it within reach the first couple of months after the treaty signing, but time had dulled her vigilance. Swallowing, she shifted her gaze left and right, hoping to spot a couple of the seasonal laborers her father hired to harvest the cane. But the day grew late, and she had worked herself into a private corner of the field. The house stood hundreds of meters away. No one would hear her yell.
The marine said nothing, though his dark eyes followed her darting gaze. Running would confirm she had a reason to hide; maybe she could trick him into thinking she was no one of consequence. Not that being an innocent would necessarily make her safe from a Turgonian.
“If you’re looking for rum,” she said, his language sliding off her tongue automatically, “my brother’s working in the distillery. He can sell you enough for your entire ship at a fair price.”
The marine’s eyes widened, and a satisfied—no, triumphant—smile stretched across his face.
Dread curled through her belly. They knew who she was, what her role had been in the war. Addressing him in his language had been a mistake, a confirmation that they had found the right person. She eyed the rifle, noticed it was loaded and cocked. A huge mistake.