Blood and Betrayal (2 page)

Maldynado propped his fists on his hips and was about to argue that there’d been nothing dubious about the piloting—there was only so much one could do when being shot at by a craft with superior firepower—but he noticed Yara standing a few feet away in a similar hands-on-hips pose, her lips curled as if also poised to retort. Something about the similarity disoriented him. He dropped his hands and said nothing. She looked at him at the same time as he was eyeing her, frowned, and seemed to forget her retort too.

The west side of the lake
, Basilard signed, his pale-skinned fingers flying.
We tried our best to help her, but it happened too quickly. It’s possible…
When Sicarius focused on him, Basilard’s fingers faltered. He glanced at Books and ran a hand over his bald, scarred head before squaring his shoulders and continuing.
We were high and near the shoreline. Shallow water. It’s possible she is… injured.

Maldynado swallowed. He’d been trying to stay above the treetops, so they’d been at least fifty feet up when the other craft struck.

Without a thank you or even a nod, Sicarius said, “I will recover Lokdon.” Then, as he started walking toward the lake, he added, “Sire, come with me. I can best protect you.”

The emperor, who had heretofore been quiet, blinked and stared at his back. “Uh, thanks, but I’ll take my chances here.”

Sicarius halted and turned slowly, pinning the emperor with his stare. Emperor or not, Maldynado expected the young man to squirm under those dark eyes—everyone else did. Sespian lifted his chin, though, and returned the stare. There was even the faintest hint of an eyebrow raise, as if to say, “That’s right. I’m refusing to obey you. What’re you going to do about it?”

Though Maldynado wanted to hunt for Amaranthe, too, he felt compelled to wink at the emperor and say, “Don’t worry, Sicarius, we can take good care of him. We’re fine pugilists.” If Sespian had been anyone else, Maldynado would have thrown an arm around his shoulders as he spoke, but there were protocols against touching the emperor. In battle, congratulatory shoulder thumps from trusted warrior-caste brethren might be appropriate, but, alas, Maldynado was neither trusted nor warrior-caste any more.

Sicarius’s face never changed—someday Maldynado wanted to see the man lose his temper, or at least sneer in frustration—but he did take a step toward the emperor, as if he might force the issue. He froze before he’d taken more than that one step though. His hand dropped to that nasty black dagger of his, and he swiveled, his eyes shifting toward the sky—or at least what they could see of it. The balloon and lingering smoke obscured the view.

“What is it?” Books asked.

“Trouble,” Akstyr muttered, pushing a snarl of hair out of his eyes. Dampness had flattened his usual spikes and made his mismatched clothing appear even baggier than usual. If he had to flee, he’d be lucky if his trousers didn’t drop to his ankles.

A likely guess
, Basilard signed, and glanced toward the trees, as if seeking a hiding spot.

Though numerous minutes had passed since the crash, the birds hadn’t started chirping again. Maybe it was the smoke and the flames still dancing in some of the trees. Or maybe it was something more inimical. Maldynado found himself scouring the sky as well. Their attackers had prematurely left them for dead once before—in the tunnel cave-in. They might not be so quick to leave the area this time.

“Get off the beach,” Sicarius said. “Into the trees. Hide.”

Nobody decided to use that moment to question whether Sicarius was second-in-command or not.

Maldynado grabbed the end of the footlocker and waved for Basilard to help him with it, but Sicarius barked, “Leave the gear.”

Yara, Books, and Basilard sprinted for cover in the forest. The emperor hesitated, as if he meant to wait to make sure the others were safe before running.

Sicarius strode toward him, spun him toward the woods, and pushed. “Go, Sire.”

Maldynado caught up and ran at Sespian’s side. Emperor or not, the young man could use an ally, especially since Sicarius seemed to have—ancestral spirits save the boy—made “protecting” him his project. Even if it was well meaning, Sicarius’s attention wasn’t something a person should have to face alone.

“Here, Sire.” Maldynado hopped a stump and slid into a nook formed by a tightly packed copse of trees.

With his broad shoulders, Maldynado had to turn sideways to squeeze into the spot, but he wagered nobody in the air over the wetlands would be able to see him. He waved, inviting Sespian in beside him. Being of slighter build, the emperor slipped in without trouble. Sicarius paused behind him.

“Sorry,” Maldynado said brightly. “No room for three.”

Sicarius opened his mouth, but, before he could speak, a great cacophony shattered the stillness of the wetlands. It pounded at Maldynado’s eardrums, and a stunned moment passed before he could identify the noise as wood snapping, a
lot
of wood snapping. A tremor ran through the earth, and ripples shot across the nearby water. The smell of something burning singed the air.

Sicarius disappeared from view. Maldynado wanted to sink low in his nook and bury his head, but he peeked around the closest tree instead.

All around the beach, trees had been felled or were falling. So many branches and bushes burned that it seemed like one huge inferno spouting flames into the sky. Even in his protected copse, the heat battered Maldynado’s face.

Every trace of the dirigible, including the metal hull, had disappeared. Incinerated.

Maldynado groaned. “So much for salvaging the craft.” Not only would Lady Buckingcrest never forgive him, but she might even send men out to hunt him down.

Nothing but smoldering black smudges remained of the footlocker and abandoned gear on the beach. Beyond the crash site, a massive dark shape cast its shadow over the water. The solid dome hovered a few meters above the wetlands, its smooth, unadorned hull so inky black it appeared as if a semi-circular hole had opened up in the sky, revealing empty nothingness within. The craft seemed to be waiting.

“That cannot be good,” the emperor murmured.

Maldynado pulled back and leaned his forehead against fuzzy, damp moss growing up the side of his tree. “I hope Amaranthe was able to get out of the water and find a place to hide before they saw her.”

“They’re probably not looking for her,” Sespian said. “They’ll want me back.”

Back or
dead
? Maldynado kept the thought to himself. Sespian had enough on his mind. “If they stumbled across Amaranthe while looking for you, I’m sure they’d be happy to pick her up—or shoot her outright. We’ve caused a lot of trouble for them, and she’s our fountainhead.”

Sespian winced. “I would… deeply regret it if harm came to her because of me.”

The words weren’t hollow ones. Maldynado could tell from the new layer of concern that weighed down Sespian’s face. So much for not putting more on his mind.

Maldynado fidgeted, eager to hunt for Amaranthe. If Forge
hadn’t
found her, and she was holed up somewhere, incapacitated from her injuries, she’d be waiting for her team’s help. Actually, incapacitated or not, she’d be scheming up some way to help herself, but she wouldn’t be too proud to accept assistance.

“Is it gone yet?” Maldynado whispered.

From his spot, Sespian had a better view of the water. “It’s moved closer.”

“Wonderful. They must be hoping we’ll stroll out and volunteer to be flambéed.”

“Or maybe it’s going to torch the entire wetlands to ensure we’re all dead.”

“Cheery thought.” Maldynado said. Maybe Sespian knew Forge didn’t want him “back” after all.

A tree snapped. Branches broke, and leaves rattled as it fell, landing with a noisy splash. Maldynado gripped the mossy bark of his own tree and leaned out, trying to keep his body hidden as he observed the craft.

Still hovering, the floating dome crowded the shoreline. Trees standing next to it appeared as thin and frail as toothpicks. Its convex top rose higher than their canopies. Nothing on the flat black bottom of the craft caused ripples in the water below, nor did the leaves in the trees near it stir, so Maldynado couldn’t imagine how it flew or stayed in the air. It did drift from side to side as it hovered, occasionally bumping those “toothpicks,” causing them to crash to the ground as if they were rootless dowels capable of being knocked over in the faintest breeze.

Maldynado expected the craft to tire of waiting and to send some of those deadly beams out to raze the entire forest, leaving nothing but a smoking crater. But, after hovering for several more moments, it floated upward. Once above the canopy, it headed south.

Long before Maldynado thought crawling out of hiding would be wise, Sicarius darted past him. He leaped ten feet into the air, caught the side of a stout pine, and scrambled up the trunk. He skimmed upward, zipping around branches like a squirrel before disappearing from view.

“That man is exceedingly odd,” Sespian observed.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Maldynado said.

“Why does Corporal Lokdon employ him?” Sespian asked lightly, as if he were simply making conversation and the answer didn’t matter, but intensity sharpened his brown eyes.

“He can thump everyone else into pawpaw pulp, and he does what the boss asks.” As soon as Maldynado said that, he thought of Sicarius’s recent string of assassinations and grimaced. “Most of the time anyway.” That might not be all that accurate either. “Often enough that she finds him useful,” he amended.

“Hm. And I suppose she must find you useful too.” Sespian raised his eyebrows.

Maldynado vowed to be careful what he said. If his brother, Ravido, truly planned to usurp the throne, Maldynado might be presumed guilty by lieu of having the same parents. “Oh, I’m all sorts of useful.” He touched his chest and offered his most disarming smile—it worked wonders on women, though a nineteen-year-old emperor might be less enamored. “I’m tolerable good at thumping folks, too, and I can get great deals from the many female clerks and businesswomen in Stumps.”

Sespian mulled that over for a moment before saying, “You’re the group shopper?”

“Technically, yes, but don’t forget the thumping part.” Maldynado lifted an arm and flexed his biceps.

Sespian’s measuring gaze remained on him long enough that Maldynado started to feel silly holding his arm aloft. He lowered it, but kept the affable smile. He didn’t have anything to hide, but he’d prefer it if the emperor saw him as a simple man, the sort who couldn’t string together a coup if he wanted to. Or maybe the sort who, even if he
could
string together a coup, couldn’t be bothered to make the effort. Nobody worried about men like that.

Sicarius dropped out of the tree, bending his knees to soften the landing. “Books.”

Foliage stirred somewhere behind Maldynado, and boots crunched through the twigs and dead leaves. Grumbling accompanied the footsteps, something about, “being summoned like a hound.”

When Books stopped in front of him, Sicarius dropped a compass into one pocket and pulled a folded piece of paper out of another. Curious, Maldynado wriggled out of his nook. With the dirigible nothing more than a memory, it seemed unlikely the enemy craft would return.

“I need a pen,” Sicarius told Books.

Annoyance flickered across Books’s weathered face. “You think gathering writing utensils was my first priority after that brawny toad—” Books pointed at Maldynado, “—crashed us? I was hurrying to get out before the engine exploded, something I assumed would happen given that Maldynado had been flying. I didn’t even have a chance to grab my sword.”

“Come now, Booksie,” Maldynado said, “we all know you could be set upon by a platoon of Nurian soldiers and you’d always grab writing utensils first. You can only fight one man at a time with a sword, but, with a pen, you can compose a lecture to bore legions of enemy troops to death.”

Books glared at him. Sicarius held out his hand.

Sighing, Books pulled out his journal and unclipped a pen. The journal was the compact, leather-bound one that had disappeared the day before the team left the capital. Maldynado hadn’t realized he’d gotten it back.

Sicarius took the pen, unfolded his paper, and laid it on the ground. It was a map of the satrapy. Sicarius marked a couple of topographical features, scribbled coordinates under them, then started drawing lines. Maldynado scratched his head.

By now, the others had gathered around. Books and Basilard were nodding as they watched, and, after a moment, Sespian seemed to get it too. Akstyr and Yara didn’t show any signs of enlightenment, but they didn’t seem to care either.

“What are you working on?” Maldynado asked. “I ask because the boss could be out there, bleeding to death somewhere, and unless this is going to help us find her, I think it should wait.” He gazed out toward the lake. At least a half hour must have passed since Amaranthe fell out and the dirigible crashed. If she were able, she should have joined them by now, or at least signaled.

Sicarius was using the back of a knife to draw a straight line down the center of the map, and he didn’t respond. Maldynado huffed in exasperation. He was tempted to take charge and divide up the group for a search, but he didn’t know if anyone would listen to him.

Sicarius circled two towns alongside the line he’d drawn.

He saw which way the craft flew away,
Basilard signed.
I think he’s trying to figure out where it might be going from the bearing.

“Yes,” Books said, “though we have no guarantee that it’s flying in a straight line in the direction it departed. Or that it’s heading to a destination within the satrapy.”

Maldynado stamped his feet. “Does nobody else care that the boss might be dead or dying somewhere and need our help?”

Basilard frowned at him.

“We
all
care,” Books said.

“Then why aren’t we—”

Sicarius stood, the movement abrupt enough that Maldynado stepped back and shut his mouth.

“Fifteen minutes,” Sicarius said.

Maldynado frowned. “You want to wait fifteen minutes to search?” He shook his head and started to say more, but Sicarius spoke again.