Forged in Blood I (11 page)

Sicarius chastised himself for missing his mark by half an inch—the death should have been instant. When he was certain there weren’t any other immediate dangers, he rose and collected his knives. He swiped a blade across the throat of the dying man to ensure he’d pose no further threat. As he cleaned his weapons, he noted the silence in the hallway, though the alarm gongs continued in the building above.

For a moment, Amaranthe intruded upon his thoughts—would she have objected to the killing of these men? They could not have been permitted to run back for reinforcements, and attempting to subdue them would not have allowed him to bring them down as efficiently. It was possible one might have escaped to warn others. Yet the dead men wore the uniforms of Imperial Barracks security and were quite possibly the same guards who’d once worked for Sespian. Simply people doing their jobs, being caught in the middle, Amaranthe would have said.

Sicarius pushed the thoughts aside and rose, sensing Books had come up behind him. He was staring at the dead men. Sicarius walked past him without a word.

Sespian remained with Akstyr. His face was grim, but otherwise difficult to interpret. Good. A man should not be as readable as a book.

“This licks street,” Akstyr grumbled after a time, making a crude gesture at the ward.

“That would be an impressive feat,” Books said, having rejoined them, “given its lack of a discernible tongue.”

Akstyr gave him a withering glare. “I can’t concentrate with all that noise going on.” He made another crude gesture, this one involving the forearm as well as the fingers, aiming it at the ceiling this time.

“He has quite the non-verbal repertoire,” Sespian noted.

It seemed to be a comment aimed at the group, rather than anyone specific, but he glanced at Sicarius. Checking for a reaction? Did he expect disapproval? Or maybe it had been an invitation to comment. And join in the… did this qualify as banter?

“Yes,” Sicarius said, but his thoughts scattered after that, and he couldn’t think of an appropriate addition to the conversation. “It is unfortunate he does not apply his finger dexterity more assiduously to his blade training.”

The three men stared at him in unison, then exchanged those looks with each other that implied his ore cart was, as the imperial saying went, missing a wheel.

“Just what this group needs,” Sespian muttered, “another expert knife thrower.” He gave the bend, beyond which the dead men lay, a significant look.

For Sicarius, trained so long to hide his emotions, the sigh was inward. “I will stand watch.” Before he headed for the bend, he told Akstyr, “If you cannot deactivate it, see if you can move it out of the way.”

Sicarius retreated—he reluctantly admitted that
retreat
was indeed the correct word—around the bend and stood with his back against the wall, out of sight of the others. He wondered if he’d ever be able to talk to his son without a sense of awkward discomfort cloaking them. Perhaps he shouldn’t try when Amaranthe wasn’t around. There was still discomfort when she was part of the conversation, but she didn’t seem to mind filling it with the sort of ambling chatter that put Sespian and the others at ease. He admitted it put him at ease as well. He couldn’t remember when that had started happening. When they’d first met, he’d merely thought her overly gregarious.

“I think… Did that work?” Akstyr’s voice floated down the tunnel.

“I don’t know,” Books said. “We can’t see it any more.”

“Oh. Here.”

A renewed red glow filled the hallway. Sicarius returned to the group. Instead of floating in the middle of the tunnel, the ward was now wedged into a crevice near the ceiling.

“It looks like it was protecting a flat area, rather than a whole chunk of the tunnel.” Akstyr pinched the air with his fingers, then spread his arms to demonstrate.

“A plane,” Books said, perhaps intending to sneak in another geometry lesson.

“What?”

“A flat area is—never mind.”

“I turned it, so the plane thing is along that wall now,” Akstyr said. “We should be able to walk by if we stay by this wall.”

“Should?” Books asked.

“We
can
. I’m sure of it.”

Books and Sespian looked to Sicarius. For advice, an order, or because they wanted him to go first and be the one incinerated if it came to that? Whatever the reason, it made Akstyr scowl and stick his fists on his hips.

Sicarius closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the ward instead of seeing it. Yes, Akstyr had succeeded in moving it. Thinking of the bodies in the tunnel behind them, he realized he should have made that suggestion earlier.

“It is safe.” Sicarius led the others through the tunnel and toward another secret doorway that would let them out into the night. They’d gone perhaps half of the distance, when a startled wail came from behind him.

“Blood-thirsty butchering ancestors, what
happened
to my
hair
?”

• • •

Sicarius wondered at Amaranthe’s choice of a meeting place. The alley behind Curi’s Bakery? The establishment was frequented by enforcers with no less than three different patrol routes crossing through the intersection out front. Normally, it wouldn’t matter this late at night, but these weren’t normal times. With the university only a few blocks away, this was a likely area for dissent to arise, and pairs of uniformed men trod the streets, enforcing the curfew. In addition, squads of soldiers marched through from time to time, ensuring civilians were inside where they should be, and subdued.

To avoid the patrols, Sicarius led Akstyr, Books, and Sespian across the rooftops for the last half mile. Though the gangs weren’t traditionally active in that part of the city, Akstyr stuck close and kept his complaints to himself when they were shimmying up drainpipes and ducking under clotheslines. Despite the unique route, they startled a few thieves and other miscreants seeking refuge from the enforcers. Most were young, but youths could send messages to bosses as easily as adults. Sicarius suspected it would soon be common knowledge that Amaranthe’s team was back in the city.

They reached Curi’s Bakery, hopping across a four-foot gap between it and the next building, to land on the flat roof. Sicarius jogged to the back corner so he could check the alley for the others. The delays in the Imperial Barracks had caused him to miss the midnight meeting point by twenty minutes.

Nothing stirred in the narrow back passages. He would have expected Amaranthe to wait, but perhaps she’d left a message somewhere with directions to the new hideout. He was on the verge of checking when two figures turned off the street and into the alley. Though darkness hid their features, he recognized them by height, build, and gait, Basilard with the stocky form and short steps—along with occasional glances at weeds growing from crevices—and Sergeant Yara with longer legs and steps influenced by broader hips.

“I can barely understand your signs in the daylight,” Yara whispered, “but if you’re wondering where everyone is, I’m with you.”

Basilard’s response was indiscernible from the rooftop.

Sicarius was of a mind to wait a moment before revealing himself, and make sure nobody followed the pair into the alley, but Sespian had joined him at the edge of the rooftop and he waved and whispered, “We’re up here. Some of us anyway.”

Keeping a hand on the gutter, Sespian swung down from the two-story building, landing softly on a large square trash bin, then hopping into the street. Not for the first time, Sicarius noted the boy’s natural agility. He could become a talented fighter if he ever pursued the training with any enthusiasm.

Books and Akstyr joined Sicarius at the edge of the roof.

“No sign of Amaranthe?” Books asked.

“I will check the area to see if they were here or left a message,” Sicarius said.

Books and Akstyr dropped down to the street, taking the same route as Sespian. They also made it look effortless. Neither had natural athletic aptitude, but they’d grown far more capable at physical feats in the last year. Sicarius noted his own satisfaction in regard to how the men’s training had come along. The feeling surprised him, and he decided it must have to do with his own growth as an instructor or perhaps the mere achievement of creating a more capable team to help with Sespian and Amaranthe’s goals.

Sicarius headed off to scout the streets and alleys around the bakery. At first, he was merely looking to see if Amaranthe and the others were on their way, but then he dropped to ground level, sniffing the air for the familiar scent of her shampoo, and searching the streets for signs that she’d been there. Her training had come a long way, as well, and he doubted she would have inadvertently stumbled into a squad of enforcers or soldiers, but Forge represented a unique threat, with its access to superior technology, and now they must worry about Nurians as well.

Snippets of the rest of the team’s conversation floated to Sicarius’s ears as he searched.

“…slagging cut my hair off. With that ugly black knife of his.” Akstyr’s petulant grousing rose above all the others.

“It’ll grow back,” Yara said. “Maybe you should cut off the rest of it for a disguise. Aren’t the gangs hunting you?”

“Oh, huh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“If we could discuss a more important matter,” Books said, “did you locate a suitable hideout?”

“Yes,” Yara said. “There’s a molasses factory near the waterfront that’s for sale. It doesn’t look like anybody’s been around for a month or two. Basilard said there’s some winter weather coming in, so we figure there won’t be a lot of people browsing around for new business endeavors.”

“Molasses?” Sespian asked. “Sounds… sticky.”

“I understand this team wields brooms as well as swords,” Yara said.

“Only because Amaranthe has a knack for talking people into doing things,” Books said.

Still searching, Sicarius drifted out of ear range at that point. He hadn’t seen anyone walking around, aside from a pair of yawning enforcers, but he hadn’t seen sign of Amaranthe and the others either. It didn’t seem that they’d been ensnared upon arriving; they’d simply never shown up. That implied trouble at the
Gazette
, or perhaps they’d gone to Deret Mancrest’s residence. If the man had attempted to trap Amaranthe again, Sicarius vowed to deal with him in, as she would say, an assassinly way. On this point, he didn’t care if she approved or not.

On his way back to tell the others of his suspicions, Sicarius’s route took him past the front of the bakery. The trays behind the large windows were empty, though etchings in the glass illustrated a wide variety of sweets available during the day. A sign beside the door, the writing visible thanks to the corner gas lamp, suggested patrons inquire about bulk orders as well as day-old pastries. Knowing of Amaranthe’s fondness for such things, Sicarius wondered if she might have led the others inside to wait—and perhaps sample some of those “day-old” sweets? Sicarius slipped out his toolkit and went around to a side door where his back wouldn’t be to the street as he worked on the lock. The others were still discussing the merits and demerits of a molasses factory as a hideout.

The streetlight’s influence didn’t reach the alley, so Sicarius had to find the door lock by feel. Scratches marred the metal around the hole, suggesting others had attempted to pick it before. Perhaps Amaranthe
had
gone inside. Or perhaps hungry university students had attempted infiltrations in the past.

Either way, it wouldn’t take long to check. The lock proved simple by his standards, and he entered through the side door a couple of minutes later. He tested the air with his nose again, searching for the team members’ familiar scents, but the heady smells of cinnamon, cloves, and maple overpowered lesser odors.

The light from the corner streetlamp provided enough illumination for Sicarius to glide through the interior, skirting counters and tables up front and cupboards and baking racks in the back, without making a sound. There wasn’t anybody else in the building. A pointless diversion.

Sicarius headed for the door again, though a raised glass-covered tray next to a cash register caught his eyes. It contained a tidy arrangement of pastries, including a couple he thought might be of the “Emperor’s Buns” variety. Though he could not condone the eating of sweets, he knew Amaranthe liked them. She’d risked exposing herself on that riverboat to acquire pastries from the kitchens—and gone to great lengths to try to hide those pastries from him. With good cause. Such food was hardly appropriate to one seeking to regain mental and physical stability. Sicarius took a step toward the door but paused again. Such treats
did
bring inexplicable pleasure to Amaranthe.

Hoping he wasn’t setting a precedent, he selected a pair of tongs, opened the lid, chose a pastry that looked like it might survive time spent in a pocket, and deposited it in one of the paper bags next to the register. Though he could only guess at prices, he left a couple of ranmya coins on the counter.

Before he reached the door leading to the alley, a faint noise drifted to his ears. Footsteps. Not from inside, but from the sidewalk in front of the building. Suspecting a pair of enforcers on patrol, he crouched behind the counter. A single slender figure in black came into view. Wraps covered the person’s hair and face, leaving only eyes visible, but he had the impression of a woman beneath the clothing. She looked both ways down the street, then pressed her face against the window, peering into the bakery.

Sicarius had long ago learned how many shadows it took to hide him—and his short blond hair, which he usually left uncovered—so he didn’t bother lowering his head. He knew she couldn’t see him. After taking a long look, the woman left the window and headed for the alley where the side door was located.

She
would
see him if she strode through the entrance that was two feet from his side. He’d locked the door after entering—one didn’t leave sign of trespass, even if one was still inside the building—but if this person had a key, she could be in momentarily.