Forged in Blood I (2 page)

“Where are we all going to meet up in the meantime?” Maldynado asked. “Until we find a suitable secret hideout, and, as long as we’re on the topic, might I suggest an above-ground hideout without any vermin, scat, urine, or otherwise unsavory leavings in the area? I know the boss is handy with a broom, but she might not have time to clean things up for us for this mission.”

Yara took a step away from Maldynado. “
Handy
with a broom?
Clean
for us? Are you telling me that you need Corporal Lokdon to tidy up after you?”

Maldynado avoided her eyes. “Not
me
specifically, but, uhm.”

Amaranthe watched the exchange with some amusement. She was certain her fastidious streak had been brought up in front of Yara before, but perhaps her new relationship with Maldynado inspired her to want to… hammer him into the mold, as the marines liked to say of their young recruits.

“I’m positive that Basilard, Akstyr, and Yara will find a suitable hideout,” Amaranthe said to keep Maldynado from getting himself into trouble. More trouble.

“Hot water and indoor plumbing would be appreciated,” Books said with a weary sigh, one that spoke of being ready for a year’s worth of hardship to come to an end.

Amaranthe could understand that; she wouldn’t mind easy access to hot baths either.

“I notice you haven’t assigned Sespian, Sicarius, or myself to tasks yet,” Books went on. “Is that because you know it’s important to leave me to my current project?” He tapped the open tome in his hands. “I’m close to having a preliminary constitution fleshed out.”

“That’s good news, but no,” Amaranthe said. “I’d like you to go with Sespian and Sicarius.”

Books blinked a few times. Meanwhile, Sespian eyed Sicarius warily out of the corners of his eyes. He’d grown less vocal about his distaste, but he hadn’t noticeably warmed up to the idea of having an assassin for a father.

“Go where? And to what end?” Books asked.

“As soon as people from that Forge meeting get up here, if they haven’t already, we can expect a newspaper announcement that shares the truth of Sespian’s heritage. Maybe they won’t bother as long as they believe he’s dead, but as soon as we present him as the rightful heir to the throne, they’ll seek to discredit him.”

“Correctly so,” Books said. “If his father is of lowborn origins, his claim to imperial rule comes only through his mother’s side.”

Sicarius’s flat expression turned toward Books. He probably didn’t care if he was “lowborn” or not, but Books squirmed and lifted an apologetic hand beneath the stare.

“True, but his mother’s line gives him as good a claim as many of the other potential candidates,” Amaranthe said, “with the possible exception of Ravido, thanks to the Marblecrests’ not-so-distant history with the throne, but what if Sicarius
isn’t
of lowborn origins?”

“What do you mean? We don’t know who his parents were, do we?” Books pointed at Sicarius.

“No,” Amaranthe said, “but we can surmise that Hollowcrest chose based on intelligence and physical prowess, hoping the offspring would receive the traits of the parents. If some notable Crest man were involved, the populace—and the Company of Lords—might find Sespian’s pedigree more appealing.”

“A Crest?” Maldynado sounded affronted as he regarded Sicarius with new eyes.

“For all we know, Fleet Admiral Starcrest could have been his father,” Amaranthe said.

A wistful expression flashed into Sicarius’s eyes; it was gone so quickly she doubted anyone else noticed it.

Books scoffed. “Starcrest wasn’t blond.”

“Not many Turgonian men are,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe Hollowcrest picked a Kyattese, Mangdorian, or Kendorian woman to birth him, in hopes that his features would be less classical empire, and that he’d be able to blend in when visiting other countries.”

“
Visiting
,” Sespian muttered.

Amaranthe ignored the grousing. She couldn’t blame him for that one. Visiting was an innocuous word for what Sicarius had
really
been doing when he entered other nations.

“This is baseless speculation,” Books said.

“At this point, yes. That’s why you’re going to research his heritage.”

Amaranthe met Sicarius’s eyes, wondering how he’d feel about having other team members prying into his past. She could send him alone—his records were probably in the Imperial Barracks somewhere, if they existed at all—but thought Books might have some useful insight into genealogy studies, should Hollowcrest’s notes prove difficult to decipher. Sicarius didn’t avoid her gaze, but he was being inscrutable, as usual.

“Is it necessary that I go?” Sespian asked, then rushed to add, “Someone should check on Fort Urgot and see what’s going on there.” It sounded like an excuse.

“Fort Urgot can wait,” Amaranthe said. “Aren’t you curious who your grandparents might be on your father’s side? What if they’re still alive?”

Sespian opened his mouth, but shut it again without saying anything. Sicarius’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. Surely he’d wondered before if his parents were still alive. Or maybe that twitch meant he already knew they weren’t.

“Whatever records remain of my training and inception would be in Hollowcrest’s office,” Sicarius said. “If his office hasn’t been disturbed.”

“It hasn’t been moved,” Sespian said, “but Forge owns a number of my…
the
intelligence officers who work in the Barracks. I’m sure it’s been searched.”

“But Forge didn’t have any knowledge of your true heritage until…” Amaranthe winced, reminded that she’d been the one to release the hounds, however inadvertently.

“Hollowcrest was secretive in matters related to my upbringing,” Sicarius said. “The documents would have been hidden.”

“Good,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe they’re undisturbed then. If you three can find something favorable to counteract the questionable nature of, ah…” She extended an apologetic hand toward Sicarius. The empire might be full of war-loving soldiers, but it favored those who won battles bravely and openly, not by sticking daggers in people’s backs. “It’ll be easier to put Sespian forward as the most promising scion if we acknowledge the truth. It’ll come out anyway, but maybe we can put a palatable sauce on it.”

Sicarius’s grunt had a skeptical undertone.

“At the very least,” Amaranthe said, “we’ll need to know who currently holds the Imperial Barracks.”

“The last time I attempted to enter them, they were warded.” Sicarius eyed Akstyr.

Without hesitation, Akstyr raised his hand. “I’ll go and check them out.”

Eager, eh? Amaranthe wondered if it was the chance to study another practitioner’s work that interested him or if he was concerned about being seen on the streets. She didn’t know how many thugs would be searching for him—his bounty wasn’t as high as hers, and nowhere near Sicarius’s, but the gangs had more eyes on the street than the enforcers, so they might represent more of a threat. Things were also more… personal with them. She’d have to do her best to keep Akstyr out of sight until they could deal with the bounty or he could escape the empire. Though he hadn’t always been her most earnest worker, he didn’t deserve to have his loyalty rewarded with a crossbow bolt in the chest.

“So, this leaves only Yara and Basilard to locate our new hideout?” Maldynado shook his head. “We’re going to get something sparse, I know it.”

“Are you whining?” Yara asked.

“No, that was observing.”

“What’s the difference?”

Maldynado snapped his fingers. “Professor Booksie? Would you care to explain?”

“How a grown man can justify constant complaining to his lady?” Books tapped his bulging rucksack. “None of my texts has an answer to that.”

“Let’s get started,” Amaranthe said before Maldynado’s sputtered protest could evolve into fighting words. The gray plumes of smoke from the locomotive had faded, and fresh troops were already piling into the city. “We’ll meet in the alley behind Curi’s Bakery at midnight.”

• • •

A faint breeze stirred the darkness in the underground passages, bringing the scents of fresh snow and damp fir needles from the Emperor’s Preserve. They’d entered the tunnel system through a hidden and booby-trapped gate in the park a half a mile back, one Sicarius had used often in the past. Hollowcrest hadn’t wanted anyone to know an assassin in the emperor’s employment came and went in the Imperial Barracks. The mundane booby traps were not a problem. The newly added Science-based ones were a different matter.

Sicarius followed his nose back to the spot where he’d left the others. The air also carried mold and mildew spores, along with the sharp tang of pine tree resin mixed with bear grease. Akstyr’s hair concoction. The smell of ink verified Books’s presence. Sespian’s scent was more subtle, and Sicarius heard his soft, steady breathing before identifying him in an olfactory manner.

Before speaking and betraying his presence, Sicarius listened, smelled, and touched his fingers to the damp, coarse stone of the tunnel floor, testing for vibrations that would indicate footfalls nearby.

“Maybe he’s going to leave us here all night,” Akstyr muttered.

“If so, I’ll be most put out,” Books said.

“Because you didn’t bring your work with you?”

“Precisely. He said I couldn’t bring my books because they’d slow me down.” Books sniffed. He carried only a lightweight satchel with matches and lanterns.

“The man is truly a tyrant,” Sespian said, his tone dry.

“No argument there,” Akstyr muttered.

Having determined that nobody else approached—despite the distracting babbling of his own colleagues—Sicarius lifted his hand from the stone floor. “I have verified the existence of a ward guarding the Barracks entrance.”

Surprised scuffles sounded, along with the thud of flesh bumping against stone. Books cursed beneath his breath. Sespian stirred—uneasily?

Sicarius knew that his soundless approaches startled others, though he did not know why they so often showed signs of discomfort when they realized he’d heard them talking about him. He did not care if they spoke of him during moments of inane chatter, so long as they were not plotting harm toward him.

“I do not believe it has been disturbed since I came this way last summer,” Sicarius continued. “Akstyr, come.”

Akstyr sighed but did not otherwise object to the command.

Books took a step and banged his knee against the wall.

“If nothing except magic is down here, can we risk a light?” Sespian asked, the material of his sleeve rustling, followed by a pat, suggesting he’d offered Books a hand.

“The
Science
,” Akstyr corrected.

Sicarius would have preferred to continue in darkness, but knew the other men’s senses were not honed appropriately. “It is unlikely we will encounter another until we enter the basement. Or trigger the ward.”

“Good.” Akstyr snapped his fingers, and a soft ball of blue light burned into existence.

Sicarius put his back to it to preserve what he could of his night vision and led the way deeper into the tunnel system. Few people knew about the passages. If the curious way Sespian regarded the damp, rough walls was an indication, their existence was new to him too. Raumesys had prepared him poorly. Perhaps because, from what little Sicarius had witnessed of the boy’s upbringing, the old emperor had never been impressed with his successor. Even before Sespian had come of age, Hollowcrest had been speaking of arranging a marriage for him so he’d produce an heir early on. So they had an alternative should Sespian one day disappear?

A strident twang plucked at Sicarius’s senses, and he slowed down, extending a hand to stop the others. He hadn’t heard or smelled anything, nor had he felt the mental sciences being used, but something was amiss.

Behind him, the men halted without saying a word. In his peripheral vision, he spotted hands dropping to swords sheathed on belts.

Ahead, Akstyr’s light illuminated a dead end, one that appeared to be of natural origins. It wasn’t. There was a stone door, one designed to only allow an exit, not an entrance, but Sicarius knew a way around the locking mechanism. They hadn’t reached the secret door yet, though. He’d stopped a dozen meters from it. He’d sensed…

No, that was the problem. He
didn’t
sense anything. The ward. It’d been right here. His training had included enough exposure to the mental sciences and practitioner-crafted devices that he knew when he was in their presence. Five minutes earlier, a chunk of the stone wall had been emitting a telltale aura. Now, he felt nothing.

The faintest hint of an odor touched his nostrils. Smoke. Pipe smoke, though the particular tobacco blend wasn’t anything imperial men favored. It had a resiny underpinning, one that teased his memory. Nurian
rek rek
. One of his old tutors had smoked it.

He sniffed the air again, trying to verify that identification, but the faint scent proved elusive. Nobody had been smoking in the tunnel, he decided, but someone might have passed through wearing clothing that had been near a smoker.

“Akstyr,” Sicarius whispered. “Do you sense anything?”

“No. Should I?”

“There is a ward here.” Sicarius pointed to the spot on the wall. Even before, there hadn’t been anything tangible to touch or visible to the human eye, but he was certain that it’d been located there. “Now it is gone. Or it has been triggered.” He was reluctant to admit that he could have failed to notice another person in the tunnels, but had to inform them of the possibility. “Someone else may be down here.”

“I don’t sense anything.” Akstyr shuffled over to the spot. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it in the first place?”

“I am certain.”

“Really? Because you’re not a practitioner.”

Books sucked in a breath, as if he feared Sicarius would lash out at Akstyr for daring to question. Were Sicarius going to punish the youth for impertinence, he would have done it the day they met. He did let his tone chill when he repeated, “I am certain,” thus to discourage further argument.

Akstyr closed his eyes and ducked his head, his upswept ridge of hair bobbing. He placed a hand on the wall.