Forged in Blood I (34 page)

Perhaps fifteen feet away from the largest tent, he had to stop. The row of lorries had ended, and he was looking at the gangly legs of a steam tramper; two of the towering vehicles were parked side by side. Sicarius eased into a crouch, intending to slip between those legs and head straight for the tent. But, as Sespian had pointed out, there were numerous soldiers coming and going. In addition, the trampers were in full view of a guard at the corner of the vehicle area.

Sicarius eyed the boxy metal bodies above the pillar-like legs. Cannons stuck out of raised portholes on the side, not dissimilarly to an imperial warship on the high seas. The top of the body would be flat, aside from a gunner’s turret.

“This way,” he breathed to Sespian.

When the guard had his head turned, Sicarius darted to the closest leg. He climbed up it, his sensitive fingers finding handholds on the icy metal. Cold snow waited on the top. He slid his fingers beneath it to grasp the edge, so he could swing his legs up. He dropped to his belly and gripped Sespian’s arm as soon as it was close enough. Sicarius pulled him over the edge. Staying low, he crossed to the opposite side. Again waiting for the guard’s head to be turned, he leaped the five-foot gap between the two trampers, landing lightly in the snow on the opposite one. Sespian followed, landing almost as easily.

“Good,” Sicarius whispered. Though speaking wasn’t wise, it seemed important to let Sespian know that he approved of his efforts.

They dropped to their bellies on the top of the tramper, the cold snow pressing against their parkas. They squirmed to the edge closest to the large tent. Two flags were thrust into the ground on either side of the entrance. From across the vehicle clearing, Sicarius hadn’t been able to make out the patterns on the material, but he could see them now: the crossed swords on a blue background—the empire’s flag—and a gold pick crossed over a musket and powder horn—the Damark Satrapy’s flag. Lord Heroncrest did indeed govern that northern region.

Sicarius slipped out his black dagger. He would listen for what intelligence might be had, but he intended to eliminate Heroncrest that night, cutting out this thorn before it embedded itself more deeply and festered. He thought of sending Sespian away, making some pretense of going back to check on something, but he doubted that’d spare any harsh feelings. No, he’d simply do what he intended, no lies, no excuses.

“That’s the command tent, right?” Sespian whispered.

He scooted closer to the edge, shoulder to shoulder with Sicarius. Touching. It was the first time Sicarius could remember Sespian coming that close of his own volition. He rubbed his thumb against the side of his dagger. Killing Heroncrest… It’d put distance between him and his son again.

Regrettable, but Sespian would be better served by a quick resolution to the succession.

A captain trailed by a private carrying a notebook hustled for the command tent. He ducked inside without a word, but voices started up soon after.

“News, Captain Bearovic?” It was an older man’s voice, General Heroncrest, Sicarius guessed, though he’d never heard the man speak and couldn’t be positive.

“Yes, sir. Our intelligence men have reported back. Ravido Marblecrest is still in the Imperial Barracks and has approximately two thousand troops within the walls there and another fifteen thousand maintaining the peace in the city. So far, they’re not openly attacking your men, and nobody’s that concerned about Flintcrest’s forces on the other side of the lake, but there have been isolated incidents between factions. There have also been a few altercations with civilians, university students mostly, who liked Emperor Sespian’s progressive policies. They’re causing trouble, demanding to know what really happened to him. They’re pointing out that nobody’s seen his body.”

Sespian’s head lifted. “I have supporters?” he whispered, a speculative note to his tone. Perhaps he was thinking he could make an appearance at the University and try to find men to back him there. But the young academic pups would be slaughtered if they tried to cross swords with soldiers.

“Because his body was incinerated in a train wreck,” Heroncrest snapped.

“Are we certain about that, sir?” the captain asked. “We only have Marblecrest’s word, right? And he’s apparently being fed information by that gaggle of women.”

Sespian leaned closer to Sicarius to whisper, “It’s good that Ravido’s colleagues don’t seem to respect him or his alliance. We just have to prove that I’m the better option.”

“And eliminate the Forge threat,” Sicarius responded. “As powerful as that coalition is, it won’t matter if anyone else supports Ravido or not.”

“True, I hope Amaranthe’s plan works.”

“As do I,” Sicarius said, though he cared more about her surviving the scheme than taking down Forge. He should be with her, not skulking around here. What would Heroncrest or Ridgecrest matter if Amaranthe was right and Forge
had
brought the
Behemoth
here, intending to use its weapons?

“If Forge says he’s dead, he’s dead,” Heroncrest said. “Or he will be soon. Even in my northern satrapy, my family has had interactions with the leader of that organization in the last couple of years. They have an inconceivable amount of money at their disposal, and they have… other inconceivable powers too.”

“Magic?”

“I’m not sure exactly what it is. But I’ve seen an impressive demonstration of power.”

Sicarius wondered what else Forge might command aside from the flying vessel. He doubted they’d shown that to Ravido Marblecrest’s rivals. Maybe they’d sought to cow Heroncrest, though, to warn him away from making a bid for the throne. He thought of the incineration cubes, imagining some aide of Heroncrest’s burned alive before his eyes.

“My intelligence team has been following the newspapers,” the captain said, “and there have been several horribly mutilated bodies found in the last few days. Similar to some slayings that occurred in the city last winter. Some have suggested the makarovi have been brought over from Mangdorian territory. Others say some magical beast.”

“Forge’s power… what was demonstrated for me, isn’t anything like that. It’s very… tidy.”

“The cubes?” Sespian whispered.

“Possibly,” Sicarius replied.

“Some people are suggesting the Nurians might be behind the slayings,” the captain said.

“Of course they’d want to control the Turgonian throne too,” Heroncrest said. “This is a massive once-in-countless-generations prize that’s available. It’s hard to believe they could have gotten people over here so quickly though. Unless they had advance warning.”

“Or were planning an attack anyway.”

Heroncrest grunted.

“Regardless,” the captain continued, “tensions are thick in the city, and my reports suggest we can expect an escalation. It could get very bloody very soon. Also, word is getting out that we’re camped out here too, though neither Flintcrest nor Marblecrest has started marshaling forces. It’s possible they plan to let Ridgecrest deal with us on his own. If he can.”

The wind shifted, refreshing the scent of cigarette smoke in the air. Sicarius lifted his head. No, the wind hadn’t shifted. Someone who was smoking was coming closer. The guard in sight hadn’t lit anything—Sicarius had been keeping an eye on him as well as the rest of the area while the officers spoke. He turned an ear toward the core of the vehicle lot, suspecting the pair of soldiers they’d pass earlier. Yes, the crunch of boots on frozen leaf litter came from that direction.

“…over here,” one of the soldiers said.

A couple of young mechanics shouldn’t have business in the command tent, but they were heading down the aisle in that direction. They’d pass beneath Sicarius and Sespian’s tramper.

Sicarius touched Sespian’s shoulder and wriggled back so his head wouldn’t be visible if someone walked below them. When Sespian pushed away from the side to follow, a few clumps of snow were brushed over the edge. Sicarius hoped nobody was close enough to see or pay attention to the fresh lumps on the ground.

“…need it tonight?” one man asked.

“Sarge’ll be mad if I don’t have it at morning formation.”

“Who is that?” called the guard at the corner of the clearing.

“Privates Tuller and Wardivk. Left my ammo belt in the tramper.”

Sicarius pulled farther back from the edge and knelt. He probed the snow and found the hinges of the roof hatch. Careful to keep his head out of the guard’s line of sight, he maneuvered about so he’d be behind those hinges, should the lid lift. If the soldiers entered this particular tramper to retrieve the missing belt, they
shouldn’t
have any reason to stick their heads up there, but one had to be prepared.

He caught Sespian watching him and noting the knife in his hand. He’d drawn it to deal with Heroncrest—the officers were still talking in the tent—but felt the need to justify himself under that solemn gaze. An odd feeling. He’d rarely worried about justifications before. Under Hollowcrest and Raumesys, killing had been the norm not the anomaly.

The hinges of the belly hatch whined as they opened. Sicarius couldn’t have said anything to Sespian if he’d wished it, not with the soldiers scant feet below.

“Better oil that in the morning,” one said.

“The hinges are just cold. So am I. Whose blighted idea was it to lay siege to a fort in the winter?”

“Ssh, the general’s tent is right over there, you dolt.”

Thunks and clanks sounded as one of the men unfolded the drop-down ladder and climbed inside the tramper. Sicarius’s hearing told him the other remained below—he was the one smoking. The smell of burning tobacco mingled with the pervasive coal scent in the air.

Sespian pointed at the roof hatch and spread his arms, palms up, silently asking what the plan was if the soldier opened it. He pointed to Sicarius’s dagger and shook his head once, emphatically.

Out of habit, Sicarius signed,
I won’t kill him
, though there wasn’t enough ambient light for Sespian to read the gestures. So long as he got the gist.

A clunk sounded right below them, followed by a string of curses. “Need a lantern,” the muffled voice said from within.

Still poised to attack if needed, Sicarius waited while the soldier searched for his missing item inside and kept an eye—and ear—on the rest of the camp. Sespian returned his attention to the tent, no doubt trying to pick out more information for Ridgecrest. Aside from the discovery of the tunnel-boring equipment, they hadn’t learned much that they hadn’t already known or guessed.

It wasn’t words, however, that reached Sicarius’s ear, causing him to jerk his head up. A distant shout of surprise came from the rear of the camp. It wasn’t from the direction where they’d left the cable, so it couldn’t be related to that.

The surprised shout turned to a shriek of pain. Cries of, “Get back!” conflicted with orders to, “Help him!”

Nearby tent flaps were thrust back, and soldiers streamed out buckling ammo belts as they balanced rifles and lanterns in their arms.

Sicarius gripped Sespian’s arm. “We need to get back to the fort.”

Sespian turned wide eyes toward him. “The soul construct?”

Another cry of pain sounded, this one closer and on a direct path inward from the first cries.

“It’s coming for you,” Sicarius said.

• • •

Amaranthe didn’t think she’d let any of her alarm over the announcement that Ms. Worgavic was on the way show on her face, but Books stepped forward and nudged her arm.

“You said this wouldn’t take long and that I’d be allowed to begin my research of the current socio-political climate in the capital for the paper I’m writing. These times of upheaval must be documented. Yet—” Books tilted his head toward the women, “—it’s been delay after delay. First we had to endure the blockade and the questioning from the soldiers, now this. Perhaps we could return to the boarding house and come back tomorrow, when the process can be expedited.”

He was trying to give her a way to walk away from the yacht club before Ms. Worgavic showed up, but Amaranthe didn’t want to leave. That would mean abandoning their plan entirely. What she needed was a ride down before Worgavic returned. She supposed it was too much to hope that her old teacher would get her shoe caught in a sewer drain, trip and fall, and be run over by a trolley.

“You’re staying at a boarding house?” the middle-aged Forge woman asked. “When your parents’ home is only a few miles up the hill?”

Alarm flashed in Books’s eyes. He’d said the wrong thing, and he knew it.

“I’ll be visiting them most certainly,” Amaranthe said smoothly, “but the last I’d heard, Mother had turned my old room into a study. After being absent for so long, I wouldn’t wish to intrude upon them. I doubt Retta is staying with them either.”

Retta blanched and touched her eyepatch. “No.”

Amaranthe patted Books’s arm. “I understand your concerns, but we needn’t rush. As I’ve told you, you’ll have a firsthand view of the changing of emperors and the rise of a new power if you simply remain with me. My colleagues are spearheading the movement.”

Books was searching her eyes, probably trying to figure out if she wanted him to continue arguing so she could pretend to eventually give in or if she truly wanted him to drop it.

“I’m hungry,” Akstyr said. “Do we really have to wait for this
pomak
?”

That was one of the Kendorian words Books had taught Amaranthe—a derogatory term that translated to scavenger fish. She hadn’t realized Akstyr had been paying attention. Books didn’t seem as surprised—he gave Akstyr an amused and almost fond look.

“That had better mean venerable and wise gentlewoman,” one of the Forge people said.

“Something of that nature,” Books said.

“I can pilot them out if they want to go now,” Retta said. “It won’t take that long, then I can come back for Ms. Worgavic and the rest of you. I’m quite eager to show my sister around the… ship.” The steady gaze she gave Amaranthe as she spoke suggested she was more interested in throttling her for details of her scheme rather than offering tours. “As some of you know, I’ve been wanting to show her the work
I’ve
been doing as well.” Bitterness laced the statement, a true one, Amaranthe sensed. Retta wanted to show her sister that, though she’d always been in her shadow when they’d been children, she was now reading the language of, and manipulating tools from, an advanced and utterly foreign race, something few people in the world could claim.