Forged in Blood I (35 page)

Amaranthe kept her face neutral. She didn’t know how the real Suan would respond or how much she knew about the
Behemoth
, if anything.

“Ms. Worgavic won’t appreciate a delay if she returns and our little tug isn’t here,” one of the younger women said, lips pursing.

Tug? More like a submarine—it had to be.

“You can blame me. I don’t mind.” Amaranthe waved her hand airily. “We’ve known each other for years.”

“Yes, I understand you were one of her students back when she taught math.”

“Actually, she taught economics,” Amaranthe said, not certain if this was another test or if the woman simply didn’t remember. “But, yes, I was a student at Mildawn.”

“Ah, economics, of course.” The woman nodded and pointed two fingers at Retta. “Fine, take her out.”

Good. Amaranthe gave the women a curtsey and a “Thank you,” and turned for the door. She didn’t want to delay, not when Worgavic might come in at any moment.

“Not them,” the woman said as Books and Akstyr started to follow.

Amaranthe froze. “Pardon?”

“Our new… yacht is not for outsiders. They can wait for you at the boarding house.”

Amaranthe took a moment to make sure none of the panic clutching at her heart reflected on her face, then turned toward the table again. “These aren’t outsiders. They’re my advisers and my allies. I’ve known them for a long time, and we’ve been through a great deal together.”

“Perhaps they can be invited dow—out at a later time, but not now. You’ll understand when you see the yacht. Tell her, Retta.”

Amaranthe met Retta’s eyes, hoping for some support.

Retta licked her lips, glanced at the others, then nodded. “We can’t let strangers down. For our safety and theirs. They might not be ready for… the truth.”

Books snorted. Akstyr looked intrigued. They were both interested in seeing the inside of that craft, if for different reasons. Their curiosity aside, Amaranthe had reasons of her own for wanting them. Not only would they be necessary for coming up with a plan on how to take over or break the
Behemoth
somehow, but she’d need them to help her sneak or fight her way to the engine or navigation room, or whatever the craft had, the place of power and control. More than that, she needed… them. There at her back. Helping her and lending support in case… in case… cursed ancestors, she couldn’t face that place alone. Not again.

“I’m sure they can handle it,” Amaranthe said, shocked that her words came out calmly without terrified squeaks punctuating the words. “For Turgonians, they’re quite ecumenical.”

“
No
,” the middle-aged woman said.

Retta shook her head once, minutely, a silent message in the gesture: Give up this fight. You won’t win.

“The guards will escort them out,” one of the younger women said. “You can meet up with them again in the city tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Amaranthe said and struggled to keep a lid on the pot of desperation trying to boil over inside of her. She’d never hyperventilated in her life. She wasn’t going to start now. She hoped.

Chapter 13

“B
loody bears, why’s it coming for me?” Sespian whispered. “You’re the one who’s irked the world.”

Sicarius, scanning their surroundings, didn’t answer. He’d picked an escape route when they first climbed onto the tramper, but with so many soldiers thundering out of their tents now, their lanterns burning away the shadows, there weren’t any obvious paths out of camp. Any direction that he and Sespian ran, they’d be seen. They’d have to risk it and hope their uniforms and the soldiers’ distraction camouflaged them sufficiently.

“I’m sorry,” Sespian said. “I didn’t mean that I want it to kill you. I just…” He shrugged.

Sicarius hadn’t been offended. Besides, it’d kill both of them if it found them together. “We’ll go back this way, between the vehicles, then south. Don’t worry about being seen. Cut across the field and back to the fort. If we get separated or there’s not time to reach the walls, meet up at the water tower.”

“I understand.”

The shouts were everywhere now, then a screech of utter pain rose above them. It couldn’t be more than a hundred meters away.

Sicarius rose to both feet, intending to leap down. At that second, the hatch flew open. Sespian had been crossing the roof, following Sicarius, and the metal lid thudded into the side of his knee. His leg buckled, and, in the slick snow, his other foot lost purchase. He dropped hard with a pained grunt.

Sicarius grabbed Sespian’s arm to pull him to his feet.

“Blasted ore, what’s—” The soldier, head and torso rising from the hole, whirled toward them. As he turned, he lifted a lantern, and he got a good look at Sicarius’s face.

He dropped back inside, lunging for something. Sicarius had succeeded in helping Sespian up and pushed him toward the edge.

“Can you climb down?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just—”

The soldier’s head popped out again along with a hand holding a pistol. Sicarius had expected it and was already moving. Before the weapon came to bear on him, he’d closed the distance, and his fingers latched around the man’s wrist. Sicarius pulled the arm, forcing the soldier off balance and feinted at his eyes with his dagger. The man tried to yank back, but Sicarius held his wrist fast.

“Don’t!” Sespian blurted, fooled by the feint.

Sicarius had already reversed the blade, and it was the hilt he drove into the sensitive flesh between the soldier’s nose and mouth. Tears sprang to his eyes, and the pistol dropped into the snow. The man stumbled on whatever he was standing on, and disappeared below, thumping his head against the rim of the hole as he fell. Sicarius kicked the hatch shut.

He sensed the approach of danger, of a Science-crafted entity in the same heartbeat as Sespian shouted, “Look out!”

Instincts blaring, Sicarius flung himself to his belly and rolled sideways. There wasn’t enough room on the roof for the maneuver, and he dropped over the edge. Before his head descended below the level of the roof, he spotted the dark hulking form landing, snow flying as it struck down, claws screeching as they attempted to brake by digging into metal.

Like a cat, Sicarius twisted in the air, landing feet-first to the ground. Someone was sprinting out from beneath the tramper and toward the tents. At first, he thought it was Sespian, fleeing the wrong way, but the bright red tip of a burning cigarette clenched in the man’s teeth stopped him. It was the second soldier. Where was Sespian? There. He’d jumped down, too, and must have yanked the soldier’s rifle from his hands, for he waited by the front leg of the tramper, the stock of the weapon pressed against his shoulder, the barrel pointed upward. He was ready to fight, ready to shoot the creature when it leaped off the tramper.

“Mortal weapons can’t hurt it.” Sicarius lunged, grabbing Sespian’s arm, intending to propel him toward the vehicles and the escape route they’d planned.

Snow dropping from the roof of tramper warned him a split second before the soul construct sailed off the roof, its massive form bigger than four people combined. It landed between the vehicles, twisting to face them.

Sicarius turned the push into a pull. “This way.”

They’d have to escape in another direction.

Sespian fired before obeying. Even though Sicarius was pulling him off balance, the rifle ball hammered into the huge dog-like head, striking between the eyes. It bounced off with all the effectiveness of hail striking a cement sidewalk.

Sespian might have stood there, stunned, for a moment, but Sicarius grabbed him about the waist and hoisted him onto his shoulder. That elicited a startled squawk and a protest of, “Put me down!” but Sicarius didn’t pay attention. He sprinted toward the tents, knowing that creature could catch them in a heartbeat. He couldn’t run away as fast as he’d like, as soldiers were forming into squads around the vehicle clearing. One rank had dropped to a knee, preparing rifles to fire. He would have to plow through them and hope they gave way.

As Sicarius approached, one hand gripping his black dagger, one hand holding Sespian in place, General Heroncrest strode out of the command tent. With knives bristling from his belt and a cutlass and pistol in his hands, he was ready for a fight. He’d come out behind the first three squads of soldiers, and he faced the trampers right away. His eyes widened, not with recognition of Sicarius but at what was
behind
Sicarius.

“First squad, prepare to fire,” a sergeant commanded.

With more reason than ever to get out of the way, Sicarius jumped onto a rock and leaped over the row of kneeling soldiers as well as the squad standing behind. Because of the extra weight on his shoulder, he wouldn’t have cleared that second row, but they saw him coming and stumbled out of the way. He landed not three feet from Heroncrest.

“Private! Where are you going?” The general stepped into Sicarius’s path and held out his cutlass, blade showing, to further block him.

“Wounded man,” Sicarius barked.

“
Wounded
?” Sespian blurted, voice full of indignation.

“Fire!” the nearby sergeant commanded.

Sicarius glanced back. Two-dozen rifles boomed at once, stinging the air with black powder smoke and pelting the massive hound-shaped creature as it bounded toward them. It didn’t falter one iota under the fire. It leaped into the air, outstretched paws broader than snowshoes, long fangs gleaming in the lantern light.

Knowing it was leaping for him—and Sespian—Sicarius didn’t hesitate. He kicked the cutlass out of the general’s hand. When Heroncrest cursed and grabbed, trying to prevent him from running past, Sicarius lashed out with his boot again, this time hooking it around the general’s leg, banging the heel into the back of his knee. As he was crumpling, Sicarius rammed his shoulder into Heroncrest’s back, shoving him toward the flying construct.

Without waiting to see what happened, Sicarius sprinted around the tent corner, racing past soldiers pounding in the other direction. Despite the chaos, he heard the sound of the creature landing, Science-enhanced claws shredding into clothing and flesh, bearing the general to the ground. A pain-choked cry of, “Get it off, get it off!” arose, only to be cut off by another round of rifles firing.

Hoping the creature was distracted for a few seconds, Sicarius raced toward the edge of the camp, Sespian bumping and cursing on his shoulder.

“Let me—oomph!—down,” he said. “I’m done trying to shoot it, I—argh, watch the branches!—I swear.”

More gunfire erupted behind them. Not far enough behind for Sicarius’s liking, but he thought he had a second to spare to set down Sespian. They’d travel faster on four legs instead of two.

“I’m sorry I didn’t—” Sespian stopped when he was plopped to the ground.

“Later,” Sicarius said. “Go!”

He waved his knife for emphasis, and Sespian sped off in front of him. They sprinted around tents and lorries, dodging men every step of the way. Despite the gunshots and screams of pain echoing through the camp, the soldiers ran
toward
the chaos. It was a testament to their training, or perhaps an indicator of their ignorance in regard to the mental sciences.

Sicarius let Sespian stay in the lead so he could keep an eye on him, but when Sespian veered to the southeast instead of directly south, a route that would take them to the fort, Sicarius objected.

“You’re off course. Urgot’s straight ahead.”

“I’m going to the cable,” Sespian called over his shoulder without slowing. “We can climb back to the tower that way.”

Sicarius understood Sespian’s vision right away, but was skeptical it was the right choice. “That’ll be a long hard climb with gravity and your body weight slowing you down.” He knew he could make it, but doubted Sespian had endured enough upper-body training to earn the required stamina and strength. “And with the time it takes, the creature will catch up with us—we’ll be stuck on top of the tower with no chance of making it to the fort. Better to sprint across the field.”

“It might catch us then. We’d be helpless out there.” Sespian almost crashed into a pair of men pushing coal-filled wheelbarrows through the snow toward a steam ram. They must be preparing the bigger machinery to fight the construct. Good idea, but it’d be too late to help those the creature was chasing…

Sicarius leaped over the wheelbarrows even as Sespian darted around the soldiers.

“The climb—” he started.

“I can make it, no trouble.” Though he was panting, his cap had fallen off, and blood flowing from a cut near his eye, Sespian threw a grin at Sicarius. “Unless you’re too old to handle it!”

“
Old
.” Sicarius said in his flattest tone.
He
wasn’t panting.

“You’re agreeing that you’re old?”

“I’m experienced.”

Shouts and a crash sounded, followed by a shriek of pain. It was the wheelbarrow men being knocked over and injured. Or killed. Sespian knew it too, and the humor vanished from his face. He lengthened his stride and reached the base of the pine tree a blink before Sicarius. He led the climb, scurrying up much faster than he’d climbed down, ducking and weaving around the proliferation of branches radiating from the trunk. Clumps of snow fell in his wake, many landing on Sicarius’s head and shoulders, but he wasn’t about to complain, not with a monster tracking them.

“Sorry,” Sespian whispered down after knocking free a particularly large clump. “I should be more careful. If we’re not rattling the branches, there’s a chance that oversized hound will run past our tree and not realize where we’ve gone for a while.”

“Unlikely.” Listening as he climbed, Sicarius could hear the crunch of heavy paws on snow. Not only had the construct already arrived, but it was circling the pine, walking slowly, considering it.

“You’re not the optimistic sort, are you?” Sespian asked.

Something slammed into the base of the tree. This time more than a couple of clumps of snow detached themselves—a small avalanche dumped to the ground.

“Not when evidence promises there’s no reason to be so,” Sicarius responded.