Forged in Blood I (36 page)

Sespian’s boots came into view, and he stopped climbing. The trunk had narrowed, the girth of the branches dwindling. They must have reached the harpoon.

“It’s my first soul construct,” Sespian said. “It’s possible I’m underestimating it.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry I shot at it under the tramper. I should have taken your word for it that our weapons wouldn’t work.” As he spoke, Sespian wriggled out onto a branch near the cable. “I’m apologizing a lot tonight, aren’t I?”

“Young people rarely believe or heed the advice of their elders.” Sicarius wondered when he’d grown old enough to be considered someone’s elder. “Should you correct that mentality sooner than your peers, you may live longer than many of them.”

The tree shuddered again.

“I’d settle for living through the night.” Sespian tugged on a pair of mittens. “Can that thing knock over trees?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, it can. We better both go at once then.” Sespian waved to the cable. “Think it’ll hold our combined weight?”

Thick snowflakes still fell in the field, obscuring the view of the water tower and the fort beyond. Sicarius could only see a few meters of the cable, but noted that an inch of snow had come to rest upon it in the time they had been exploring.

“You go first.” Sicarius shook off as much snow as he could, knowing that, across a hundred meters, it’d add weight. The cable remained as taut as when he’d originally tied it, though, and it budged little. “I’ll wait as long as I can before following you.”

“Right.”

Sespian wriggled out farther on the branch until it bowed under his weight, then grabbed the cable with both hands. Though he was aware of shouts coming from all directions as men sought to pinpoint the creature’s location, Sicarius never took his gaze from his son. The cable sloped upward toward the tower on the hill. He feared Sespian was underestimating the effort the climb would take and didn’t know if it’d be better to be right beside him, to catch him if his grip gave out, or to wait in the tree, ensuring the harpoon didn’t slip out of the trunk.

Chewing sounds arose from below. The soul construct had remembered how it’d felled the last tree. Sicarius might not have time to wait.

“Go now, if you’re going to do it,” he said.

“Right,” Sespian said again and took a deep breath.

The shadows masked his face, but Sicarius sensed the concern there as Sespian gazed at the cable angling upward into the snowy night. Hands gripping it, he rotated onto his back and swung his legs up to hook over it as well. The harpoon creaked where it stuck out of the trunk.

Sespian gulped, but, dangling like a pig on a spit, he began his journey, inching up the cable and away from the tree.

“Over here!” a soldier yelled nearby.

“Don’t get close. It eviscerated Yankowic and Drakar. Wait for the engineers to get the vehicles running. We’ll crush the slagging bastard.”

Unlikely, Sicarius thought, his gaze locked on Sespian. The soul construct was too fast to be pinned by lorries. It’d take something more akin to Amaranthe’s old plan to destroy it—or at least render it immobile. He should have been creating a trap for it instead of planning a spy mission.

The pine tree shivered, shedding more snow from its branches. More gnashing came from below. Sicarius tried to guess how long his perch would remain upright—and holding the cable aloft—then estimated how long it would take him to make the climb to the water tower. The night carried sounds of vehicles clanking into motion and hisses of escaping steam. The soldiers
might
distract the creature, adding time to the tree’s life.

Sespian had disappeared into the curtain of snow. Sicarius wrapped a hand around the cable, trying to judge how far up the line he had gone. He couldn’t tell, but quivers traveled through the braided steel. Sespian was still on it.

Another shudder, this one the biggest yet, coursed through the tree. Wood snapped somewhere within the trunk. Sicarius eyed the harpoon. It was already quivering from Sespian’s movements farther up the cable. He didn’t think it’d support both of their body weights for long. The chewing sounds from below continued, though, and he didn’t have another choice.

Eschewing mittens, he gripped the cable in both hands, preferring the naked feel of it against his calloused palms. He swung his legs over it and climbed, head twisted to watch the ground as he skimmed up the line.

A steam ram and tramper came into view, angling toward the tree. He envisioned inept soldiers missing the soul construct and knocking over the tree. In spots near the tower, the fall was close to a hundred feet. Six inches of powder wasn’t
that
insulating.

The snow was lessening, and even from twenty feet away, Sicarius saw the construct back away from the tree, a dark shape against the white ground. It turned toward the approaching vehicles. Good, it would take a couple moments for it to deal with them. But then the misshapen hound head swiveled toward the field, its fat snout testing the air. A pair of crimson eyes focused on Sicarius, then shifted a couple of degrees higher. Toward Sespian.

Sicarius forced himself to keep climbing, to remain calm, though concern thrummed through his limbs. For so much of his life, he’d had little difficulty turning off his emotions—he’d never cared that much whether he lived or died, beyond a vague desire to complete missions and survive challenging circumstances. But Sespian had been safe within the walls of the Barracks then.

“It’s coming,” Sicarius called when the construct leaped away from the tree, its paws churning snow as it raced across the field. Rifle shots pelted the snow as well, and he acknowledged the vulnerability of his position. He was more than fifty feet above the ground at that point.

“Let it go,” someone in the camp barked. “It looks like it wants to be Ridgecrest’s problem now.”

Not Ridgecrest, Sicarius thought as the creature slowed to a stop below him. Almost like a real dog, it sat on its haunches and tilted its head. Without warning it sprang, trying to reach him with that maw full of daggers. It didn’t come close before dropping back to the ground. Maybe it’d thought it could startle him into letting go. Not likely.

The beast sniffed the air a couple more times, then trotted toward the water tower. And Sespian. If Sespian had truly doubted whether he and Sicarius shared blood, the construct’s confusion between the two of them ought to prove the link. The hound could smell their blood. It knew.

Sicarius continued up the cable at a steady pace. The upward angle added to the challenge, but his hardened muscles and palms had no trouble with the climb—he’d trained his whole life doing similar maneuvers. He noticed an increased tremor in the cable, though, and caught the sounds of panting coming from ahead. Sespian was young and lean, but he
hadn’t
trained for this sort of event. Sicarius picked out his dark form and the outline of the water tower beyond.

One of Sespian’s boots slipped, and Sicarius froze, hands clenched around the cable. If Sespian fell… he was too far away to do a cursed thing about it. The feeling of helplessness that weakened his limbs was unfamiliar. And unpleasant.

Analyze later, he told himself and returned to climbing. If he could get close enough, he could catch Sespian if he slipped.

Sespian had stopped. Resting and gathering himself? Or was he too tired to continue? Even without the upward slope, holding one’s weight from a cable became a challenging task after a time.

“We’re close,” Sicarius called, intending to sound encouraging, but his voice came out hoarse, and he didn’t know if Sespian heard it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Keep going. You can rest on top of the tower.”

“Thanks,” Sespian called back. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It is difficult for me to know when you’re being sarcastic.” Sicarius climbed closer. A few more meters, and he’d be close enough to grab Sespian if he fell.

“Maybe you’re not as
experienced
as you thought.”

The light tone didn’t hide that his forearms were quivering. Sicarius could feel the vibrations through the cable. A tremor ran through it next, and he thought Sespian’s legs might have slipped off. But they were still hooked over the cable. No, that tremor had come up from below. From the harpoon.

Sicarius glanced over his shoulder at the eighty-foot drop and the soul construct waiting below. If the harpoon gave way now…

“Is that what I think it is?” Sespian whispered.

“No.”

Sicarius drew close enough to touch Sespian, though he chose not to, not wanting to startle him. It was enough that he could grab his son if the situation demanded it. Except, the back of his mind said, if the cable fell, their proximity to each other wouldn’t matter.…

“Continue up,” he ordered, then, realizing the order came out harshly, tried to soften his voice when he added, “I’ll catch you if you slip.”

“This climb is a little longer and harder than I realized,” Sespian admitted, though he started moving again as he spoke, forcing one trembling arm then the other to pull his body weight up the slope. His leg slipped again, and Sicarius’s hand twitched toward it. Sespian growled and flung the deadened limb back up. The cable trembled in the aftermath of the move, and Sicarius glanced back toward the harpoon. The snow had dwindled further, and he could see the outline of the trees and tents now, along with the lights of the encampment. They were too far away to see the harpoon though.

“Is this not tiring you out at
all
?” Sespian asked as he inched closer to the tower.

“It is moderately wearying.”

“What’s that mean? You could only hold yourself up here for twelve hours instead of your usual twenty-four?”

This time Sicarius was certain of the sarcasm and attempted to reply in a humorous manner. “No more than five or six, I should think.” Perhaps talking would distract Sespian from the ache in his forearms and the deadness in his legs.

Sespian grunted.

Down below, the construct snarled and paced. They’d come to the base of the hill. Another twenty meters, and they’d reach the top of the tower.

Sespian paused again, grimacing as he lifted one hand, then the other to flex his fingers. He glowered up at the edge of the water tank. “Almost there,” he muttered. “You can do this.”

The construct jogged up to the crown of the hill. It was closer to them there than it had been at any spot during the journey, and Sicarius watched it intently. It paced back and forth, trying to find the closest possible point. The muscles in its haunches bunched, but it didn’t yet leap. It must know it’d only get one chance before Sespian climbed out of range again.

Sespian saw it and moved his arms faster. Sicarius was on the verge of telling him not to hurry so much that he made a mistake and slipped. But the creature jumped.

Sicarius yanked a throwing knife out of his arm sheath and hurled it at one of the beast’s crimson eyes. It didn’t even blink. When the construct reached the apex of its jump several feet below, he thought they were safe, that it wouldn’t reach Sespian, but one long powerful paw lashed out, claws angling toward Sespian’s back.

Sicarius dropped his legs, twisting in the air to kick at that paw. He connected, deflecting the claws, but the cable abruptly went limp. A thunderous snap echoed from the tree line. It wasn’t the harpoon that had slipped free, came a useless thought from the back of his mind as he and Sespian fell; the entire pine had broken off at the base.

Their weight carried them downward like a pendulum, sweeping them between two pillars of the tower. Sespian held on, trying to climb up even as the wind whistled past their ears. Sicarius was lower on the cable, and he had to tuck in his legs to keep them from striking the earth. He held on by one hand as they swung, pulling out another throwing knife with the other. The soul construct’s leap had carried it to the bottom of the hill, but it had already spun about, and it was charging up the slope toward them. Though he knew the effort useless, he hurled the blade. It was all he could do.

The knife spun true, cutting into the gaping fang-filled mouth. It lodged in the maw like a toothpick gone awry, and the construct paused to shake its head, trying to spit it out.

“Climb,” Sicarius ordered. He was relieved Sespian had kept his grip on the line, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

“Trying,” Sespian growled. “Can you make this thing stop swinging?”

Before he’d finished the sentence, the cable, which had carried them beneath the tower and out the other side, reached the end of its path and jerked to a halt. Sespian’s grip slipped and he cursed as he skidded several feet before catching himself. His boots were in Sicarius’s face.

Sicarius gave a shove with his free hand, ordering, “Climb!” again, more insistently this time.

Already, the soul construct had flung the knife from its mouth and was bounding up the slope again. As the cable reversed its path, swinging back under the tower, the creature reached the crown of the hill. Encouraged by Sicarius’s order—or death’s approach—Sespian found reserves in his muscles and he raced up the cable. Sicarius started up, too, but the construct leaped into the air, again targeting Sespian.

Sicarius whipped his legs backward, then hurled them forward and up, trying to catch the creature in the chest. He did, his heels slamming against the broad torso, but even with the momentum, his blow barely diverted the six hundred-pound monster. It was like kicking a mountain, and it did nothing except jar his knees. Sespian had seen the construct leaping, though, and he’d yanked his legs up to his chin. Perhaps Sicarius had distracted it an iota, for the beast sailed past without managing more than a swat of the claws.

That swat, however, cut through the cable below Sespian. Sicarius plummeted to the ground.

Though surprised, he found his feet and landed in a crouch in the snow, immediately jumping for the nearest tower support. He didn’t see the construct land on the edge of the hill, but he heard it thump down, and that sound was incentive enough to send him up the metal post in scant heartbeats.