Forged in Blood I (39 page)

“The emperor is dead,” came the response.

“I guess they didn’t notice the guest at Ridgecrest’s side for half of the day,” Sespian muttered. “Armies, the shield arm is always oblivious to what the sword arm is doing.” He raised his voice to the officer. “My death was a lie. Why don’t you go talk to Ridgecrest? See if he approves of you blowing up the water tower I’m standing on. I wouldn’t wish for you to be punished.”

The officer muttered something to the cannon crew. Maybe he was wondering if they could shoot Sicarius while leaving Sespian upright. A lowly officer would find the idea of approaching General Ridgecrest intimidating—indeed, in the army, he’d be expected to report to his captain instead, and only eventually, after word had filtered through the chain of command, would he find out Ridgecrest’s response.

“Come over here.” Sicarius gripped Sespian’s arm and pointed to the edge. “You can shout at them from
behind
the water tank.”

Sespian grumbled under his breath, something about how those soldiers would have believed
Amaranthe
if she were making the same arguments, but he allowed himself to be guided toward the edge. “I can’t believe there aren’t at least rumors floating around the fort about me being alive.”

“You had your hood up all day, and Ridgecrest has probably told his closest men that there better
not
be rumors, not until he’s made his decision.”

“What else can we try? They don’t look like they’re in the mood to let us shoot a harpoon and tightrope walk to the wall.”

Sicarius, gaze riveted to the officer and the cannon team, didn’t respond. In his peripheral vision, he observed the rest of the wall and the men in the watchtowers. When the officer said a single word and nodded once, he saw it.

“Down,” he barked.

Flattening to their stomaches might have been enough, but he wouldn’t risk it, not with his son at his side. He gripped Sespian’s arm and pulled him over the edge.

They weren’t on the side of the tank with the ladder, so there was nothing to grab onto as they fell. Sespian blurted a startled, “What’s wrong with—” before the boom of the cannon drowned him out.

Using his free arm, Sicarius caught the beam before they could zip past it. Between the fall and Sespian’s extra weight, even his best attempt to soften the landing couldn’t keep it from being jarring, and he wasn’t surprised at the flash of agony in his shoulder. The joint popped out of socket, the feeling—and sound—unmistakable. He hung on though, mentally clamping down on the pain as he swung Sespian up to catch the beam. When he’d locked on with both hands, Sicarius pulled himself up.

After ensuring they weren’t in anyone’s line of sight, he bent his wounded arm, keeping the elbow by his side, and rotated the limb until he could push the shoulder back into joint.

Sespian had been eyeing the sky in the direction the cannonball had gone—when it hadn’t thudded into Sicarius, it’d sailed across the field and into the trees—but he turned at the crunching noise and grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

“Does that mean you won’t proffer a hug this time?” Sicarius gave his arm an experimental rotation and found the range sufficient.

Sespian gaped at him for a moment, then snorted. “I don’t know. Did you just save my life again, or were you the target?”

“The cannon was aimed at me. I agree with your earlier assessment that funambulation is unlikely for either of us.”

“Fu…nam…bu…” Sespian shook his head, then laughed. It wasn’t a snort this time, but an unabashed laugh.

Odd that Sicarius struggled to elicit humor in others when he attempted to do so, but in mere speaking could inadvertently have a humorous effect. Perhaps this was why Hollowcrest had always insisted he keep his mouth shut unless he was replying to a question.

Sespian brushed at the corner of one eye. “I’m beginning to think my own childhood social awkwardness may have had less to do with a solitary, peerless upbringing and more to do with hereditary tendencies.”

Sicarius wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but these acknowledgments that Sespian believed they did indeed share blood pleased him. “If they will not allow us inside, perhaps we should use the remaining night to sneak past Heroncrest’s army and return to the city.” And Amaranthe, he thought, if she hadn’t already left for her mission.

“No,” Sespian said. “They need to know about the tunnel-boring equipment. Once Ridgecrest hears we’re out here, he’ll let us back in.”

“He’ll let
you
back in. He’d prefer I not be around.” But Sicarius wouldn’t leave Sespian, not as long as that creature was out there. Although…

He gazed across the field at the great paw prints left in the snow. With a trail like that, it would be easy to track. Sneaking through Heroncrest’s camp would be difficult with everyone up and alert now, but he’d managed such feats before. If he went alone, there’d be less likelihood of being caught. If he could find the construct and eliminate its owner, there’d be one less trouble to deal with. But, as they’d seen with Arbitan Losk, the wizard who’d animated the last construct, killing the creator wouldn’t necessarily stop the beast or alter its mission.

“What are you thinking about?” Sespian asked.

“Tracking. Traps.”

Sespian eyed the trail of churned snow. “Now? Instead of going back in? Don’t you ever eat or sleep?”

“I have rations with me.”

Sespian winced. “Not those meat bars again.”

“I do not require that you eat them, though you would find them nutritionally superior to many other offerings.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. Anything that tastes that awful
has
to be good for you. Listen—” Sespian waved toward the fort, “—come inside with me. We’ll talk to Ridgecrest together. He should know that you’re openly helping him. Everyone knows you as this notorious bloodthirsty assassin who’s slain countless soldiers, enforcers, and more than a few warrior-caste men in prominent positions. I’m never going to be able to give you a job on the staff if you don’t change a few people’s minds about your nature.”

Sicarius didn’t see how his reputation mattered at the moment, but the thought that Sespian might want him on the staff pleased him. “Have I changed
your
mind?” If so, he wondered if it was a result of Sespian spending time with him or more a matter of Amaranthe speaking on his behalf. Or perhaps reading his files in Hollowcrest’s office had made a difference.

“It’s… possible you’re not as utterly evil and loathsome as I thought.”

“I see.” One probably shouldn’t find such a dubious accolade amusing, but Sicarius did so anyway. “My employability can be discussed further once the succession is solidified. For now, there’s little I can do inside, whereas I can be hunting the soul construct—and its creator—on the outside. Ridgecrest doesn’t seem to be a threat to you at this time. Nor has the soul construct shown an inclination toward entering the fort. You should be relatively safe in there.”

“Until Heroncrest decides to launch an attack,” Sespian said grimly.

Was he truly worried about surviving such an event? Or was it possible he didn’t wish Sicarius to leave his side? Or, if not that, maybe he worried that Sicarius would die if he went hunting for wizard’s beasts. No, he was reading too much into a simple statement.

“It’s unlikely they’ll breech the walls quickly,” Sicarius said. “If they start shooting, duck. Faster than you did with the cannonball.”

Sespian propped a fist on his hip. “I knew that cannonball wasn’t aimed at me.”

“You may find it easier to go in through the front gate. I’ll disappear before light comes.” Sicarius took a few steps along the beam, intending to check on the soldiers—he didn’t
think
they’d blow up their own water tower in an attempt to kill him, but he wouldn’t be dumbfounded if they were discussing the repercussions now.

But they weren’t discussing anything. Most of the men who’d been lined up along the parapet, pointing rifles or manning artillery, had disappeared. Only the soldiers in the watchtower remained, and one of them was facing the door.

“What happened?” Sespian peered around the opposite side of the tank. “Something more interesting going on inside?”

Sicarius couldn’t imagine what, though he did detect a number of distant shouts coming from the fort. Was it possible the tunnel borer had already plowed through the earth and come up inside? He had little experience with such machines, but it seemed too soon.

“Is that smoke?” Sespian asked.

There were furnaces and stoves burning inside numerous houses and buildings within the fort walls, so smoke was natural, but there
did
seem to be a thicker plume rising from one side. It was difficult to tell against the cloudy night sky, but Sicarius caught the scent of burning wood. The furnaces and stoves would be burning coal.

Two more figures strode into view on the parapet, both wearing military fatigues. They had familiar forms and gaits.

“Uhm, that soldier’s hair is too long,” Sespian said. “And that one’s awfully short for a Turgonian. Those wouldn’t be your friends, by chance, would they?”

Maldynado and Basilard strolled up to the corner guard tower and knocked on the door. It opened. Maldynado pointed at the water tower and said something. When the soldier stuck his head out to look, Basilard grabbed his wrist and pulled him off balance at the same time as Maldynado kicked the back of his knees. While Basilard finished subduing him, Maldynado rushed inside. The second soldier’s head disappeared from the window.

“Yes, those
must
be friends of yours,” Sespian said dryly.

Basilard faced the water tower and waved. It was too far to read hand signs, but Sicarius understood. They’d cleared the way. They’d probably lit one of the officer’s houses on fire. Not Ridgecrest’s, one hoped.

Sespian was already climbing to the top of the tank. He had the harpoon launcher in hand by the time Sicarius joined him. Sespian tied off the end of the cable, then, with surprising accuracy, shot the weapon, sending the harpoon sailing around a lightning rod on the top of the guard tower.

“Funambulating time,” he said with a wink.

“You go.” Again, Sicarius eyed the trail in the snow. “Stay with Maldynado and Basilard. They’ll protect you.”

The harpoon launcher drooped in Sespian’s hands. He looked like he might argue, make another objection, but Sicarius lifted his hand to forestall it. They’d discussed this enough. He gripped Sespian’s arm briefly, then slid down the ladder to the beam, and finally down a post to the ground. He headed into the night to track the soul construct.

Chapter 15

A
s Amaranthe headed for the submarine hatch and the voluminous black chamber beyond Retta, she second-guessed herself. Maybe she shouldn’t have let Books and Akstyr change into the guard uniforms. Not only did they fit poorly—Akstyr and Books were both tall and lanky, rather than thick and burly—but surely any guards they encountered down here would be familiar with all of their colleagues working this gig. On the other hand, they wouldn’t have known that the woman above had vetoed Amaranthe/Suan’s attempt to bring her comrades along. Amaranthe might have walked in with them in their original costumes. Of course, disallowing visitors might be a Forge-wide policy. Maybe she would get lucky, and there wouldn’t be any guards on duty. It was getting late after all, wasn’t it?

The submarine hadn’t docked so much as been sucked all the way into a cargo bay, the “wall” closing behind it, and now it dripped water from its hull, forming puddles. When Amaranthe ducked through the hatchway and stepped into the chamber, she had to squint and blink at the day-bright light emanating from the walls and from a ceiling thirty feet above her head. More than the light disconcerted her. Those featureless inky walls and the disproportionate architecture—they brought back memories. Walking through corridors, being smashed into a wall by Pike, being picked up by a mechanical claw and locked onto that table, spending hours under the man’s knife, being helpless to escape any of it…

A hand gripped her shoulder. Books.

Amaranthe licked her lips and tried to draw strength from his presence. She wasn’t alone this time, and Pike was dead.

The rest of the men on the
Behemoth
hadn’t shared his fate, however, and a number of guards were waiting. So much for her hope that there wouldn’t be any. Not only were they there, but there were more than Retta had led her to expect. Ten men, lined up in two squads, stood a couple of meters away from the submarine hatch, their hands clasped behind their backs, crossbows slung over their shoulders and swords at their belts.

Amaranthe’s fingers itched. Books and Akstyr carried the subdued guards’ rifles, but she still had nothing more than a knife.

“Uh, hello?” Retta lifted a hand toward the waiting squads. No, she hadn’t lied; she truly hadn’t expected this many men.

Amaranthe stood in front of the hatchway, trying to block the men’s views of Books and Akstyr’s faces. Difficult given that they were almost a foot taller than she. Wisely, they hung back in the shadows of the hatchway, keeping their heads ducked.

“We’ve two days off,” the highest-ranking guard said. “Captain Wricket said you might be able to take us back up, ma’am.”

Amaranthe barely heard him. She was staring at a pair of men in black fatigues standing by a wide cargo door on the far side of the chamber. They clasped repeating rifles in their arms, making the guards with crossbows seem lackluster in comparison. Stolid, humorless expressions stamped their faces, faces that she recognized. They were two of Pike’s people. She feared they’d see through her flimsy costume and recognize her straight away.

“I certainly can,” Retta said, “but I was going to show my sister around first. We’ve been waiting a long time for her to join us.”

Every set of eyes in the chamber swiveled toward Amaranthe. It was all she could do not to bare her teeth at Retta for drawing their attention. Were those two guards by the door squinting at her with suspicion? Or did they naturally look that constipated? She didn’t know if she should say something—would Suan deign to speak to the hired help?