Forged in Blood II (27 page)

Books swore under his breath. Sespian looked out the window. Starcrest… had grown hard to read again.

“Guess that explains who’s assassinating the Company of Lords,” Sespian murmured.

“I wouldn’t be sure,” Amaranthe said. “Those heads suggest Flintcrest is dismantling Forge right now. Either way, we—
I
—have to get Sicarius back. There must be a way to kill that wizard or find some other way to free him.” With so many people in the room, Amaranthe didn’t go into how much she owed Sicarius or how she wouldn’t be able to sleep as long as she knew he was out there, being forced to carry out some sadistic bastard’s whims again. Curse everything, she’d tried so hard to get him away from that, to create a less violent world for him to live in, one in which… She swallowed and made the simple argument that would ensure their help. “I’m sure none of us wants to see him in our enemies’ hands. We all know what he can do.”

Starcrest and Tikaya exchanged looks.

Yes, they were a part of that “all.”

“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, turning, but he had slipped out at some point. To find Yara? “Never mind, I’ll get Akstyr. I’ll need his advice. And I welcome any other advice.”

“Do you intend to walk into Flintcrest’s camp?” Starcrest observed her through hooded eyes, no doubt thinking this a bad plan.

“Of course not. Although…” If she allowed herself to be captured, or even pretended to be switching sides, might she not find herself in a meeting with Flintcrest and his Nurian advisers? If she could see Sicarius, talk to him for a few minutes… What, girl? If this was anything like their time together on Darkcrest Isle—she shuddered at the memory—she’d be powerless to get through to him. “No.”

“Good,” Starcrest said. “In case you might change your mind, I’ll point out that my presence in the city isn’t widely known yet—with luck, none of those vying for the throne have learned about it—and we have an advantage as long as that remains so. Though I don’t know Flintcrest, Marblecrest, or Heroncrest well, it’s possible they’ve read my work.”

Possible? Amaranthe snorted. Try likely.

“They may know enough of me to suspect that I’m behind the explosions. It’ll be better for our plans if they believe they have to defend against an outside threat to the empire.”

“Yes, I understand,” Amaranthe said. “I have to figure out a way to get to Sicarius, to his
keeper
though. I’ll ask Akstyr if there’s any way we can sever the link, but I’m guessing the wizard is the only one who can free Sicarius. Either voluntarily or not.” She let the statement hang in the air, figuring they’d know what she meant.

“A likely assessment,” Tikaya said. “Only those with a great deal of training can resist mental intrusions from strong telepaths or devices crafted by telepath Makers.”

Amaranthe winced, remembering how easily Retta had gotten through her own defenses with that tool. Tikaya was grimacing as well. Sharing a memory of a similar experience?

“Does anyone have ideas on how I can reach the wizard without having to go through Sicarius?” Amaranthe asked. “I’m assuming he’s being used as bodyguard as well as assassin. Not unlike a soul construct.” Maybe that was what had happened. Sicarius had gotten rid of the wizard’s soul construct, then been turned into the replacement.

“Let me think about it and look over the data you brought.” Starcrest lifted the journal; he hadn’t had time to more than glance at the first page yet. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go on a mission to save him without letting me know first.”

“I won’t, my lord.” She w
ould
gather her people to discuss this. She thought about asking Starcrest if he truly meant to think about it or if he was too busy juggling all those others balls. It would seem rude though, or demanding. She ought to be able to come up with something anyway. Sicarius was her prob— no, just hers. “Sespian, Books, do you want to help, or…?”

Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. They were helping Starcrest, and they’d probably find that nobler work than worrying about Sicarius.

“I’ll help,” Sespian said, surprising her. He pushed away from the chair to join her at the door.

Books’s lips flattened, but he pushed away from the table too.

“You can stay,” Amaranthe told him. “I’ll let you know if we need your help.”

He continued to stand. “You may need my input during the planning stages, to keep from coming up with something… imprudent.”

Amaranthe managed a smile. “When have you ever kept me from imprudence before?”

“I keep hoping there’ll be a first time.”

Hand on the door, Amaranthe meant to walk out, but a knock on the other side surprised her. She stepped away to let in a nervous private with an arrow clenched in his hands. A piece of paper was tied around the shaft.

“Sir, ma’am,” the private murmured, not looking up as he ducked his head toward people. “Uhm, my lord, Starcrest? I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t find my LT, and I thought this might be important.”

“What is it, Private?” Starcrest held out his hand.

“I don’t know, my lord, but it has your name on it.”

“An arrow with your name on it?” Tikaya asked. “That’s distressing.”

Starcrest grunted and accepted the shaft. The private hadn’t dared unravel the note, but STARCREST was indeed written across the visible side, the name in block letters. Starcrest held it up to his wife, his brows lifting slightly. Tikaya considered it through slitted eyes, then shook her head.

“Nothing Made about it, no taint.”

Amaranthe hadn’t realized Tikaya had personal experience with the Science, but supposed it wasn’t uncommon on the Kyatt Islands, hence why Akstyr wanted to move there.

“Where’d you get this, Private?” Starcrest asked as he unfastened the note.

“The side of the building, my lord. Someone fired it toward us from several rooftops away. We, my corporal, I mean, sent men off to try and catch the archer, but I don’t think they did. I figured I’d rush this inside right away in case it’s important.”

“You did well. Thank you, Private.”

The soldier took this as a dismissal and scurried out the door.

Starcrest unrolled the note and handed it to his wife. “It’s encrypted.”

Amaranthe sucked in a breath. “Like the letter from Sicarius?”

“Maybe,” Starcrest said. “There’s a line of Nurian at the bottom though.”

“What’s it say?” Though they hadn’t invited her to, Amaranthe inched around to their side of the table. She remembered the block letters used to address the first letter to Starcrest, and these looked the same. But why would Sicarius have added Nurian? Unless the wizard had. What if he’d caught Sicarius trying to pen a note? Or—a queasy surge flooded her stomach—what if they’d been working together to write it? It could be a trap. “Would your awareness of the Science allow you to sense if it’d been poisoned?” she found herself asking.

Tikaya gave her a sharp look. “No.”

Starcrest grew grimmer, but all he said was, “We’ve already touched it. What’s it say?”

“It’s the same code as was used on the letter he wrote to you,” Tikaya said.

No longer inching, Amaranthe came to stand at her shoulder. The message was gibberish to her eye. She bounced on her toes, waiting for a translation. Why was Sicarius sending letters to Starcrest instead of
her
?

“He explains that a Nurian practitioner named Kor Nas has captured him,” Tikaya said.

Starcrest’s gaze shifted upward thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the name. He’s one of their more powerful battle mages and Makers.”

“A telepath?” Tikaya waved the letter.

“Meaning does he know that was written?” Starcrest asked. “Probably. We’d better hurry.”

“He says he was injured when trapping the soul construct and searching for Corporal Lokdon after the
Behemoth
crashed. He saw where the ship landed and knows who and how many died.”

Amaranthe cringed. He’d think Sespian was dead. And Maldynado and Basilard as well.
She
had.

“And he saw Lokdon’s body,” Tikaya said.

“Pardon?” Amaranthe asked.

Tikaya’s finger ran across the line of gibberish, rechecking the translation. “That’s what it says. Kor Nas embedded some device in his head to control him, and he’s been working as the man’s assassin. He can’t disobey. Kor Nas has learned—” Tikaya swallowed and gripped her husband’s arm. “He’s learned you’re in the city. He doesn’t know where yet, but he intends to send Sicarius to kill you, a tactical move for Flintcrest’s army, but more importantly it’d be an honor for this Kor Nas to dump your head at his Great Chief’s feet.”

Starcrest ran a hand over his hair. “It seems the years and the gray haven’t diminished my head’s value.”

“Sicarius writes to expect him soon.” Tikaya jerked her hand downward, the paper crinkling in her fingers. “I knew you couldn’t trust—Akahe spit on that blond monster.”

“It’s not his fault,” Amaranthe said. “He’s warning you, so you can do something. Sir, my lord,” she said, fumbling the honorifics but not caring, “you have to know he idolized you growing up. His life was hard and he had no freedoms, but I know he read your work and wished…”

Starcrest lifted a hand. “I understand. And he’s done me a service in warning me, though he may have given away my position as well. If Kor Nas has been in his thoughts, or in the thoughts of the one who arranged to have this delivered, he’ll know about this factory. He could come tonight. I wonder who it was that helped him deliver this, and why. Maybe it’s a trap. Or even a trap within a trap.”

“What’s the line in Nurian say?” Amaranthe asked.

“I have noticed that Kor Nas grows intensely inwardly focused when his pet makes his kills. He enjoys the show.”

His pet? “Sicarius knows Nurian, but that’s nothing he would have written,” Amaranthe said.

“No, it must have been an addition from the messenger. It’d be helpful to be able to trust it, but—”

“Wait.” Tikaya’s grip tightened on his arm. “We saw Prince Zirabo. He’s there in Flintcrest’s camp.”

“Ah? That explains much.”

“Not to me,” Amaranthe said.

“That’s one of the Nurian Great Chief’s younger children, isn’t it?” Books asked from the doorway.

“Yes, it is.” Sespian scratched his head.

Good, Amaranthe wasn’t the only one perplexed by receiving assistance from the son of the enemy ruler.

“We saved each other’s lives once,” Starcrest said. “Long ago. I’m certain he wouldn’t betray his father or his people on my behalf, but this small favor?” Starcrest took the letter from his wife’s hand and smoothed it onto the table. “This makes sense. I don’t think it’s a trap.”

“Trap or not, love, that assassin is coming to kill you.”

F
rom a rooftop a block away, Sicarius stared at the familiar outline of the molasses factory, its high brick walls and flat roof, the pair of massive cylindrical holding tanks occupying a third of the lot. Had he known this was Starcrest’s hideout, he could have sent a note days ago. How had he found it? If Sespian, Maldynado, and Basilard had died at Fort Urgot, and Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr had been killed in the fighting within the Behemoth, that didn’t leave any of the original team members who might have acted as a guide. Yara? Had she somehow chanced upon Starcrest? Sicarius reminded himself that he’d only seen Amaranthe’s body. Perhaps Books and Akstyr had escaped the crash and met up with Starcrest when the admiral was coming to investigate it. Yes, that made sense. Countless people, some curious and some opportunistic, would have visited that site, however gory it’d been. And Starcrest would have been troubled by, if not outright horrified at, the reappearance of that alien technology.

“We may be too late,” Kor Nas said from a meter away. They stood, their backs to the smokestacks of their own building, a refinery still filled with busy employees, as they studied the molasses factory. “It’s empty.”

“You can sense this?” Sicarius lowered a spyglass. Though there wasn’t any smoke coming from the factory’s stacks, that might be intentional. When Amaranthe had been leading, the team hadn’t laid fires in any of the furnaces for warmth and had used only personal lanterns for lighting. They had set a guard though, and Sicarius would have expected Starcrest to do the same. He didn’t spot anyone standing on the roof. Copious footprints trampled the snow on the sidewalks around the factory, and drifts had been cleared from the doors, but that might have happened at any point in the last few days.

“I do. There is no one inside.” Ice frosted the practitioner’s voice. “Starcrest and his men must have received your warning and moved on.”

Before Sicarius could decide if he wanted to respond to the statement, a blast of pain dropped him to his knees. It was as if a cannonball had struck the side of his head, blowing half of it away. Unprepared, it took him a moment to erect his mental barriers, to push aside the pain and bring his rational mind back to bear before his attack-or-flee instincts could take over. Teeth gritted, he staggered back to his feet. The pain hadn’t lessened, but he dealt with it. He forced his breathing to return to normal, his heartbeat to slow, and he faced his attacker.

Though he had one hand stretched out toward Sicarius, Kor Nas was barely paying attention to him. His gaze remained on the factory.

He’s distracted, Sicarius thought. Attack now!

He bunched his muscles to spring, but Kor Nas dropped his arm, and the pain vanished so quickly it startled Sicarius.

“Wait,” Kor Nas said, “there’s one person in there.”

“Starcrest?” Sicarius was still of a mind to spring, to attack, but when Kor Nas turned his gaze toward him, he felt the subtle presence of the opal again, soothing his muscles, not allowing him to prepare an attack, not at his good master.

Sicarius wanted to let his lips peel back in a snarl of rage—even that seemed too unsuitable a reaction to that much pain—but he found his mask again. Interesting, a detached part of his mind decided, that when the stone had been inflicting pain upon him, some of that control it had over his physical body had faded. Could he use that somehow?

“I cannot tell,” Kor Nas finally said. “Seeing was not my field of study. Is it possible he’s already laid a trap?”