Forged in Blood II (7 page)

Amaranthe wished she could muster the indignation to do more than say, “It wasn’t intentional, Yara.” She’d known Maldynado longer, and Basilard, and Sespian, and she’d loved Sicarius longer than Yara had known Maldynado existed. But she knew it was all her fault, that one of her plans had finally gotten her teammates killed—along with thousands of others.

“It wasn’t intentional? Oh, that makes it dandy, doesn’t it?” Yara’s fists clenched and unclenched at her sides.

Would she lunge forward and strike? If she did, would Amaranthe bother defending herself? No…

“You talked me into joining your team, into following you on this fool’s mission, because… You made it sound noble and honorable. Stop Forge, save the empire. But you’ve killed more people than any of them have, you know that, don’t you?”

“I didn’t singlehandedly kill everybody,” Amaranthe said. “I couldn’t foresee that the
Behemoth
would crash. Emperor’s warts, I wasn’t steering it into the fort.”

“It was damaged and crashed as a result of your plan, didn’t it?”

Amaranthe opened her mouth, though she didn’t know what she’d say. “Not exactly” didn’t have the ring of expiation she needed.

“If you hadn’t gone down there, they’d all still be alive, wouldn’t they?” Yara asked. “
Wouldn’t
they?”

Technically, there was no way to know that… The fort had been under siege, after all. Yara didn’t want a debate though, and Amaranthe was already blaming herself, so why bother arguing?

“Yes, it’s my fault, Yara. I’m sorry you lost someone you cared about. I cared about Maldynado too.” And Sicarius, curse it all. Fresh tears stabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry I ever saw you on that mountainside, you and your bungling team of miscreants.” Yara stalked outside, slamming the door so hard that a nail flew out of a wall and fell to the floor with an insignificant clink.

Amaranthe wished Yara had taken the lantern. She preferred the darkness. It was too much effort, though, to stand up and cut it out. She rolled onto her side, putting her back to the door—and the world—again.

• • •

Sicarius’s injuries were healed. Someone had repaired the rips in his clothes and retrieved most of the daggers and throwing knives he’d hurled during his illogical and ill-considered storming of the
Behemoth
. Now, he stood next to the entrance flap inside the Nurian tent, his hands clasped behind his back, his face devoid of emotion. In the center of a rug that kept people from having to walk on the frozen ground, General Flintcrest and Kor Nas sat on crates, speaking in low murmurs as a third man knelt, his eyes closed. A ledger, an elegant gold pen, and a couple of pieces of clothing rested before the kneeling man. A checkered scarf dangled from his fingers.

Though no one had introduced him to Sicarius, this new Nurian was clearly a seer, one talented at finding people. He must have been the one who’d figured out Sespian was still alive and suggested the creation of a soul construct to hunt him.

On that suspicion alone, Sicarius might have killed him. If he could.

The opal embedded in the flesh at his temple hummed softly in his mind, its warm tendrils of energy not painful but always present. He’d found that he could leave his cot and even the tent, but he couldn’t raise a hand toward anyone in the camp. Not the soldiers, and most certainly not the Nurians. He’d tried a few times to trick his body into responding in such a way that might hurl a dagger into Kor Nas’s chest, but it was the mind the artifact controlled, and he couldn’t trick his own mind.

“This one is living on top of that hill.” Without opening his eyes, the seer waved vaguely toward the city.

“We’ll need something
slightly
more precise.” Flintcrest tossed a notepad into the man’s lap. “Write down an address.”

Kor Nas’s jaw tightened at the disrespectful treatment of his fellow Nurian. The seer opened his eyes, a bewildered expression on his face. “An address? This is not—” His faced tilted toward Kor Nas, and he switched to the Nurian language. “
Saison,
have you not explained it to this… man?” He clearly wanted to use a different noun, but glanced warily at the general, perhaps fearing he understood Nurian.

“Write down some landmarks. My new pet seems bright enough to follow such instructions.” Kor Nas smiled at Sicarius, a strange caress in his eyes, like a man gazing fondly at some treasured prize won in a contest of skills.

After a lifetime of hiding his thoughts, Sicarius had no trouble keeping his face expressionless. He didn’t know if the opal shared what lay in his mind with the practitioner, but doubted it mattered. Kor Nas could surely guess that his “new pet” would like to stick a dagger in his chest.

“Yes,
saison.
” The seer picked up the pen and bent over the notebook.

“Write down directions for other ones as well.”

“Speak in Turgonian,” Flintcrest snapped.

And thus the general answered the unspoken question, as to whether or not he understood the language. The seer winced at his tone, but kept his head bent, and scribbled furiously with the pen. As Sicarius waited to see what assignment they’d give him, he tried to decide if he cared. Not really. Maybe it’d be something ridiculously dangerous, something impossible to accomplish, something that would get him killed. If so, he’d have the end he’d expected in that aircraft. Perhaps he could manage it even if the task weren’t
that
dangerous… Odd that the idea of displaying any sort of ineptitude still pushed his hairs in the wrong direction, but he didn’t want to spend the next year—or decade—enslaved to this Nurian.

“Here.” The seer unfolded from his kneeling posture, stood, and extended the notebook.

“Give it to him.” Kor Nas pointed at Sicarius.

The seer licked his lips and eyed Sicarius for several long moments before creeping forward, his arm extended as far from his body as possible, as if he feared an electric shock—or worse. Sicarius would have ignored the offering, but his hand came up of its own volition. No, of the practitioner’s volition. Inwardly, he sighed, but outwardly, he didn’t let his expression change.

“Kill those five women tonight,” Kor Nas said. “Get as much information as you can before you cut their throats. Then report back to me. I’ll expect you by dawn.”

Sicarius eyed the list. The directions were written in Nurian, landmarks to lead him to three residences, a hotel near the waterfront, and a sublet by the University. A surname was scribbled above each set of landmarks.

“You do read Nurian, do you not?” Kor Nas asked.

Sicarius wouldn’t have answered, but, again, the response was plucked from his lips without his assent. “Yes.”

“Thanks to my intelligence-gathering team, you’ve got three of the Forge founders on that list,” Flintcrest said. “If you truly control him—” he eyed Sicarius like one might eye a rattlesnake poised to escape its terrarium, “—and he gets rid of them, we’ll be close to the end. Once Marblecrest’s female allies have been disposed of, he’ll have nothing except those fancy firearms, and we can take those from him. The man’s a joke as a general and as a candidate for the throne. Even if nobody had heard of Forge, everyone would guess he’d been bought.”

One of Kor Nas’s silvery eyebrows rose, as if to remind Flintcrest that he, too, had been bought, or at least had a deal in place with an outside entity.

Flintcrest read the gesture clearly, for he glowered back at Kor Nas. A long moment passed, the men staring at each other. Surprisingly, it was the practitioner who broke eye contact first.

“If five assassinations will bring this organization to its knees,” Kor Nas said, “it is not so formidable as my government thought.”

“Oh, I’m sure its tendrils have slithered all over the world, but the founders are the ones we have to worry about. With them gone… it’ll take time for them to reorganize. By then, the issue of the throne will be decided.” Flintcrest’s chin jerked up, and he thumped his chest.

“As you say.” Kor Nas pointed at Sicarius. “You understand that note? Can you find those people?”

“I want their heads as proof of the deed done,” Flintcrest said.

How like Raumesys and Hollowcrest. Truly, the empire would change little if Flintcrest found the throne, though Raumesys never would have dealt with the Nurians. What other concessions had he promised them?

“Understood,” Sicarius found himself responding.

“I’ll have my spies continue to research and get the rest of the founders’ names,” Flintcrest said.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Kor Nas smiled slightly. “I’m sure a trained assassin can extract the needed information before cutting the final throat.”

“Yes,” Sicarius heard himself saying.

The founders names. Amaranthe had known them, Sicarius recalled, though she hadn’t shared them with him. Out of fear that he’d take it upon himself to assassinate them. And he would have. To protect her and Sespian. It was too late for that now, but he’d kill them anyway, without fighting the practitioner. He hadn’t thought it was within him to hate, to care enough about any one thing to have such a strong feeling, but loathing welled up in him now as he studied the names. Yes, he hated the Forge people for their role in Sespian’s and Amaranthe’s deaths.

He recognized one of the names on the list, the person staying in the hotel by the yacht club, and decided he’d take particular satisfaction in killing her. Neeth Worgavic.

S
leep continued to elude Amaranthe, and dawn saw her no better rested than the night before. It was just as well. Her nightmares were sure to take on a whole new vile bent now. For hours, the talk had continued in the office next door. She hadn’t tried to make out any of it. She’d been busy with her own thoughts, though they’d stopped spinning so rapidly through her brain at some point. They were fewer and farther between now. For the last hour, whether or not she should get up to use the latrine had been foremost among them. She didn’t want to go out there. Perhaps the trash bin in the corner of the room would suffice…

A feminine screech cut through the door, and Amaranthe bolted up. Who could that have been? Starcrest’s wife? And had that been a cry of surprise? Or pain? Maybe their hideout had been discovered, and the factory was being attacked.

Amaranthe scrambled to the door, then out onto the landing. Every inch of floor space below was taken up by packs, hastily spread bedrolls, and weapons, everything from rifles to cutlasses and short swords to crossbows and longbows. She didn’t see any sign that the factory was being attacked, though a few amused soldiers were gazing toward the door, where…

She stumbled forward and gripped the railing. Surprise and delight lifted her spirits, and she grinned like a fool. She couldn’t imagine how it could be possible, but Maldynado stood a couple of paces from the threshold, or at least he was
trying
to remain standing. Yara had flung herself at him, wrapping her legs and arms around him, and her face was buried in his shoulder. That screech… had been her?

Maldynado’s face was grimy and unshaven, his eyes weary with dark hollows beneath them, his clothing ripped and stained with dirt and blood, but he was undeniably standing and breathing. After a startled moment, he smiled and wrapped his arms around Yara in return.

Amaranthe thought to call out, to ask where he’d been and how he’d survived, but Yara was kissing him by then, showing more naked enthusiasm than Amaranthe had ever seen from the woman, and he probably wouldn’t hear her.

Sespian and Basilard walked through the door, appearing equally battered and tired. Amaranthe started for the steps, intending to run down and grab them both in an embrace, but Basilard noticed her, and their eyes met from across the building. Something in those frank blue eyes made her halt, an uneasy premonition sinking into her stomach.

When no one else walked in behind them, Amaranthe signed,
Sicarius
?

Basilard hesitated, then shook his head.

She stumbled back to her door. How? How could the others have made it out and not Sicarius? She loved Maldynado and couldn’t wish for anything but happiness between him and Yara, but cursed ancestors, why couldn’t Sicarius have walked in so
she
could fling herself into his arms?

Wait, she told herself, wait to mourn until you know for certain. Maybe he was just… missing. Maybe nobody knew for sure.

Thumps and grunts came from the bottom of the stairs. Maldynado, with Yara still latched to him, was fumbling his way up the steps at the same time as he accepted a barrage of kisses. How he reached the top when he couldn’t see where he was going, Amaranthe didn’t know. She said nothing, having a hard time finding joy in her heart for their reunion. Not when…

Well, she hadn’t spoken to anyone yet. Maybe she could find hope in Basilard or Sespian’s news.

“Hullo, boss,” Maldynado managed when his lips were free. “Good to see—oooph.”

Yara had grabbed his cheeks with her hands and kissed him. Maldynado turned a quick wave into a grab for the doorknob of the room he and Yara had been sharing.

Amaranthe lifted a hand, intending to warn them that it was occupied, but neither Maldynado nor Yara was paying attention to her. They barreled into the office, and voices inside halted.

Basilard and Sespian were halfway up the stairs, and Sespian smiled and lifted a hand toward her. He opened his mouth, but Maldynado and Yara stumbled out again before he could speak. Surely they’d find it easier to get from one place to the next if she put her legs down and walked of her own volition…

Maldynado peered about, wearing a bewildered expression, perhaps noticing all those soldiers for the first time. “Who are all these people?” he blurted.

“Admiral Starcrest and his advisers,” Amaranthe said.

“Admiral Star…” Maldynado stared into the office.

From her position, Amaranthe couldn’t tell if Starcrest or any of the others were staring back, but she imagined that’d be the case after having entwined lovers barge into their meeting.

“Erp?” Maldynado said.

“Downstairs,” Yara said. She dropped her legs so she could stand, though she didn’t let go of Maldynado’s arms. She dragged him down the stairs, past Basilard and Sespian who parted for their speedy retreat. Amaranthe didn’t know if the haste of that retreat was entirely due to sexual urgency.