Forged in Blood I

Chapter 14

After her previous adventures on the bottoms of lakes, the novelty of traveling underwater had worn off, but Amaranthe still flinched at each creak and groan that emanated from the tiny submarine’s hull. On the other side of its convex glass viewing port, fish flitted away as the craft descended, its exterior lamps sending a beam of light into the dark water.

She sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Retta in the tiny navigation compartment while two guards loomed behind their seats. There was only a few feet of cargo space behind them in front of a bulkhead with a hatchway in it. Amaranthe hadn’t seen beyond it, but Retta had waved in that direction and said, “engine room,” when they’d first entered. Given the overall size of the submarine-most of the lavatories on Mokath Ridge had larger footprints-she could see why the Forge women had called it a “tug.” She didn’t see anything magical about it, and it had a Turgonian feel with steel construction, pipes running along the bulkheads, and levers and gauges similar to what she’d seen on imperial ships.

“Where did you get this vessel?” Amaranthe asked. She wanted to ask about everything that had happened since she’d last seen Retta and, oh, how do you go about blowing up the Behemoth too, thank you very much, but the guards might find those questions a tad suspicious.

The frown Retta gave her suggested she’d said something wrong anyway. “This is one of the ones you purchased on the Kyatt Islands.”

Oops. “Oh, is it? I handled all of the paperwork in town and didn’t get a full tour of the crafts.” There, that sounded plausible, didn’t it? How much information could the guards have been given anyway?

Retta nodded slightly. Right answer.

“They’re more Turgonian than I’d realized.” Amaranthe probably ought to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the trip, but she didn’t know if she’d get a chance to be alone with Retta in the Behemoth either. The Forge women hadn’t seemed to trust her fully-maybe they knew Retta had helped Amaranthe escape back down south. These guards might be permanent attachments to her ore cart.

“It’s to be expected, since all of the submarines in the world today-and, as you know, there aren’t many-are based on Admiral Starcrest’s designs.”

That “as you know” made Amaranthe pause. Suan had probably been the one trotting around the world, shopping for Forge’s imports. A warning not to ask for more details on this subject? Probably.

“I can’t believe he’s still alive,” one of the guards whispered in an awe-struck tone.

Thus far, both of the men had been too busy looming menacingly to speak, and this declaration surprised Amaranthe. The guard, previously the image of gruff professionalism, sounded like a wistful youth, lamenting that he’d never met the admiral. Not all that surprising, she supposed. Even Sicarius, who respected few people, could quote Starcrest’s books on military strategies and tactics and had admitted to reading a few of the “based on real events” but largely fictional Starcrest novels as a boy.

“What’s he like?” the guard asked Amaranthe.

“Er?”

“Didn’t you meet him when you were on the Kyatt Islands?”

“No, I understand he’s very busy with…” Work? Family? Nude sunbathing on the beach? How was Amaranthe supposed to know? Along with most of the rest of the populace, she’d thought he was dead until recently. That’d always been the official Turgonian statement, that he’d been killed in the Western Sea Conflict more than twenty years earlier. Unlike Sicarius, and apparently every other male in the empire, she’d never studied the man’s work either; she’d gone to business school, not a military academy, after all.

“He’s quite devoted to his family,” Retta said. “That’s kept him busy, and he’s taken on a number of subaquatic engineering projects for the Polytechnic’s research division, to help further underwater exploration around the islands and abroad. Now that the children are older, I understand he and his wife have been off-island, investigating ancient ruins and mysteries.”

The wife, that was the linguistics specialist Sicarius had met in those tunnels, wasn’t it? The one who’d originally decoded the language of the Behemoth. Amaranthe hoped she wasn’t involved with Forge in any way, but hadn’t Retta said she’d learned the language on the Kyatt Islands? What if Forge had the wife-and maybe Starcrest too-tucked into a back pocket?

“That must be why you didn’t meet them when you were there,” Retta finished, her eyebrow twitching ever so slightly.

She thought Amaranthe should shut her mouth and stop chancing discovery, too, but maybe it was better to learn this information here, in front of guards who couldn’t be fully knowledgeable about who and what “Suan” was supposed to mean to the Forge organization, rather than later when talking to some high-up official.

“Yes, that sounds right.” Amaranthe gave Retta an eyebrow twitch of her own, wishing she could mentally convey the suggestion that this would be a good place to relay information in some oblique manner that the guards wouldn’t see through. Too bad Retta wasn’t a true telepath. As far as Amaranthe knew, it had only been some Made tool that had allowed their minds to link and share memories.

“It’s fortunate that you were able to get a hold of so many of their submarines,” Retta said. Maybe she read minds after all, or could decipher twitchy eyebrows. “Though Admiral Starcrest gave out the plans to his original submarine to all the major governments in the world, no one has yet melded Turgonian metallurgy and engineering technology with practitioner-crafted power supplies the way the Kyattese have.”

The guards shifted at this mention of practitioners. Amaranthe wondered what she’d see if she opened the hatch in the back. Some flashing ball floating in the air, thrumming with energy? The submarine had leveled off and Retta was steering it along the lake bottom. The Behemoth should be in sight soon. If the guards had been down here before, they must have seen it, at least on the outside, and have some idea of what it might do. Maybe the idea of advanced ancient technology alarmed them less than that of magic-slinging contemporaries.

“I had to work hard to make that deal,” Amaranthe said, hoping for more details. Anything she could learn about Suan’s background could only help.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it was quite difficult finding the right person to bribe in the Kyattese government,” Retta said, “especially with all that Forge money to throw about.”

Amaranthe was trying to decide whether to respond to that-it sounded like a comment directed at the real Suan, rather than her-when a thump came from the rear of the craft.

“What was that?” one of the guards blurted.

“Did something hit us?” the second asked.

“I don’t think so.” Retta considered the gauges, then peered through the viewing window.

Nothing except seaweed and silt-covered rock lay within the light’s influence, though Amaranthe had the impression of a presence ahead of them, something denser and blacker than the deep dark water around it.

“It came from inside,” the first guard, the one who’d spoken of Admiral Starcrest, said.

“What if something broke?” The second man shifted uneasily, his fingers tightening on the back of Amaranthe’s chair. “I heard… They said if a tank or a seam or something ruptures, the boat could implode, and we’d all die horribly.”

A second thump came, identical to the first.

“I’ll check on it,” Retta said.

She rose halfway out of her chair, but Amaranthe stopped her with a hand to the arm. “We’re getting close to our destination, aren’t we?” she asked, hoping nobody would remember that she wasn’t supposed to know anything about their destination. “I think you should stay in the pilot’s chair.” She tried to give Retta a significant look. She had a hunch about those noises back there.

Retta glanced out the viewing area again. “You’re right. I can see the Ortarh Ortak now.” She eased back into the seat. “Valter, will you check please?”

“I don’t know anything about these boats,” the second guard said, his fingers like talons where they gripped the chair. “Something could be broken, and I’d never know it.”

“Just open the hatch and describe what you see.” Retta flicked a couple of controls. The black shape ahead was growing more pronounced, something that spread for hundreds of meters in either direction. Amaranthe hadn’t been imagining it; they were approaching the Behemoth. She surreptitiously wiped a palm on her dress.

“I’ll go,” the Starcrest enthusiast said when his comrade didn’t move.

The other guard, Valter, was dealing with sweaty palms of his own as he stared at the seams of the hull, the whites of his eyes visible all the way around the irises. It seemed unsporting to attack such a man, but if Amaranthe’s guess about those thumps was right, she wouldn’t hesitate.

The first guard reached the hatch and spun a wheel to open it. She twisted in her seat, readying herself. The guard stepped through the hatchway and peered to his left. A pair of legs swung down from above, wrapping about his neck. Someone else yanked the cutlass, knife, and baton from his belt holders. The neck grip kept the guard from hollering anything, but Valter heard the scuffles and thuds. He whirled about, yanking out his own sword.

Before he’d taken more than two steps, Amaranthe vaulted out of her chair and onto his back. She wrapped one arm around his neck, locking it with the other to apply pressure. At the same time, she clasped her legs around his waist, so he wouldn’t be able to shake her off. The hem of the dress restricted her movement, and she almost didn’t get the position she needed. Fortunately, he was more worried about her grip on his neck and she had time to readjust her legs for a better hold.

The guard grabbed her arms, trying to break the lock, but she’d practiced with Sicarius and knew to keep her grip so tight that he couldn’t thrust his fingers between her arm and his neck. He flung a hand behind his head, trying to smash her with his fist. His knuckles brushed her temple, but she buried her face in the back of his neck, making it hard for him to do any damage, and kept applying pressure. His struggles would grow feeble once his air supply dwindled.

The guard wasn’t ready to give in yet though. He turned his back to the hull and drove her into the unyielding metal. The blow jarred Amaranthe from teeth to toes. She might have released him to pursue another attack strategy, but Akstyr stepped out of the engine room and pointed a dagger at the man’s nose.

“Stop thrashing around out here, or I’ll carve out your tonsils.” Akstyr sneered. “By going through your nostrils.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then passed out, plummeting to the deck like a felled tree. Amaranthe released him and rolled away.

“Do you find it difficult to make people believe your menacing threats when your robe is open like that?” Books stepped through the hatchway and waved at Akstyr’s askew attire.

“No.” Akstyr scowled and tugged the flap over to cover up things Amaranthe hadn’t wanted to see. It seemed robes weren’t much better than dresses for fighting in. “He paid attention, didn’t he?”

“Because his face was purple and he couldn’t breathe, I believe,” Books said. “Also, his eyes were a little glassy, so I’m not sure he saw more than the knife.”

“What are you people doing down here?” Retta alternated between glowering at Books and Akstyr and looking through the viewing window. They’d rounded a curve in the Behemoth’s massive dome-shaped body, and a white light had come into sight, a stark contrast to the dark water and the black sides of the craft. “My assistant is going to be inside, manning the controls so we can dock, and there’s always at least two guards in that room. Strangers can’t stroll inside.”

“Ah, but we’re not strangers.” Books bent and unbuttoned the green uniform jacket of the unconscious guard, dusted it off, then held it aloft. “We’re employees in the-” he eyed a patch on the sleeve, “-Brackenshaft Armed and Armored Protection Coalition. Goodness, what a pretentious name to refer to uneducated louts with pointy sticks.”

Amaranthe smiled, pleased and relieved that her men had found a way on, though she knew it meant that the guards who had been escorting them out of the building were probably tied up in a closet somewhere. She’d originally envisioned having a few days to get to know her way around the Behemoth and interact with Forge people, maybe gathering crucial insider information before enacting a plan to destroy the craft. Now, they’d be lucky if they had until dawn before their identities were discovered.

Retta growled again, apparently neither pleased nor relieved by Books and Akstyr’s appearance. “What are you planning to do down here, Lokdon? I went along with this against all the voices in my head telling me it was crazy, and-you haven’t done anything to my sister, have you?”

“No, of course not. Though she is in town, so I did have to send someone to detain her.”

“What do you mean by detain?”

“Escort her to a secret facility for holding until such time as we’ve completed our mission,” Amaranthe said. That didn’t sound so bad, did it?

“You mean you kidnapped her?”

“Technically, that word might be appropriate,” Amaranthe admitted.

Books might have snorted, though it was difficult to tell with that shirt pulled over his head. Akstyr had shucked his robe and was bent over the unconscious guard in the engine room, removing the man’s clothing, his bare buttocks thrust through the hatchway as he did so. Retta, still manning the controls and checking their progress out the front window, did a double glance-one might call it a gape-when she noticed this display of nudity. Amaranthe rubbed her face. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined this trip going.

“What mission are you planning to complete?” Retta asked when she recovered from the spectacle behind her.

“We intend to make sure Ravido Marblecrest doesn’t succeed in his coup,” Amaranthe said, “and to do that, we need to ensure Forge doesn’t have any secret super powerful technology to call upon to aid him. The money and advanced firearms they’ve supplied are already giving him too much of an advantage. I assume they’re willing to use that huge black craft if they need to?”

“They don’t wish to reveal it,” Retta said, “but they may use it or elements to ensure their agenda. They believe Ravido has enough to fight down mundane opposition, but one of the other potential candidates has Nurian allies with him. Assassins and wizards.”

Amaranthe didn’t like the way she’d pluralized wizards. “We’ve met one of the assassins and a soul construct. Which general has these foreign friends?” She thought of the army surrounding Fort Urgot. At that very moment, Sicarius and the others might be trapped inside by those troops. She trusted his preternatural skills to keep him safe from guns and muscles-and Maldynado, Basilard, and Sespian were capable as well-but a practitioner? Maybe multiple practitioners? Ones strong enough to summon soul constructs? Even Sicarius had been smashed to the floor by Arbitan Losk’s power, and there’d been luck involved in the man’s defeat.

“Flintcrest,” Retta said.

Good. Mancrest had said Heroncrest was the one with the fort surrounded. With luck, Amaranthe could get the whole team back together before anyone came up against practitioners. “Neither Ravido, Heroncrest, or Flintcrest is an acceptable candidate,” she said. “Sespian Savarsin is alive and well and wants the throne, and we think he’s the best bet for a peaceful and prosperous empire.”

“Ah.” Books had dressed in everything except socks and shoes, and he held one of those socks aloft now in a gesture of protest. “That’s not precisely what we want, at least not what I wrote up. A democratic election open to all educated members of the populace should determin-”

“Not now, Books.” Amaranthe made a cutting off motion with her hand, then turned that gesture into a quick series of signs, spelling the last word out since Basilard’s language didn’t have many terms yet for discussing governments: Let’s keep it simple for those we’re recruiting; not everybody is ready for a new Turgonian paradigm.

Retta was piloting the submarine closer to the light and didn’t seem to see, but her uncovered eye was tight, her face tense. “I don’t care who’s on the throne. I just want the freedom to study the Ortarh Ortak and other artifacts from this civilization, and now that Forge is suspicious of me, I want to get away from them. That’s been true for a while, as you know and used to your advantage.” She skewered Amaranthe with her gaze.

“I meant what I said about helping you escape if I could,” Amaranthe said. “I’m back now.”

“You’re here to use me again because you want to kick Forge in the balls.”

Though it was clear Retta was irritated, Akstyr snickered and nodded his approval of this language. He and Books had changed into the uniforms and tied up the guards in the back. They’d shut the hatch and taken their places behind the navigation seats.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said, figuring honesty was all that had a chance of working, “I want to use you. I was hoping you’d vouch for me here, but I can help you escape Forge too. Just leave with us after we-”

“After you what? What do you think you’re doing to my craft?” She pointed toward the Behemoth and the light, almost blinding in its intensity as they drew closer.

Amaranthe paused. “Your craft?”

“I’m the one who’s been studying it for years. And for years before that, I was studying the language. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever seen. And the Ortarh Ortak? There’re a million things it can do, but I’ve only been allowed to focus on piloting it, landing it, and shooting things.”

“Shooting?” Books murmured to Akstyr. “Is that what they call it when they raze an entire swamp, lighting fire to thousands of acres of wilderness, and blowing a dirigible out of the sky?”

Amaranthe started to speak, but Retta cut her off. “Yes, it can damage things, and it’s very powerful, but there are facilities on here, technologies, that could be used for good too. For healing people and making items to improve life. A few years back, Professor Komitopis found a science lab in underwater ruins off the Nurian coast that was left by this civilization. Among other things, it can instantly fertilize and alter soil composition to favor whatever crops you wish. Something like that could end hunger forever.”

Books and Akstyr were sharing dubious looks, and Amaranthe agreed with the sentiment. Even if she hadn’t been there for the razing of the swamp and the blowing up of the dirigible, she could see more uses for evil than for good with this technology. Humans couldn’t be trusted with this kind of power.

“Has Professor Komitopis seen this craft?” Amaranthe asked casually, though her mind had leaped back to her earlier thought. What if Starcrest and his wife knew about the Behemoth and supported the research of it? Had Komitopis trained Retta herself?

“No.” Retta scowled down at the controls. “Everyone high up in Forge has agreed that it has to be kept secret from outsiders. I didn’t know anything about it until Ms. Worgavic called me back from my classes on the Kyatt Islands. After a couple of years at their Polytechnic, I’d been selected for the tiny, secret program that studies this technology. The professors were very select about who they allowed in, and I thought it was my grades that won me entrance, but it turns out that Ms. Worgavic had a hand in things all along.”

Amaranthe nodded. She’d suspected as much when she first spoke with Retta. She doubted that those Forge high-ups would keep the craft a secret forever, though, not if it could be used to secure the throne and the rest of their goals.

“Where did you get that medallion?” Retta asked out of nowhere.

Amaranthe almost blurted a, “Huh?” but remembered how Retta had noticed it up above. “We randomly picked it out as part of the costume.” At least Amaranthe thought it had been random. She met Books’s eyes.

He shrugged and signed, They’re very popular in Kendor. They sell them to tourists at all the ports.

“It looks like…” Retta cleared her throat. “When we were girls, Da used to go away on trips out of the empire. It’s what first got us interested in world history and other cultures. Once he brought back a medallion like that. I adored it, but he gave me some candies and gave it to Suan. She always got what I wanted.”

“Well, here.” Amaranthe removed it and handed it to Retta with a smile. She knew she was trying too hard to win this woman’s favor, but the jewelry meant nothing to her and if there was a chance it would mean something to Retta… “You can wear it later when we take you to meet her, and you can gloat about how she got kidnapped and you didn’t. I bet she didn’t want that.”

Retta snorted and waved her hand, as if she’d push the medallion away, but it snagged her eye for a moment, and, with a mulish set to her chin, she took it and put it on. “Maybe I will.”

A clank reverberated through the submarine, the hull shuddering.

“What was that?” Akstyr asked.

Retta’s hands flew over the controls. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. We’re here. We have to dock now.”

She steered the craft into the source of the light, and another clank and shudder coursed through the submarine. Amaranthe thought they’d struck something at first, but some sort of arms had stretched out to clamp onto their craft. That was her guess anyway. The bright light obscured the details, and she couldn’t stare through the viewport for long.

Retta released the controls. They were still moving, being pulled into some bay by those arms.

Amaranthe sensed her heart speeding up. Not only did she have to face those soulless black corridors again, but she wasn’t sure Retta wouldn’t step out of the submarine and turn them over to the guards.

Amaranthe leaned closer to her, dropping her elbows to rest on her knees. Last chance to make sure Retta was on their side. “We don’t have to destroy the craft,” she whispered. “I just want to make sure Forge doesn’t have access to it. If it was… I don’t know, buried under the ice in the South Pole, it wouldn’t be a problem. Only those who knew it was there could go and study it, a long way from all the major governments of the world.”

Books watched Amaranthe steadily as she spoke, a question behind his creased brow. Maybe he was wondering if she meant what she said. She wasn’t sure. At the moment, she wouldn’t be above prevarications to ensure Retta worked with them.

Retta didn’t respond to the words though. She was either concentrating on the gauges… or ignoring Amaranthe.

A final shudder ran through the submarine as it came to rest on something solid. Gurgles sounded on the other side of the hull-water being drained from a holding chamber?

Retta rose from her chair and headed for the hatch on the side. “We can go out now.”

Akstyr’s fingers flew: Do we stop her?

Books also watched Amaranthe for an answer.

Yes, she thought, no, I have no idea. Outwardly, all she did was sign, No.

• • •

Sicarius crouched, making himself a smaller target for the soldier at the cannon. Out of the corner of his eye, he gauged the distance to the side of the water tank. If he could leap over the edge fast enough and catch the beam as he fell…

Sespian took a step forward and removed his cap. “We’re on your side,” he called across the hundred-meter gap.

“The armbands,” Sicarius said. Though the snow wasn’t falling as heavily as before, it still obscured the view, and the men might have a hard time seeing Sespian’s face and identifying him. The broad blue cloth strips tied to his and Sicarius’s sleeves were another matter.

Sespian removed his as he continued shouting to the men on the wall. “General Ridgecrest sent us out to spy. He’ll thank you if you check before shooting us. We do, however, appreciating you trying to blow up that ugly mutt that was chasing us.”

As if it knew it was being discussed, the construct stood and loped away. The cannonball hadn’t damaged it any more than rifles and daggers had, but it was done with the attack. Perhaps it knew it couldn’t reach Sespian now-or perhaps it thought Sespian might be taken care of by other means. Sicarius stared at the men manning the cannon, his jaw set, his eyes hard.

“The general did not send a murdering criminal out to spy for him.” One of the soldiers, a young lieutenant perhaps, pointed at Sicarius.

Someone over there must have a spyglass and be able to recognize faces after all.

“Actually, he did,” Sespian responded. “On my suggestion. If you didn’t notice, I’m Sespian Savarsin, and though my authority is somewhat debatable right now, I’ve been working with General Ridgecrest since last night.”

“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.