Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  The glass Tikaya had seen did indeed belong to a lorry, one backed several meters off the driveway and into the shadows. She thought she spotted movement in the front cab but couldn’t be sure. Though she doubted the soldiers would need her help, she stepped outside with her bow to cover them in case they received more trouble than anticipated.

  Frost crunched in the short grass beneath her feet.

  “Stop right there and identify yourselves,” a man called from the parked lorry, his voice stern. He sounded like another soldier, but who else would have seen Sicarius’s note and come out here? “I’ve got you in my sights.”

  Tikaya didn’t see a pistol, bow, or other weapon sticking out of the cab, but maybe the person intended to shoot through the glass window. The two soldiers had their own rifles up at this point, with the cab, if not the person within, in their sights.

  “We’re soldiers in the president’s employment,” Dak said. “That’s all you need to know. Toss out your weapon and step out of the vehicle.”

  A few seconds dribbled past, then something was thrown from the cab. Tikaya frowned. It looked like a crooked stick, not a rifle or other weapon.

  “Throw out your weapon,” Dak repeated.

  “That’s all I’ve got,” the man responded, the sternness gone out of his voice. He sounded tired. Beleaguered.

  “A stick?”

  “A stick.”

  “You had us in your sights with... a stick?” Dak asked.

  “Yes, I hope you were suitably quaking with terror.”

  “Go get him,” Dak told his men.

  The pair of soldiers walked forward, keeping their weapons trained on the cab, but the man who slumped out of the vehicle didn’t look like much of a threat. He favored one leg and hissed and clutched his shoulder when he bumped the doorframe.

  “I’m Deret Mancrest,” he said. “And I’m injured, so I’d appreciated it if you forwent the manhandling and simply escorted me to your vehicle, if that’s your intent.”

  One of the soldiers had been about to grab him, but stopped at the name, and looked to his colonel.

  “The journalist?” Dak asked.

  “Journalist and owner of the Gazette,” Mancrest said. “I believe we’ve met before. In the service. Colonel Starcrest, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I served in the Twenty-Third Infantry Battalion, under General Bearcrest.”

  “I must not have made a good impression on you if you were keeping me in your stick’s sights.”

  Mancrest grunted.

  “You were at the funeral for Professor Mugdildor,” Tikaya said. In the poor lighting, she couldn’t see the man’s face, but she remembered the name. They hadn’t spoken, but he had been a friend of Amaranthe’s, hadn’t he? “You know Amaranthe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she here? The note said she’d been kidnapped.”

  “The note?” Mancrest asked.

  “From Sicarius,” Tikaya said.

  “No mention about me being kidnapped as well?”

  “No.”

  “That figures. Look, she and Sicarius were going to sneak into the compound to snoop.” Deret pointed in the direction of the house. “I was supposed to keep the furnace hot in the lorry. They’ve been gone a while, and people started banging around, yelling about escaped prisoners about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “How many men are in there?” Dak asked.

  “At least twenty in the bunkhouse, plus whoever lives in the house.”

  “Armed?”

  “The priests all had pistols,” Mancrest said.

  “All right. You want to come with us or stay in that lorry?”

  “That depends. Do you have a medic with you?”

  “Shovak, anyone in your squad got training?” Dak asked one of the soldiers.

  “I think Drogo had basic first aid, sir.”

  “Maybe I’ll just stay here and bleed.”

  “We’re going to go blow things up,” Dak said. “You might want to come along and help us avoid hitting your friends.”

  “Friend. Singular.” Mancrest bent, grabbed his stick, and used it as a crutch as he walked toward Tikaya. He nodded at her bow before he climbed into the cab. “Your stick is more impressive than mine, my lady.”

  “Not something a man should ever say to a woman,” Dak muttered, hopping in after him.

  “It is made from the finest Kyattese onyx wood,” Tikaya said.

  Dak took up his position behind the driver’s seat. “Let’s go, Corporal.”

  “Shall we... drive straight up to the door, sir?”

  “I thought we’d start firing before then,” Dak said.

  “I see you’re applying your infantry background to your intelligence career,” Mancrest said.

  “Actually that’s my artillery background. We practiced everything down there on the border.”

  The corporal shoveled some coal into the furnace, checked a gauge, then thrust the forward lever on the lorry.

  “Any suggestions for targets, Mancrest?” Dak asked.

  “As much as I’d like to see you blow up that cider mill, the bunkhouse is where most of the robed fellows live. You might catch some inside still. Assuming you don’t want to take them prisoner.”

  “Their friends spent the night trying to blow up the president,” Dak said. “If they beg to be taken prisoner, we’ll do it. I would be just as happy if they didn’t.”

  “I see,” Mancrest said. “Should we... be taking his wife along for this... carnage?”

  “It’s not my first carnage, Lord Mancrest.”

  “You can call me, Deret, my lady.”

  “Then you can call me Tikaya.”

  “Uh,” Mancrest said. “I don’t really think I can. But thank you.”

  “I address my Kyattese president and his wife by first name,” Tikaya said.

  “Yes, but your people are... special.”

  Dak snorted. “Tactful, Mancrest.”

  “What did you expect from the man who threatened you with a bent stick?”

  “We’re getting close, sir,” the corporal said. “Someone saw us and ran into the bunkhouse.”

  His tense tone stole the mirth from the air. Tikaya continued to hold her bow, though she imagined the soldiers would take care of things with their superior firepower.

  The trees ended, giving her a better view of the compound. Someone slammed a wrought iron gate shut in a fence that surrounded the house, then ran inside and slammed the front door shut as well. The person who had seen them was running toward a carriage house behind the bunkhouse.

  “They’ll have lorries of their own in there,” Mancrest said. “They kidnapped us in one. I don’t know if they’re armored.”

  “Carriage house first, Corporal. We don’t want anyone leaving before we give them our permission.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal reached for the cannon controls. “Should we warn them first, sir? Give them a chance to surrender?”

  The bunkhouse door flew open, and a green-robed man thrust his arm out.

  “Practitioner,” Tikaya barked, the intense prickling sensation on her skin promising a big discharge of energy.

  “No warning, no,” Dak growled and grabbed the blasting stick.

  “Duck,” Mancrest said.

  Red energy danced in the air around the priest’s fingers. Tikaya stepped past Mancrest and yanked out an arrow. She loosed it at the same time as the priest hurled the fireball. Someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her to the floor, and she feared her shot was thrown wide.

  Rifles fired behind her—someone leaning out of the bed of the lorry—but Tikaya couldn’t see anything except the padded roof of the cab. Then heat washed over her, and the orange and red of flames drove away every shadow. The fireball struck the front window. Glass cracked under the intensity, and Tikaya lifted her arm, afraid shards would pelt them. But the heat faded without anyone crying out, and she dared hope the window had blocked the brunt of t
he attack.

  A match hissed in her ear. Tikaya tried to sit up, but someone bumped her with an arm.

  “Sorry,” Dak grunted.

  Everyone was trying to stand up at the same time. No, Dak was doing more than that. He had hurled the blasting stick at the bunkhouse. It struck before she got her head high enough for a view, but she heard glass crack in the distance. He must have aimed at a window instead of the door. Good thinking. The practitioner might have come up with a defense if the projectile had been arrowing straight toward him.

  A boom split the night, loud enough that farmers on parcels fifty acres away were sure to bolt from their beds, clutching at their hearts. The wooden bunkhouse didn’t stand a chance. Burning boards flew fifty feet into the air, and slammed into the first row of trees in the orchard. Tikaya looked away, not wanting to see if bodies—or body parts—flew into the air as well.

  “Did you get the practitioner?” she asked when the flames died down.

  “You got the practitioner,” Dak said.

  “Nice reflexes,” Mancrest said from the floor. He propped himself against the wall by the furnace, not looking like he wanted to rise further. In the better lighting, the blood staining the shoulder of his shirt was visible.

  “Yes, I was too busy throwing myself down for cover to shoot anything,” Dak admitted. Interesting, she had never seen a sheepish expression on him before.

  “I’m sure if it had been a gunman, you two would have both fired more quickly,” Tikaya said. “Magic seems to alarm Turgonians, doubtlessly because you’ve had so little experience with it.”

  “I’ve had more than the average Turgonian’s experience with it, but I’ll accept your excuse,” Dak said.

  A few men with singed and tattered robes staggered out of the back of the bunkhouse—the only side with a wall still partially standing—and hobbled toward the trees.

  Dak thumped on the back of the cab. “Go round up those men.”

  Judging by how quickly a team of six soldiers shot off into the orchard, they had been ready and waiting for the command. Another squad jogged up to the driver’s side of the cab.

  “Should we take the house, sir?” the leader asked.

  “Corporal, see if you can open that gate for them,” Dak said.

  “Yes, sir.” The man smiled, no longer hesitating to reach for the cannon controls. Apparently once a wizard spat a fireball at them, Turgonians felt justified in commencing bloodshed.

  The cannonball launched, spinning through the iron bars instead of into the gate, and the corporal lost his smile. It smashed into a planter under a window and tore into what was probably those people’s living room. “Sorry, sir.”

  Dogs streaked out of little houses on the side and started barking.

  “A little to the right,” Dak advised.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The second cannonball clanged into one of the hinges, tearing the gate from its mooring. That proved too much noise for most of the dogs; they streaked through the broken gate and into the field behind the house.

  “That ought to be enough,” Dak said. “Go get them, men.”

  “Watch out for a woman smelling of brandy and wearing a man’s shirt,” Mancrest called after them.

  That earned a strange backward glance from the squad leader and a quirked eyebrow from Dak as well.

  “It’s a long story,” Mancrest said. When the quirked brow didn’t lower, he added, “It’s been a harrowing evening. If we hadn’t been lucky, you might have pulled our bodies out of a tank full of apple juice.”

  “I was wondering about the odor,” Tikaya murmured.

  The corporal drummed his fingers on his leg. “Shall we target that big building over there, sir? None of our men have gone in that direction.”

  “That’s the cider mill,” Mancrest said. “I don’t think anything is in there except a lot of expensive equipment. And maybe a man Sicarius tied up, though I would guess that his comrades have found him by now. That’s probably what alerted everyone out here.”

  “Hold steady until our men return,” Dak said.

  The soldiers were already marching prisoners out of the orchard and past the remains of the smoldering bunkhouse. Several men and women left the main house via the windows, only to run into their own iron security fence. The team who had remained outside the dwelling captured these people without trouble—most of them were in nightclothes, with more than one running around barefoot. Tikaya wondered what had prompted them to allow the priests to set up on their property. Or had blackmail been involved?

  A soldier jogged up to the lorry. “Sir, should we also tie up the people from the house?” The captured priests had been bound and ushered into the cargo bed. “They’re not wearing robes. One said he’s Lord Edgecrest, and that we’ll be in trouble for trespassing on his property.”

  “Truss him and toss him in too,” Dak said.

  “Yes, sir.” He jogged off, but was met by a second soldier before he could return to the house. They had a quick conversation, and the first man returned. “Uh, sir? One of the people in the house is... uhm.”

  “What?” Dak asked.

  “I bet I can guess,” Mancrest said. “You ever meet your uncle’s first wife, Colonel?”

  “Sauda?”

  The soldier nodded. “Sauda Shadowcrest. The men are bringing her out now.”

  “She’s here?” Tikaya asked. “I thought she was in jail.”

  “So did I,” Dak said. “In fact, I told Rias to visit her after... was that just yesterday we had that meeting?”

  “I think so. Time has become a blur.”

  “A lot has become a blur,” Mancrest said—he was still sitting on the floor. “I’m not sure if it’s because I’m tired or because I hit my head falling into that tank.”

  He didn’t look well, but there wasn’t much that could be done at the moment. Tikaya doubted the lorry had blankets or any supplies meant to make men comfortable. Turgonian military vehicles all seemed to run toward the sparse and utilitarian.

  The front door opened, and the raven-haired woman who walked out managed to look regal even in a robe and with two armed men escorting her. The men marched her out to the lorry. Tikaya didn’t know if the woman would recognize her. Sauda gazed into the cab for a moment, then dismissed everyone with a haughty sniff.

  Before Dak could question her, another soldier trotted out of the house.

  “Sir, there’s a vault door at the end of the upstairs hallway, and it looks like someone has been shooting at it.”

  “A vault door?” Dak asked.

  “Yes, sir. Like you would find in a bank.”

  “Sounds like where Amaranthe might have run off to,” Mancrest said. “Based on the bullets. She has a knack for getting herself in trouble.”

  “Sauda, do you know what’s behind the vault door?” Dak asked.

  The woman crossed her arms, sniffed again, and gazed toward the orchards.

  “Answer him.” One of the soldiers gripping her arm gave it a shake.

  Dak lifted a quelling hand toward the man. Maybe there were rules against physically interrogating warrior-caste women. Tikaya wouldn’t mind giving her a shake... more than a shake. A few arrow perforations might loosen her tongue.

  “He never took me there, nor told me what he did when he spent time inside,” Sauda said.

  “He?” Dak asked. “Is this Serpitivich, by chance?”

  Tikaya frowned at him. “The vice president and... this woman? But where did Lord Mancrest, the elder Lord Mancrest, come in? I thought they were... sharing hammocks.”

  “Oh, I’m guessing she was sharing hammocks with a lot of people,” Dak said.

  Sauda gave him a scathing look, but did not refute the comment. Tikaya remembered Rias describing his former wife as unfaithful, though he had blamed himself—or at least accepted some of the blame—due to his long absences at sea. Maybe the woman simply had a pathological flaw.

  “She was trying to bribe my father,” De
ret said. “She wants control of the Gazette for Serpitivich and his priest goons.”

  “Goons.” Sauda sniffed. “Hardly that. With their connections, they almost handed him the election. Against anyone except Rias, Serp would have won.”

  “And he still intends to win,” Deret said, “isn’t that right?”

  “We’ll see.” Sauda smiled slightly. “The night isn’t over. You people haven’t won yet.”

  Tikaya thought of the plant, of Rias and her daughter. Did the woman know something she didn’t?

  “Tell us about this vault,” Dak said. “Is Serpitivich there now? And what does he do inside?”

  “If he’s responsible for the poisonings,” Tikaya said, “maybe it’s where he keeps his collection.”

  Sauda shrugged a narrow shoulder. “I have no knowledge of the vault’s contents. Perhaps the priests would know. They are his zealous followers.”

  “You’re only here for the social status of being seen with him if he becomes somebody, is that right?” Dak asked.

  Sauda, gazing toward the orchards again, did not respond. It was as if she couldn’t care less what happened here—what happened to her. Maybe she had some plan already. She had escaped from jail once, after all.

  Dak ground his jaw back and forth for a moment, then waved toward the rear of the lorry. “Put her in with the other prisoners, and make sure there are plenty of guards back there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The soldiers ushered Sauda away.

  “What do you think?” Dak asked Tikaya.

  “Me? About what?”

  “Is she lying, misdirecting us, or hiding something?” Dak shrugged. “Knowing any of those things would be useful.”

  “I’ve never spoken to her before and don’t have a baseline by which to judge. I couldn’t tell if she was lying, but she certainly didn’t seem trustworthy.”

  “Ah,” Dak said. “I thought you might have some insight, since you two married the same man.”

  “You don’t know much about women, do you?”

  His expression grew wry. “Not... as much as I’d like.” Dak waved to one of the other soldiers. “Brekker, show us to that vault, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dak hopped down and invited Tikaya along with a wave. “Perhaps what she won’t tell us we can find out for ourselves. Mancrest, you want to stay in there?”