by Joseph Lallo
“I got the signal,” Dunn said. “Hollowcrest should be arriving shortly. He left a couple hours ago and took fifteen loyal men with him. I have someone following, but I’m not sure yet where he went.”
Arrows of anxiety pierced Sespian’s stomach, but he simply said, “Very well.”
The gate to the courtyard rattled open. Hollowcrest strode through with his men marching behind him. A scowl rode his face, one that deepened when he spotted Sespian.
For a moment, Hollowcrest looked as if he would stride right past, but he stopped when he spotted his loyal general. “What’s going on, Lakecrest? Staff meetings are usually reserved for daylight hours.”
“You won’t be here after dawn,” Sespian said. “In front of these witnesses, I hereby revoke your title of Commander of the Armies and all privileges and rights associated with that rank.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hollowcrest snapped. “I don’t have the patience for this. Do you know what’s going on out there?” He pointed behind him in the direction of the city. “Powerful people are plotting to assassinate you, and your enforcer girlfriend is making a mess of the economy.”
Sespian stared. Amaranthe? Was that who Hollowcrest had been meeting?
Sespian pushed the thought away. He dared not lose his forward momentum or give Hollowcrest time to think. “You have committed treasonous acts against the throne—specifically drugging me—and your crimes demand death. For your years of loyal service to my father, I’ve decided not to have you killed, but you will leave the Barracks by dawn and Stumps by nightfall. Failure to obey will result in your prompt and permanent imprisonment in the dungeons.”
“I have to collect reinforcements and go deal with Forge.” Hollowcrest waved to his closest men. “Take the boy inside. We’ll discuss his accusations in the morning.”
“I don’t think so.” Sespian lifted an arm and waved two fingers.
Behind him, the front doors opened. Forty armed soldiers jogged out and lined up before Sespian.
“Lakecrest?” Hollowcrest asked.
The old general avoided his eyes.
The sound of footsteps marching over packed snow came from around the side of the building. Hollowcrest looked that direction. Sespian did not. He knew who was coming.
Soldiers, marching in a column two wide, tromped into view, shackles binding their wrists. Men from the loyal-to-the-emperor list led them. They parked the column of prisoners next to the front gate.
Sespian dug in his pocket and withdrew a key ring. He threw it toward Hollowcrest, who caught it and stared at it, eyebrows drawn down.
“The keys to their chains,” Sespian explained. “You can release your men once you’re on the other side of the gate.”
“How did you—” Hollowcrest started but slammed his mouth shut and scowled instead.
Sespian exchanged a triumphant look with Dunn. Without the lieutenant’s help, he never could have arranged this. Knowing he had chosen the right man for the duty thrilled Sespian.
“You’ll regret this,” Hollowcrest said. “By dawn.”
“Is it necessary to be so melodramatic?” Sespian asked. “Whatever business deal you’ve ensconced yourself in, I care not.”
“Fool,” Hollowcrest growled. “If I fail tonight, you’re a dead man, and the empire will be in chaos.”
“We’ll handle it.” Sespian hated to ask Hollowcrest for anything, but curiosity drove him to voice the next question. “How is Amaranthe involved?”
“Since you’re so clever these days, figure it out yourself.”
Hollowcrest strode out of the courtyard, taking his long string of men with him. Guards slammed the wrought iron gate behind them.
General Lakecrest almost looked like he wanted to follow, but after a cool look at Sespian and Dunn, he stomped inside the building.
“That was well played, Sire,” Dunn said. “I wish...”
Sespian looked at the lieutenant and raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Nothing.” Dunn’s face grew masked. “It’s late, Sire. Perhaps you should rest. I can alert you if Hollowcrest makes more trouble.”
After a moment of hesitation, Sespian nodded. “Very well.”
* * * * *
The pair of steam carriages waiting down the block from the scrapyard featured modifications Amaranthe had never seen: massive caterpillar treads instead of wheels. The vehicles stretched longer than usual with room to seat more than a dozen men.
Accompanied by two guards and a driver, Arbitan and Larocka took one steam carriage. The other fifteen guards clambered into the second, forcing Amaranthe and her men to join them. The closed passenger area had a single barred window in the door. Getting in was like crawling into a cave. Or a dungeon cell.
Once her captors shoved her into a seat, Amaranthe found herself facing the scarred security leader. Basilard, Arbitan had called him.
The modified machine easily climbed the steep, icy hills out of the industrial neighborhood. Nobody spoke. The rumble and hiss of the vehicle reverberated through the carriage. Despite the large interior, the number of broad, muscled people made scratching one’s nose difficult. Escape seemed even more unlikely. Amaranthe avoided looking at her men. She felt too ashamed. She had failed them. She had failed the emperor. And she had failed herself.
Stop it. We’re not giving up yet. She had not given up when she was dying in the Imperial Barracks’ dungeon, and she would not give up now.
Amaranthe lifted her chin and met Basilard’s eyes. A few guards held lanterns, and their light bounced off the wood-paneled walls, providing enough illumination to see his face. His cool blue eyes studied her in turn. Occasionally imperial citizens possessed light-colored eyes, but the paleness of his skin promised no conquering Turgonians had waltzed through his bloodline. An imported slave. Was he one still, or had Arbitan granted him his freedom?
“Were you a pit fighter, Basilard?” she asked.
He nodded once after apparently deciding the question posed no security risk.
“How does that system work? Do you all train together until it’s time to entertain the wealthy gamblers? Then you’re dumped into a situation where you have to kill the other fellow?” She remembered the reluctance of the fighters she had seen in the pit. Also, she remembered Basilard’s chagrin at being the one who provided knives to arm them.
He nodded again.
“Ever have to kill someone who was a friend?” she asked. “Or who could have been, if things had been different?”
He looked at the floor. Yes.
Maldynado nudged her. “What are you talking to him for? Look at his neck. It’s all scarred up. I bet he can’t even talk back.”
Basilard shot an icy glare at him. Amaranthe gave Maldynado a briefer stop-talking look.
“I’ve recently had something like that happen myself,” Amaranthe said to Basilard, drawing his gaze back to her. She tried to ignore the large, muscled audience looking on. “A friend died because of a choice I made. Just because someone else manipulated the encounter doesn’t take away my responsibility for that person’s death, a person who didn’t deserve it. I might as well have killed him myself.” Thinking of Wholt, she did not have to feign the thick emotion in her voice. “It was the same with you, wasn’t it? Because of a natural instinct for self-preservation, you made the decision to take another’s life so that you could live. Probably more than once.” She eyed his scars. “A lot more than once. That kind of guilt is hard to carry. The only thing you can do now is make sure you do something worthwhile with your days, make a difference, justify your survival.”
One of the guards snorted. “Want me to shut her up, boss?”
Basilard made a few gestures with his hands. Amaranthe could not tell if it represented a language or simply some code he had worked out with his men. Either way, the guard shrugged and sat back.
The steam carriage trundled to a stop before Amaranthe could finish her attempts t
o sway Basilard. Two guards grabbed her arms and shoved her into the night. Manhandled in a similar manner, her comrades followed.
The back of the Forge mansion loomed, the crenellated roof dark against the starry sky. Icicles hung from the gutters like daggers. Piles of snow framed a driveway, and gravel crunched as they walked toward the house.
The guards hustled Amaranthe and her men through drab utility hallways, down stairs, and into an unfamiliar part of the mansion. She watched for escape possibilities, but Arbitan must have ordered the entire contingent of men to accompany them. Even if her hands had been unbound and her team armed, the odds would have made a confrontation suicidal. Force would not free them.
Amaranthe maneuvered herself close to Basilard as they descended another staircase into a windowless hallway with a concrete floor.
“Emperor Sespian is a good man,” she said. “You would be able to see that if Hollowcrest wasn’t keeping him drugged. He wants to help people—workers, not wealthy business elitists. If he knew about the pit fights, he would put a stop to them.”
Basilard halted. Amaranthe watched him hopefully, but he merely pushed open a heavy oak door. A black cell gaped before her. He gave a curt gesture, the meaning clear.
Amaranthe entered but turned to face the hallway as soon as she passed the threshold. While Maldynado and the others slouched in, she tried one last time.
“If you don’t do anything to stop Arbitan, you’ll be as guilty as he is for killing the first Turgonian leader to care about strengthening relations with other nations instead of destroying them. Arbitan, Larocka, and their figurehead of an emperor will bring dark and corrupt times. Can you live with yourself, knowing you’ll be a part of that?”
The door closed in her face, plunging the cell into blackness.
“Apparently you can,” Amaranthe muttered.
“I think you were closer in the carriage,” Books said. “You sounded less...desperate.”
“Thanks for the critique.”
“This chews rat balls,” Akstyr announced.
“I concur,” Books said.
“Sorry, fellows,” Amaranthe said. “My plan was...fanciful at best, it seems.”
“I believe Hollowcrest was ready to negotiate,” Books said. “Larocka, too, appeared worried. Arbitan was the one who was less concerned than he should have been at the prospect of losing his fortune.”
“I know.” She shuffled around the cell and located—by thumping her knee painfully into it—a bench set into the wall opposite the door. “I thought maybe Arbitan was a Turgonian who had studied the mental sciences on trips to Nuria, but I had it backwards. He’s got to be a cursed Nurian wizard posing as an imperial businessman. That’s why he wouldn’t care about the money; devaluing our currency would only help Nuria. He must have infiltrated the business class and wooed Larocka into giving him a voice with Forge. He’s probably been spying for his government for the last year, maybe more.” Amaranthe stared into the darkness in the general direction of the floor. “What if he wants to kill the emperor and put a figurehead on the throne, not because he wants a leader who’s sympathetic to capitalist interests but because his government wants someone who can be manipulated into working for them, maybe even helping to set up an invasion? The Nurians might not hate us as much as the Kendorians or other nations we’ve conquered, but they would certainly gain a lot from our fall. Imagine their magic combined with our technology. They could control the world.”
“That’s all supposition,” Books said. “Just because that crossbow quarrel didn’t strike him down doesn’t prove he’s a wizard with magical powers.”
“Sure, it does,” Akstyr said. “That’s why I shot him.”
Amaranthe shifted on the cold bench, turning toward his voice. “You fired the bolt?”
“I thought it might catch him with his guard down, but even if it didn’t, it’d show everyone he was a wizard.”
“A daring effort,” she said, surprised at his initiative.
“Besides, Scar Head and his goons had me surrounded and were about to pounce on me,” Akstyr added.
“Ah.” Amaranthe leaned back. She could feel the iciness of the brick wall through her hair. “How do you kill a wizard, Akstyr? If he can deflect crossbow quarrels without even lifting a hand...”
“Aside from creatures and tools you can make with the mental sciences, actual spells only last so long as you can keep thinking about them. Break his concentration and you can break his armor. Of course, he’ll feel pretty safe and free to concentrate so long as his soul construct is around, so you better plan on killing that first.”
“And how does one kill a soul construct?” Books asked.
“I dunno. I don’t think you do.”
“Akstyr, you can’t suggest a plan of action that’s impossible to implement,” Amaranthe said.
“I can’t? I didn’t know that was a rule.”
“Women like to make up rules to befuddle you,” Maldynado said. “It’s part of living in their world. Get used to it.”
“Give me some ideas, Akstyr,” Amaranthe said, ignoring Maldynado.
“Well, you could probably kill it with powerful magic,” Akstyr said. “Once created, they’re very strong though. Even their makers can barely control them.”
“Why would a wizard make something he couldn’t control?” Amaranthe asked.
“The wizards can control them. Sort of. Soul constructs obey basic commands like ‘go kill that man’ or ‘watch my back while I work,’ but they’re made from the owner’s mind. Well, his soul, if you believe in that. They end up with the same temperaments as their creators, only they don’t know about laws and stuff. They’re just...”
“Creatures possessing all the evil of man without any of the restraints society places on us?” Books suggested.
“I guess,” Akstyr said. “They’ll obey their creator’s orders, but they’ll do it their own way.”
“Sounds like Sicarius,” Books said.
“Sounds much worse,” Amaranthe said. “Sicarius may have been trained to put pragmatism ahead of feelings, but I think he’s fairly innocuous as long as you don’t get in his way. To be honest, he seems kind of mellow to me.”
Maldynado snorted.
Akstyr snorted.
Books had the audacity to say, “For the first time, I think you’re letting your feminine side blind you. You’re romanticizing him.”
Amaranthe blushed. “Fine.” How had they gotten on this subject? “You don’t have to agree with me on that. I’m more concerned about Arbitan and this creature at the moment.”
“Maybe you could sway Larocka to help us,” Books said. “If she knew what Arbitan was, would she still support him? If she’s a native-born Turgonian, you’d think she would feel more loyalty to the empire.”
“I don’t know.” Amaranthe shrugged. “Arbitan is a handsome man, and they seem...close.”
“How could she fall for a slimy Nurian wizard?” Maldynado asked.
“Even an intelligent woman can be taken in by a pretty smile,” Amaranthe said.
“Really?” Maldynado asked. “Because every time I try my pretty smile on you, you put me on watch or give me work.”
“Not now, Maldynado,” she said. “Let’s focus.”
“Been wondering if I should be looking for a girl for you,” Maldynado grumbled.
Akstyr snickered.
“Perhaps her interests are simply elsewhere,” Books said. “Remember, she thinks Sicarius is mellow.”
“Mellow,” Maldynado said. “Oh, sure. Throw a girl in his bed, and he’d probably start doing push-ups on her breasts.”
The snickers intensified to guffaws, and not just from Akstyr.
“I’m glad everyone’s enjoying this dungeon bonding time,” Amaranthe said, “since we’re probably going to be tortured to death in a few hours.”
That stilled their guffaws. Silence descended on the cell. Amaranthe was
glad for the darkness, since her cheeks felt a tad warm again.
“Think there’s any chance of Sicarius coming to break us out?” Akstyr asked.
Amaranthe felt a similar hope, but... “Now that we’ve executed the plan and failed, he has no reason to risk himself for us. It would be more logical for him to try something on his own, and he is nothing if not logical.”
Maldynado snorted. “Why don’t you just say we’re of no more use to him, so he’s leaving us to be tortured?”
“I think I did say that. Regardless, we’re going to have to get out of here ourselves.” Amaranthe stood up and groped around. If she could find a puddle of water or something slippery, maybe she could loosen her bonds. “Anyone have any ideas?” She bumped into somebody’s head.
“Certainly,” Maldynado said from beneath her. “Come sit on my lap and we’ll discuss them.”
She paused thoughtfully.
“Amaranthe.” Books sounded scandalized at her silence. “Please assure me you’re not considering succumbing to this troglodyte’s advances.”
“Well,” she said, “I was debating the merits of certain fluids as a means of loosening ropes, but let’s, ah, explore other possibilities first.”
Footsteps sounded beyond the door. Frowning, Amaranthe turned. She had hoped they would have longer.
The lock thunked as a key turned in it. She shuffled forward, tensing to spring if an opportunity arose.
The door swung open. Basilard stood in the hallway. Alone.
Amaranthe held her breath, barely daring to hope. She studied his face, searched the eyes behind all those scars.
Basilard pulled a knife from one of numerous sheaths. Maldynado jumped in front of her, lowered into a defensive crouch.
Never breaking gazes with Basilard, Amaranthe stepped to the side and extended her arms. He carefully sliced through the ropes and waved her into the hallway. After an indecisive pause, he cut Maldynado’s bonds as well. Books and Akstyr lined up for the same treatment. As soon as they were free, the men charged for the stairs. Amaranthe hesitated.