Then the cube had closed sufficiently, and its red beam lanced out. It struck the iron barrel of the cannon. Amaranthe expected shards to blow off, but the intense heat melted the metal on the spot.
The men stumbled backward, their clothing and features illuminated by the beam. Not soldiers, Amaranthe verified from their unshaven faces and longish hair, though she’d already guessed as much.
Torn between fleeing and needing to avoid being shot, the men tried to crawl away on their stomachs. She hadn’t thought anyone over there had had time to reload the cannon, but the cube’s beam found black powder somewhere. An explosion rang across the field, hurling smoke and shrapnel into the air.
Amaranthe and Maldynado ducked low behind their barrier, but not before she glimpsed the men abandoning their crawl. They leaped to their feet and sprinted across the field, impressively fast given their lack of snowshoes.
When the rain of shrapnel abated, Maldynado rose to his feet. “Huh.”
“Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiastic approval.” Amaranthe stood as well, still trying to scoop and shake snow from her trousers.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Maldynado bent a knee toward her and laced his fingers again. “Come on, let’s jump in there before that cube grows bored with disintegrating the cannon and comes to visit us.”
Though she, too, wanted to catch up with the others—she hadn’t heard a peep from inside and had no idea what was going on—Amaranthe lifted a finger. “Wait, we need to check on the soldiers we stayed behind to help. After all, they helped us with that initial warning.”
One of those soldiers was already running in her direction.
“The professor,” he blurted, glancing around. “Where’d she go? Is she all right? And her daughter?”
“Inside.” Amaranthe pointed up. She couldn’t answer the second and third question yet. She decided not to feel disgruntled that these men were far more concerned about Starcrest’s family than her and Maldynado. The soldiers had traveled across the continent to help Starcrest, after all.
“That thing is…” The man stared up at the hull, doubtlessly having a hard time imagining a door up there, but he had to have seen at least part of their group scramble through it. “Unbelievable.”
“Among other things, yes,” Amaranthe said. “Where’s your comrade?”
Not dead, she hoped. Not another one….
The soldier’s chin jerked down. “Shot. In the leg. I need to take him to…” He looked bleakly at where Fort Urgot should have been. “Back to the city. To a doctor. He’s bleeding a lot.”
“Take him to the submarine. It’s not nearly as far to drag him, and I bet Tikaya’s nephew has some first aid gear in there.” Amaranthe had bandages in her own pack, but she didn’t want to delay—she wanted to find out what was going on inside. For all she knew, Basilard needed first aid right that second. Besides, the soldiers ought to have the same gear as she had.
“Yes, right,” the man said, “but what about…” He waved toward the hidden entrance.
“We’ll take care of them.”
The soldier hesitated, glancing back and forth from his fallen comrade to the ship.
“Krater?” his comrade called. “Hurry up, I’m bleeding all over the slagging field.”
That made up his mind. He nodded once. “Understood. I’ll tell the others. Good luck, ma’am.”
Ma’am? She’d apparently been promoted to an actual person, thanks to their shared battle.
“Here.” Maldynado, back on one knee again, shook his hands. Yes, he was as worried about Basilard and the others as she.
Amaranthe stepped into his hands, and he boosted her up. She scrambled through the membrane and found herself in a dark tunnel. Dark? Odd, the ship had always been illuminated when she’d been inside, every tunnel, ramp, and chamber brightened to daylight intensity.
A scrape and grunt sounded behind her. Amaranthe turned to see if Maldynado needed help, but he’d jumped high enough to catch the ledge on his own. The snowy field lay visible behind him, as if this were a window instead of some hidden door.
“Do you have the lantern?” Amaranthe asked. The others weren’t visible anywhere. She thought about calling out, but decided to wait. Just because those would-be relic raiders with the cannon hadn’t found a way in didn’t mean other enemies weren’t about in the tunnels.
“Yes, one moment.”
After a few clanks and thumps, a match flared to light, illuminating Maldynado’s face. The grim expression didn’t match the foppish nest-of-snakes hat he’d managed to keep on his head through everything.
He lit a lantern and held it aloft.
A long black tunnel stretched out ahead of them, an intersection visible at the edge of the light. There wasn’t a sign of anyone else.
Chapter 7
Two hours before dawn, Sicarius glided through Flintcrest’s new camp, following paths freshly tramped into the snow, his feet soundless on the hard crust. None of the perimeter guards spotted him, none of the sleeping soldiers heard him, and nobody saw the heavy bloodstained bag hanging from his shoulder. He wound through the trees and tents, searching for the Nurian area. Flintcrest had moved his men in the night, marching south, choosing a wide route around the lake, up the eastern side of Stumps, and into the Emperor’s Preserve. Though the wilds were dense, they didn’t span that many acres, and the army wouldn’t remain hidden for long. Flintcrest must intend to strike soon. What target? The Imperial Barracks?
Sicarius found the Nurian tent, not by the lack of activity around it this time, but by voices coming from within. Elsewhere, only snores emanated from the tents, the soldiers sleeping hard after their night’s work. From dozens of meters away, he heard the Nurians, speaking in their own tongue, their voices raised in argument.
Though he suspected Kor Nas would know his precise location, Sicarius slowed his approach to listen.
“The assassin is acceptable,” a young man said. “Nobody back home objects to that method of dealing with enemies, and using one of their own people to deliver the killing blows, it’s a better choice than the soul construct, but I don’t want you to send him after Enemy Chief Fox.”
Who? Sicarius stopped outside the tent flap. He knew the Nurians gave animal nicknames to their honored chiefs and some of their enemies as well, but he had only worked in Nuria once and wasn’t familiar with many of them.
“Your attitude… puzzles me, He shu,” Kor Nas said. Ah, he was speaking to the diplomat. “To lay his head at your father’s feet, would that not be a great prize? Resulting in great honor and prestige for your family? For twenty years, he made the Turgonians untouchable at sea, and he destroyed more of our ships—our crews—than one can count.”
An uncharacteristic bout of anxiety wormed into Sicarius’s belly. Starcrest.
“If he dies in the fighting here, so be it,” the diplomat said, “but I do not wish to be the cause.”
Kor Nas did not speak for a long moment, and Sicarius expected to be called inside, anticipating that the practitioner had paused because his senses had alerted him to Sicarius’s presence. But when Kor Nas spoke again, it was to continue the conversation.
“I do not understand why you feel that way, He shu, but if you do not wish to lay Enemy Chief Fox’s head at the Great Chief’s feet, allow me the honor. As soon as his hiding place is discovered, I will send the assassin, and—”
“No.”
Another long pause. “Your stubbornness in this matter mystifies me. He is an enemy of Nuria. To have a chance at him and not take it is tantamount to treason.” Kor Nas lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Your father would not be pleased if he learned that you could have arranged his death and turned your back on the opportunity.”
“I do not appreciate the implication that you would go to my father and speak ill of me, Kor Nas.” The young man managed an impressive amount of cold menace in his voice. Was he a practitioner as well? One capable of standing toe-to-toe with Kor Nas?
It seemed unlikely in one half of Kor Nas’s age. If he was one of the Great Chief’s sons, perhaps he believed himself untouchable because of his father’s influence. An unwise assumption, perhaps, if he chose to let Starcrest live. Indeed, the Nurians would likely see that as treason, even if twenty years had passed since the war. Sicarius understood Kor Nas’s logic, but he found himself hoping the younger man had a way to stand up to him effectively.
“Do not force me to do so then, He shu.”
“Do you think my father will care? We’re not here to settle old grudges. We’re here because our people are hungry, and our resources are limited. Our soil is depleted after thousands of years of farming, there’s scarcely any coal or ore left in the mountains, and few of the great forests remain standing. My father wants a deal with the Turgonians, some of the resources they have so many of, and that is all that he cares about.”
“He’ll be more likely to get that deal if all of Flintcrest’s enemies are thwarted. Starcrest can only be here to cause trouble.”
“We don’t know why he’s here. Maybe he heard about the nascent fighting and came to collect whatever family he has left in the area.”
“Don’t be naive. Let me send the assassin.”
“What honor is there in killing a gray-haired old man, Kor Nas? It’s been over twenty years since he bothered us. He probably walks with a cane, has three teeth left in his mouth, and can’t remember half of the crimes he committed against our people.”
“He is my age, He shu.” Sicarius had never heard the practitioner so dry. “I know at thirty it seems that anyone over sixty must be doddering and infirm, but I assure you this isn’t so.”
The diplomat had the grace to clear his throat, but he didn’t give up his argument. “Yes, but you’re a practitioner, not a warrior. You will retain your power as long as your mind remains sharp. Enemy Chief Fox was a marine.”
Kor Nas grunted. “He did not receive that moniker because of his sword arm, boy. I know you know that. He will be dangerous as long as his mind remains sharp. Are you not worried about why he is here? It may be true that your father didn’t care about him so long as he was on that island, but now that he is back in the empire… I’m warning you, to leave him alive be would be treason.”
“If his mind is still sharp, maybe he’ll have no trouble defeating your assassin, leaving you out here without a pet to watch your back while you work your craft.”
“Oh, I’m confident in the abilities of my assassin.” Kor Nas raised his voice—he needn’t have bothered. “Enter, my pet.”
Had Sicarius been capable of ignoring the derogatory summons, he would have. Even as his feet led him through the flap and into the tent, he longed to sling the heavy bag at the practitioner’s head, yank out his dagger, and drive the blade into his heart. All his arms would do, however, was lower his burden. He untied the cord binding the stained canvas shut and dumped the contents.
Seven heads rolled onto the carpet between the two Nurians.
The diplomat, fully clothed, shaved, and dressed with his flute and pipe ornamentation despite the early hour, didn’t stumble backward or flinch at the grisly trophies, but he did stare down at them for a long moment, his mouth set in a hard line. When his gaze lifted to Sicarius’s face for a wary few seconds, Sicarius read the fear in his eyes, though he tried to mask his features.
You don’t have to fear me, Sicarius wanted to say, for I’ll not raise a hand against an ally, acknowledged or not, of Admiral Starcrest’s. But he couldn’t.
“As you can see, Prince Zirabo,” Kor Nas said, “he is effective.”
The name, used for the first time, didn’t surprise Sicarius. He’d guessed from the conversation that this was one of the Great Chief’s sons, the youngest if he recalled correctly. With several older brothers, Zirabo wouldn’t likely be put in a position to rule Nuria, but he should have some sway. Not enough to daunt Kor Nas, it seemed. Kor Nas must be high up in the power structure over there as well. The Nurians had sent their best to ensure they received the concessions they wanted.
“Enemy Chief Fox won’t have a chance to apply his clever mind,” Kor Nas continued, “because he won’t see my pet coming until the dagger is plunging into his heart.”
“Then you’ll forgive me,” Prince Zirabo said, striding toward the tent flap, “if I hope the seer doesn’t find him.”
Kor Nas’s smile gave Sicarius little reason to share that hope, not when the man had already located so many of the Forge leaders that had eluded Amaranthe, Books, and Sicarius himself over the last six months. He stared down at the sightless eyes of Worgavic and couldn’t help but imagine Starcrest’s head in an identical position.
• • •
“Where’d everybody go?” Maldynado whispered.
“I don’t know.” Amaranthe headed for the dark intersection, holding a lantern aloft. “But if this place was eerie when it was lit, it’s even more disturbing now.” Her meager flame wasn’t much of a beacon against the black, windowless tunnels. It felt as if the oppressive darkness could reach out and snuff the single flame.
“Maybe we should wait here.” Maldynado pointed to the translucent membrane, the snowy field and nighttime sky visible beyond it. “We don’t have any longbows and whatever it was the professor thought could be used against the cubes.”
“Agreed, they might never find us if we wander off, but I want to see if we can see any sign of them from the corner.”
Amaranthe stopped at the seven-way intersection. Those ancient people hadn’t cared much for standard geometric shapes. Too basic for their tastes? She peered down each passageway until she spotted something on the floor. She almost leaped back. It was one of the cubes. But it wasn’t floating. It was…
She dared to shuffle closer for a better look.
Two of the sides had been melted away, the exterior crumpling in on itself, revealing a mess of innards made from the same black as the shell, but with thin boards and fine cables snaking about. An arrow shaft stuck out of the mess, the fletching still attached, though the head had either broken off or perhaps melted as well. A tendril of smoke wafted from the innards.
“That’s heartening,” Maldynado said.
“It’d be more heartening if our comrades were standing here over the broken husk, beaming with pride as they showed off their victory.”
“I don’t think Bas knows how to beam. His face is stuck in that saturnine expression of his.”
Amaranthe would be saturnine, too, if they couldn’t find the others. The tunnel stretched away beyond the cube, and if anything else waited down it, she couldn’t tell. She wondered if there was anyway to return power to the lights. In crashing the ship, had she broken the entire thing? Given what she’d seen of the technology, it seemed incomprehensible. But, then, it was fifty thousand years old. Maybe the furnace had run out of coal.
“There must have been more than one cube,” she said. “They’ll probably take care of it and circle back.”
“I hope there wasn’t a lot more than one cube,” Maldynado said. “The professor didn’t have that many arrows.”
Her quiver had been stuffed, but that didn’t mean much. Twenty arrows perhaps. And how many cleaning cubes existed in the vastness of the Behemoth? “I wonder why she didn’t ask us all to bring some.”
“Maybe they were only able to make so much of… whatever was in that jar.”
“Something applied to the arrowhead,” Amaranthe guessed. “That must be it, or maybe she expected me to be able to guide her right to the control room before we had to face many problems.”
“Can you? From here?”
“I might have been able to if we’d gone in a door I’d been through before, but this is a new one.”
Amaranthe was contemplating sticking her tongue out at the confusing seven-way intersection when she noticed a scratch on one of the walls. More than a scratch—something had gouged a centimeter-deep hole in the impervious metal. No arrow could have done that. She probe
d the dent with a finger and found it slightly warm.
“Oh, right,” she murmured, remembering the damage in the control rooms.
“Hm?” Maldynado prompted.
“Whatever Retta’s assistant did to change the cubes caused them to do more than incinerate people. Their beams started damaging the walls, punching through the walls to whatever equipment lay behind them. That’s why we crashed.”
“That wasn’t your fault then,” Maldynado said. “I can tell you’re blaming yourself for all of this. You shouldn’t be.”
“Enh.” Amaranthe didn’t feel like explaining the chain of events that had led to Retta’s assistant making those changes, a chain she had started as surely as she was breathing now. Instead, she wandered about the intersection, searching for more signs of damage. The number of shots marring the walls confirmed her suspicion that there’d been more than one cube attacking the team. At least two, but maybe more. Tikaya had used her bow to destroy one, but the other must have overwhelmed them and they ran. “I think they went this way,” Amaranthe said after a few more moments of study.
Maldynado nodded toward the scarred walls. “Follow the holes, and we find them?”
“I’m assuming the cubes were shooting at our people as they fled.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait here for them to come back for us? What if they circle back by some other route and we miss them?”
“You’d think they would come back the same direction to stave off that very possibility. We can meet them in the middle.”
“Unless they’re still fleeing cubes and they can’t come back in the same direction,” Maldynado said. “We could get very lost in there.”
“They have exactly one effective weapon between the three of them. I’m not going to stay here and wait when they could need our help.”
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