Forged in Blood II

by Lindsay Buroker

  His pistol and his rapier hung at his belt, and it was the sway of the weapons that caught Ravido’s eyes. He shrank back after glancing up at the lividness in Maldynado’s face.

  Amaranthe didn’t say a word. She had planned to lead the questioning, but Ravido was revealing more to Maldynado than to her. She’d never seen Maldynado this angry either—in fact, she couldn’t remember seeing him angry at all. Frustrated occasionally, but nothing like this. Judging by Ravido’s concerned face, he hadn’t seen Maldynado angry before either, not since he was old enough and strong enough to be a threat.

  “Padji found the collars in the other shaman’s collection, and learned the details from Forge about how they were used before. The rest of the family—” Ravido dared a small sneer, “—those who matter, went hunting for the creatures with her.”

  “Is Padji the same shaman that put the wards in the Imperial Barracks and who’s been seen wandering around with Ms. Worgavic?” Amaranthe asked.

  Ravido might be intimidated by his younger brother—she wondered how badly he might have treated Maldynado in decades past—but this did not extend to her. The sneer she received was much larger.

  Amaranthe shrugged. “I ask because there’s a dead female shaman on the floor in Raumesys’s old office. I thought you might mean her.”

  “Dead? You killed her?” Ravido tried to surge to his feet and might have made it, even with the bound ankles, but Maldynado shoved him in the back, and he pitched face-first to the ground.

  Maldynado followed him down, leaning his weight onto his brother, jamming an elbow between his shoulder blades. Ravido couldn’t lift his face from the cement. “This position remind you of anything, old boy? Like the way Dak and Histan used to smash me into the ground, and the way you used to encourage them, saying I needed to toughen up? You were in your twenties then, you sadistic bastard. You shouldn’t have egged on boys to torment other boys. There’s no way I was going to let you become emperor.”

  “How were you going to stop me?” Ravido managed, one side of his mouth mashed into the floor. “Screw ugly old women for the money to hire mercenaries?”

  “You mean like your wife? Do you know how many times she tried to jump into bed with me? It’s a pity she—”

  Amaranthe cleared her throat. The argument—could it be called arguing when one of the arguers was pinned to the floor?—had devolved, and they weren’t getting any new information. Worse, reminding Ravido that his wife was dead at their hands wouldn’t convince him to help them.

  “Who are the makarovi going after, Ravido?” Amaranthe asked. “Who are they supposed to go after?”

  He didn’t answer at first, but Maldynado leaned harder into him. “Sespian is upstairs collecting your army right now. It’s over, old boy. You might as well answer her questions. Maybe she’ll let you live if you cooperate. You know that the assassin Sicarius is her man, right? And that he’s here too. He’ll be down any moment…”

  “I don’t care, you little brat,” Ravido said. “You’re not going to kill me. Disowned or not, you’re still family, and you already owe Mother. If you rob her of another of her children, her spirit will stalk you for all eternity.”

  Maldynado had bristled at the “little brat” comment, but he paled at the promise of a vengeful mother. Ravido must have known he’d scored a point, for he locked his lips together.

  Amaranthe lifted a finger. “I don’t care if your mother is mad at me. I can kill you.”

  Ravido snorted.

  Why did men never believe her when she suggested such things? Must be those wholesome eyes Sespian and Sicarius had mentioned. Well, he was a Marblecrest, and if he was anything like Maldynado, there were other threats that might sway him…

  She strolled over to the canister and set a hand on it. “You’ve experienced one of the gases we have loaded in here, Ravido. How did you like it?”

  “One?” Maldynado mouthed, but he didn’t say the word aloud, and he was still leaning on his brother, so Ravido couldn’t see his face.

  “A sneaky and cowardly way of fighting,” Ravido said.

  “Braver, I’d suggest, than hiding in a building while unleashing monsters on the city.”

  “I didn’t unleash them, that idiot Heroncrest did. Burrowed right up into their cage. I hope they ate him first.”

  “He wasn’t driving the tunnel borer,” Amaranthe said. “A young soldier was. He’s dead now, his chest ripped out and his head torn off. We saw him firsthand.”

  Ravido’s jaw moved back and forth in agitation, but he kept his lips shut.

  Amaranthe patted the side of the canister. “There are two other gases loaded inside. One causes great pain to a person, eating away at his nose, trachea, and lungs when he inhales it, eventually killing him.” She wasn’t surprised when Ravido’s expression only grew mulish. “The other… I had our scientist load it on a whim, knowing I’d be dealing with a lot men over here. Its effects are felt in the, ah, lower regions.” His lower regions were smashed into the cement, much like his face, but she let her gaze wander in that direction so he wouldn’t misunderstand her.

  “What do you mean?”

  By now, Maldynado was grinning. “She means she can melt off your balls and turn your pizzle into a dandelion wilted under the first frost of autumn.”

  “Thank you, Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, “that was almost poetic, aside from the mention of anatomical parts.”

  “It’s hard to find poetical words for man bits. Though Lady Dourcrest has a few. Storehouses for the nectars of love, the sword of his desire, his purple-headed warrior…”

  Amaranthe made a cutting-off motion with her hand, though Maldynado issued a few more examples before noticing her and desisting. She feared this devolution from the original threat would have let Ravido relax, but he didn’t seem to be hearing the list. His gaze was focused on the canister.

  “I’ll make the switch.” Amaranthe moved around to the back and opened a panel. “Maldynado, check his bonds, then leave the room. I, of course, am immune to the gas, but I’m sure you’d be most distraught if you could never experience physical pleasures with a woman again.”

  “Extremely so.” Maldynado tightened the velvet bonds and stood.

  “Ravido, are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Amaranthe pretended to make an adjustment inside, though all she did was clink her knife against the interior wall—she couldn’t begin to guess what the various innards did and wasn’t going to unfasten anything in case they needed the gas again. “I’m not certain how long it takes for the gas to start melting off external organs, but—”

  “What do you want to know, you vile woman?” Ravido’s snarl wasn’t as fierce as it had been before, and desperation tinged his voice.

  “The makarovi target. Who are those collars telling them to attack?”

  Ravido sighed. “The rest of the core Forge people.”

  “Is that… why some of the creatures stayed here?” Amaranthe asked. “Are there Forge people staying in the Barracks?”

  “One of the founders is hiding in here, yes. She wanted protection from that mad assassin slaying all her colleagues.” Ravido glowered up at them. “That’s your assassin, isn’t it? The one you were threatening me with?”

  “He was working for Flintcrest then.”

  “A real loyal bloke, eh?”

  “Didn’t he get all of the founders, already?” Maldynado asked. “There were only five or six to start with, weren’t there? And the papers said he killed a pile of Forge people.”

  “I haven’t kept track,” Ravido said. “I just know I wasn’t going to sit on the throne and have a bunch of nattering nags whispering in my ear for the rest of my life.”

  Amaranthe stood up slowly, a new realization filling her. “Uh oh.”

  “What is it, boss?” Maldynado asked.

  “I know where at least one founder is in the city.”

  “Enh? Who?”

  “Suan Curlev, the woman Deret kidnapped.” />
  Maldynado stared. “The woman who’s sitting in the fac—our hideout with… all the rest of our allies?”

  Amaranthe cursed. If a pack of makarovi turned up at the molasses factory in the middle of the night… Those doors weren’t that strong, and most of Starcrest’s people were out working, the same as her team. Deret, Suan, Starcrest, Tikaya, and their daughter were the only ones there. Maybe a few soldiers, but… Her stomach twisted at the thought of Tikaya and Mahliki being mauled, their insides torn out and eaten. At this time of night, Starcrest and the others were sure to be sleeping. They wouldn’t be prepared for such an onslaught; they couldn’t have guessed about the makarovi. Nobody could have.

  “We have to get back there,” Amaranthe rasped.

  Chapter 19

  Sicarius reached the basement door as Amaranthe and Sespian were jogging out, with Maldynado trailing behind, forcing Ravido Marblecrest to walk ahead of him. The general’s wrists were still bound, though his legs had been untied for the forced march. Maldynado had a pistol jammed into his back.

  “Looks like we have another problem,” Sespian told Sicarius.

  Amaranthe’s gaze grew bleak as it fell to the bundle of blasting sticks. “We’ll have to split up. Somebody has to warn Starcrest and his family about the makarovi, if it isn’t already too late, but somebody’s going to have to lead the search and evacuation of the Barracks. Without—” she lowered her voice as Maldynado and Ravido strode past, “—letting the possibly nettlesome prisoners out.”

  Sicarius kept his mouth shut on the logical approach to dealing with “nettlesome” prisoners. “Why would the makarovi be a threat to Starcrest?” he asked instead.

  Another shade of bleakness darkened Amaranthe’s face. “Suan. Ravido and his shaman friend decided they weren’t going to put up with Forge. The collars are instructing them to go after the heads of the organization.”

  “I’ll stay here.” Sespian smoothed a hand down the front of his dress uniform. “I’m the logical choice and the most likely to be obeyed by the average soldier. I’d appreciate it if you leave me a couple of burly fighters though, in case it’s necessary to deal with miscreants.”

  Amaranthe looked to Sicarius, a question in her eyes.

  “You are not going makarovi hunting without me,” he stated.

  Yara and Basilard jogged up to them, both frowning at the blasting sticks.

  “That’s what we’re looking for?” Yara asked Sespian.

  “Yes, they might be attached to a cube of ice and a lantern. Check for booby traps around the bomb—this one would have killed us all if Sicarius hadn’t been more thorough an investigator than I.”

  Basilard and Yara nodded, then ran inside.

  During the exchange, Sicarius hadn’t stopped staring Amaranthe in the eyes, as if he could will her to choose the safe route for once. “You should be among those who stay here.”

  “Except there have been makarovi around here too,” she said.

  “If you must go, I will go with you,” Sicarius said, though the idea of leaving Sespian here, especially with Ravido still alive, distressed him.

  “I’ll be fine.” Sespian must have sensed Sicarius’s concern. “Amaranthe, leave me Basilard and Maldynado, please. Maybe Yara too. You don’t want more women than necessary down there, do you?”

  Amaranthe sighed. “No. All right, take those three. Sicarius, do you want to see if there’s an idling lorry or carriage anywhere that we can confiscate? Even better if it’s armored, filled with guns, and features anti-makarovi heavy artillery weapons mounted on the roof.”

  “I do not believe such a conveyance will be idling anywhere,” Sicarius said.

  “Do the best you can. I don’t want to jog the five miles to the waterfront, not when there’s fighting in the streets.” She waved for him to go. “I’ll round up Books and Akstyr.”

  Sicarius paused before he rounded a corner on his way to the vehicle garage, giving a last long look toward Sespian. He hoped he wouldn’t regret leaving his son here. But the makarovi were more dangerous than men, and he had to trust that Sespian could take care of himself. Indeed, he was already hustling off, giving orders and directing troops. He didn’t send a long look in Sicarius’s direction.

  Because he was taking care of business and not worrying needlessly. Sicarius jogged off.

  Though the skirmishes had subsided, he stuck to the shadows as he trotted around the back corner of the building toward the garden sheds and vehicle house near the side wall. A woman’s body, crumpled and eviscerated in the snow, made him pause. It was an older, well-dressed woman, her hair still neat in its bun despite the claw marks slashed across her face. Her velvet slippers were inappropriate for the slush-filled courtyard, and she had come outside without a jacket or weapons with which to defend herself.

  Sicarius glanced up, and understanding dawned. Of course. A second-story window yawned open. If the makarovi had been hunting Forge founders, and one had been in the Barracks, someone must have decided to rid the building of the bait luring the beasts to attack. That explained the quietness that had come over the courtyard, though sounds of fighting rang out in the city below Arakan Hill.

  Soldiers remained at their stations on the parapets, but the makarovi that had lingered at the Barracks must have been killed. Or—he paused near a stairway, noting a mauled body lying athwart several steps—with their mission complete here, the beasts had gone over the walls and escaped into the city.

  Sicarius regretted hurling his knife into the shaman’s back. Had they taken her prisoner, she might have been coerced into deactivating those collars. But seeing her charge into the room where Amaranthe was trapped, the woman’s hands raised to attack… He’d thrown that knife without thought. He should have trusted that Amaranthe had a plan and could take care of herself.

  It cannot be changed now, he thought, slipping into the back door of the vehicle house. However tough they were, makarovi were not soul constructs; enough bullets—and cannonballs—would bring them down.

  A couple of lamps burned in the front of the carriage house, and the soft hisses and groans of steam machinery greeted him. Two armored lorries idled before the wooden double doors in the front wall, and a pair of firemen were shoveling coal in the cab of a third vehicle still in its parking stall.

  Convenient. He could take one before the two men had time to react.

  He climbed to the top of a small lorry in front of him and jumped from the top of one vehicle to the next to avoid walking down the wide center aisle where he might be spotted. A few seconds before he reached the end of the row, the front doors swung inward. A row of armed soldiers trotted inside, rifles in hands, swords at their belts. The squad split into groups, jogging for the cabins of the waiting vehicles. They didn’t look like men trying to escape, but they also didn’t look like men obeying the orders Sespian would be giving to search the Barracks for bombs. Maybe they’d come down from the battlements and didn’t yet know Sespian was around.

  Sicarius hopped down from the parked vehicle, landing in front of a soldier who’d been angling for one of the cabs. The man blurted a surprised curse and swung his rifle around.

  Sicarius could have flattened him, if he’d been willing to kill, but instead he hefted the bundle of blasting sticks. Until that moment, he hadn’t been certain why he’d still been carrying the bomb, other than a notion that it ought not be left lying around where someone could stumble across it, but the soldier’s eyes widened when he saw it.

  “Shooting me wouldn’t be wise at the moment,” Sicarius said. “This bomb might go off. The blasting sticks are old and unstable. Why are you men not among those searching the Barracks for more booby traps?”

  Several other soldiers had come around the front of the lorry, forming a semicircle. Sicarius listened for sounds of people coming up behind him. No one had yet, but there were three other men on the other side of the vehicle, and the two firemen readying the third.

  “Booby traps?” a p
rivate blurted. “We have to go after the makarovi. They’ve escaped into the city.”

  A sergeant jammed an elbow into his ribs. “That’s that assassin, Sicarius. Don’t talk to him.” The sergeant fingered the trigger of his rifle, though he also eyed the blasting sticks and didn’t raise the weapon.

  “My team is prepared to deal with the makarovi,” Sicarius said, “and I am taking this vehicle so that we can do so. You people should report to Sespian.”

  “Sespian!” The private glanced to the sergeant. The rest of the men did too.

  “Sespian is dead,” the sergeant said.

  “Sespian has returned to reclaim the throne.” Without drawing attention to his hand, Sicarius loosened the wires around the bundle of blasting sticks. “Ravido Marblecrest is his prisoner. If you don’t want to be punished or discharged for serving a false master, you should report to him now. He’s at the back of the building. Get his orders.” And get out of my way, so I can get this lorry for Amaranthe, he thought. He was wasting his time; these men wouldn’t believe him. But the alternative was to take action that would harm—or kill—them.

  “Shoot him, sergeant,” another private whispered. “You’ve seen the papers, seen what he’s been doing. And we all know how many of our brothers he’s killed in the past. It’s worth dying here if he’ll die too.”

  Sicarius thought about saying he’d been working for Sespian in killing the Forge people, but that might cause backlash for his son. The sergeant’s eyes hardened, his chin firming with resolve, and the time to talk was over anyway.

  Sicarius pulled out one of the blasting sticks he’d loosened from the bundle and lobbed it toward the sergeant. He sprinted for the rear of the lorry.

  “Look out!”

  “Catch it—don’t let it—”

  Their focus on the stick kept them from shooting at him. Sicarius ran to the far side of the second lorry, intending to leap in and drive it away before the soldiers could coordinate an attack… so long as the blasting stick didn’t explode, blowing up the vehicles and bringing the roof down.