Forged in Blood II

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Admiral Starcrest is alive,” she called back to her team. Sicarius, Akstyr, and Books were all approaching. “And there’s…” The shadows were thicker away from the contraption, but she made out the figure kneeling at the edge of the roof with the rifle. “Deret.” A shot was fired from the far side of the factory roof, the flash of black powder briefly illuminating two more figures over there. Soldiers, she guessed from the fatigue uniforms. A few more knelt around the perimeter of the building, all with rifles and ammunition.

  “His wife and daughter?” Books asked, coming up beside Amaranthe.

  She swallowed. Where indeed were the women? The makarovi hadn’t caught them, had they?

  Glass littered the street below. More than half of the windows had been destroyed, and the door visible from their warehouse lay uselessly across the threshold, torn from the hinges.

  “There.” Books gripped Amaranthe’s shoulder with one hand, the other thrust toward the twin smokestacks.

  Three women—Suan, Tikaya, and Mahliki—knelt between the chimneys, assembling something. Parts for Starcrest’s… project? It didn’t matter. They were alive. And well enough to scheme up—she’d have to ask and find out what that was. Some sort of makarovi trap, she guessed.

  “Is that Amaranthe Lokdon over there?” came a call from the edge of the roof. “Or am I hearing voices?” Deret had lowered his rife and was squinting in her direction. “It must be her, because no other female would be reckless enough to come toward a makarovi hive.”

  “You say you have an infestation of some sort?” Amaranthe called back. “Maybe we can help you come up with a suitable pesticide.” If the makarovi were roaming around inside the building, she envisioned lobbing burning blasting sticks through those broken windows. Then she envisioned one landing too close to a support post and the entire structure coming down. It was possible her idea needed refinement.

  “That’s good,” Deret said, “because—”

  A rifle cracked behind Starcrest’s project. There were two more soldiers in the center of the roof that Amaranthe hadn’t seen. One rushed to push a crate back atop the trapdoor that led to the interior.

  “—the pests are particularly problematic this time of year,” Deret finished, his voice grim.

  By now, Starcrest and the others had heard the exchange and noticed their company too. The admiral lifted a hand, but otherwise continued to work. Tikaya responded similarly. Suan wore a someone-get-me-off-this-roof-now-please expression. Did she have any idea that the makarovi were there for her?

  Mahliki abandoned her project and raced to the edge of the roof. “My gas. Did it knock them out?”

  Akstyr snickered. “Not all women can say things like that, but she’s pretty enough that I wouldn’t mock her for it.”

  Amaranthe swatted him on the chest. “It did,” she called to Mahliki. “But we ran into trouble. The makarovi came from the Imperial Barracks.”

  “What? How?” Deret called.

  Starcrest lifted his head for more than a second this time.

  “It seems Ravido Marblecrest wasn’t planning to be Forge’s spineless figurehead after all. He schemed this up with a shaman comrade. Those collars control them. They’re being sent to kill the remaining Forge founders. And I think they’ve accomplished their mission, save one.”

  Suan lifted a hand to her lips. Yes, it’s you, Amaranthe thought.

  “That explains their uncharacteristic tenacity,” Starcrest said.

  “You might be able to shoot off their collars,” Amaranthe called. “We were able to break one that way last year.”

  Deret cursed. “I didn’t even see any collars with those shaggy necks.”

  “The fur makes them difficult to see, but they’re there. Of course, it’s not all that much better when they’re free of control.”

  “Understood,” Starcrest said. “We’d have a hard time getting at them anyway, as they’re all downstairs right now, tearing up the inside of the building, but I’d rather they stay here in one place than wander into the city and kill people wantonly.”

  “Trust me,” Amaranthe said, “they did plenty of that on their way down here.”

  Starcrest and Deret both grimaced.

  “They’re… dead because of me?” Suan asked. “I haven’t even… I mean…” She stared down at her hands.

  Tikaya gripped her shoulder and said something Amaranthe couldn’t hear.

  “What are you building, sir?” Books pointed to the pipe rectangle—it had to stand more than fifteen feet high.

  “A very large mousetrap,” Starcrest said. “With bait, I thought we might lure the makarovi outside to one spot.” He waved toward the street below the roof. “And drop it over them. It’s very heavy—they shouldn’t be able to lift it without a combined effort, and I don’t believe they have that much intelligence.” He pointed to the smokestacks. “We’re making a winch, to lower it down.”

  “Now they know who would work as bait,” Akstyr said.

  “I’m just happy it’s not me this time,” Amaranthe muttered.

  Another shot fired from the center of the roof. This time, she saw the trapdoor and the crate atop it jump several inches. After the soldiers stationed there had shoved their obstruction back into place, Starcrest asked them a question. They returned affirmative waves, if shaky ones.

  “How many are down there?” Amaranthe asked.

  “Six.”

  Amaranthe wished her people could see the makarovi through the factory’s broken windows, thus to pepper them with rifle fire and whatever else they could come up with, but she hadn’t glimpsed so much as a shadow moving. The beasts must all be up on the catwalks, jumping for that trapdoor.

  “Scoot back.” Sicarius touched her arm.

  Amaranthe allowed herself to be guided back from the edge. “What is it?”

  “There are vehicles driving down the street from the canal, and I spotted a boy observing us from the shadows up there.” He pointed up the street their warehouse and the factory shared, the one running perpendicular to the waterfront.

  “Observing us specifically? Or the intersection in general?” Amaranthe waved to include the factory rooftop.

  “Our group,” Sicarius said. “He ran back into an alley when he noticed me watching him back.”

  “Gangs?” Akstyr took a big step away from the edge of the roof.

  “He was scruffy, with ill-fitting clothing.”

  Akstyr had once again dressed in his collection of ill-fitting clothing when the team had returned to the capital, and he scowled at this description.

  “Why would they come here?” Books asked. “Are they unaware of the makarovi? They’re out in the streets; they must have seen the ravaged bodies.”

  “What they saw,” Amaranthe said, “was a whole lot of chaos and a prime opportunity for looting.”

  “Two of them also saw us drive by,” Sicarius said. “We were not making an effort to disguise ourselves.”

  Akstyr stomped his foot. “Curse those frosting-sucking brats at the bakery. Don’t I have enough to worry about right now?”

  “Your bounty is meager in comparison to Sicarius’s,” Books pointed out. “They may target him instead.”

  “Thanks, Books,” Amaranthe said drily, because she knew Sicarius wouldn’t.

  “They’ll go after me,” Akstyr grumbled. “I don’t have that deadly reputation. And they’ll be mad because of the way I embarrassed some of them at the docks last week.”

  “We have the high ground,” Sicarius said, “and are well armed.”

  “Let’s not worry yet. We’ll keep an eye on them—” Amaranthe nodded to Sicarius, silently assigning him the task, “—but let’s see what we can do to move this makarovi trap along.” She faced the factory again. “Admiral, we may have unpleasant visitors coming. Is there anything we can do to help you?”

  “What kind of visitors?” Starcrest asked.

  Amaranthe hated shouting everything for the whole neighborhood t
o hear, but doubted Tikaya would be able to read hand signs from that distance. She was busy with the winch anyway.

  “Gangs,” Amaranthe said.

  “Do they fancy themselves makarovi hunters?”

  “Unlikely. They’re extremely superstitious when it comes to magic, and they know Akstyr’s a wizard. Also, three out of the four people on this roof have bounties on their heads.” Amaranthe lowered her voice to add an aside to Sicarius, who had returned from a check of the corners and the door leading into the warehouse below. “By the way, you really should spank Sespian someday for putting that bounty on your head.”

  Akstyr made a choking sound at this image.

  Sicarius grunted. Wistfully? Amaranthe wasn’t sure.

  “At the least, he could have removed it before he asked us to kidnap him,” she said.

  “He hasn’t removed your bounty either, has he?” Books asked her.

  “No. Shortsighted of him. We should have made that a condition of our rescue.”

  “Perhaps you should be spanking him too.” Akstyr grinned. At least the conversation seemed to have brightened his glower a touch.

  “I don’t think I have that right as a non-parent,” Amaranthe said.

  “If you and Sicarius were to marry, you’d be his stepmother,” Books pointed out.

  “Alas, there’s probably an age when one can’t get away with spanking a young man anymore.”

  “Well,” Books said, “there’s an age where being spanked by a woman becomes less disciplinary and more… titillating.”

  “Really, Books, the shocking things you say at times.”

  “There are lights moving around over there.” Sicarius pointed to the street on the other side of the factory. “I’m going to make another round. Keep an eye on that building up the hill—it’s higher than ours and they might have projectile weapons.”

  “Understood,” Amaranthe said.

  He hadn’t said they were foolish to be bantering, but it was implied, and he was right. Someone was coordinating things to surround them.

  “You might want to leave,” Starcrest called. Though he was still working on his trap, one of the soldiers had come to his shoulder for an extended talk—probably reporting the same findings as Sicarius. “If they surround your building, you’ll be stuck. And you can’t do anything to help us from over there.”

  “We have blasting sticks,” Amaranthe called back. “Even a makarovi shouldn’t be able to shake off one stuck down its gullet.”

  “Uh, and who’s going to do the sticking?” Akstyr asked.

  “Maybe you could use the Science to float them in, light the fuse, and insert them in the appropriate mouths.” Amaranthe supposed the notion was wistful.

  Starcrest digested her blasting-sticks comment for a moment. “Are you proposing we climb down, run into the factory, and attack them?”

  “If we can end this with a short skirmish, we can all get out of here,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t have any particular love for that building.”

  Tikaya lifted her head and said something to Starcrest. Her words didn’t carry, but her tone was sharp, and Amaranthe could guess the gist: You’re not young enough anymore to leap off buildings and lead foolhardy charges against man-eating monsters.

  Judging by the way Starcrest’s head came up, he took affront to being called “not young enough” or whatever she’d truly said. He met his daughter’s concerned eyes, though, and sent a finger waggle toward the women. It might have meant I concede, or I’ll consider your argument.

  “I might be able to float the sticks and ignite the fuses.” Akstyr had been staring at his feet since she made the comment, and he lifted his head now. “But I need to see where I’m aiming. I couldn’t will them to stick themselves into makarovi mouths. If I were in there though, I’d need a real good bodyguard so I could concentrate…”

  He wanted Sicarius. Yes, understandable, but…

  “Even he can’t keep six of them off your back,” Amaranthe said. “Though I suppose he could be running around and lobbing blasting sticks too… Books or I could be your bodyguard.”

  “No.” Books pointed a finger at her nose. “You’re not putting yourself in their path again.”

  “Someone has to do it.”

  “Not you.”

  “Why? Because they want to eat my organs? They kill everyone they see. What does it matter if they eat part of me after the fact?”

  “You know there’s more to it than that,” Books said. “They go crazy when they lock onto the scent of a female.”

  Sicarius ran over and joined them.

  Amaranthe was about to ask him his thoughts on streaking into that building and hurling blasting sticks, but he spoke first.

  “We need to get off this roof.”

  “What happened to having the high ground?” Amaranthe asked.

  “There are far more than I realized.” He waved her back toward the edge, though he made a “down” gesture.

  She approached in a crouch, sticking only her head over the low wall.

  “There.” Sicarius pointed down the street paralleling the waterfront.

  When she leaned out, she could pick out the barricade and abandoned enforcer vehicles and—she gulped—a mass of people with torches, muskets, crossbows, and swords, some of the weapons far too nice—too expensive—for the grimy hands and patched clothing of their wielders.

  “Any chance those are angry citizens, come down to take revenge on the makarovi?” she asked.

  “They have gang brands on their hands.” Akstyr knelt beside her.

  She couldn’t see that from this distance, but maybe he had other ways of detecting such things.

  “They’re coming down the other streets as well,” Sicarius said. “There are hundreds of them.”

  Books gaped. “How did they gather so many so quickly?”

  “They must have organized earlier tonight for the looting, and it was luck that they saw us going by,” Amaranthe said.

  “Luck?” Akstyr groaned. “Bad luck. Unless you mean it’s lucky that the makarovi might smell them and come out and eat them.”

  “A plan is needed,” Sicarius said. “Do we run before they get here or stay and attack?” He pointed to the factory.

  “Where would we run if we’re surrounded?” Books asked.

  Sicarius waved toward the waterfront, perhaps suggesting a swim, but his focus was on the factory. He didn’t want to leave Starcrest and the others. Neither did Amaranthe.

  “Any chance we can find some rope?” she asked. “And invite Starcrest’s party to come visit our rooftop? We’ll be stronger together, and maybe we can use the blasting sticks to drop that building on the makarovi heads before they sense that Suan has left.”

  Sicarius considered the distance between the buildings—since the molasses factory was set back from the corner, with a parking area, loading docks, and tanks between the walls and the street, it wouldn’t be a short stretch of tightrope walking. Some fifty meters at least. “I’ll look for rope in the warehouse,” he said. “Watch for attacks from the streets. You’ll have to convince Starcrest to leave his trap.”

  “He likes to give me the fun jobs,” Amaranthe said.

  “I wouldn’t want to go down in the warehouse,” Akstyr grumbled. “I bet the gangs will try to find a way in down there and come up that way.”

  “You better think of a distraction to keep them away then, eh?” Amaranthe scooted closer to the edge again. “Admiral, we’re searching for rope and a way to launch it over there.” She lowered her voice to mutter to Books, “Whose idea was it to come up here without a harpoon launcher?”

  “Perhaps you should have requested a different gift from your devoted paramour,” Books said.

  She shot him a dirty look, mostly because Sicarius hadn’t paramoured anything with her yet.

  “You’re inviting us to the rooftop populated with the people the gangs are after?” Deret hollered.

  “Given that we’re planning way
s to collapse your rooftop onto the makarovi milling in the factory, we thought you’d find it a more appealing perch.”

  Starcrest left his project and walked to the wall. The approaching crowds were only a block away and coming down three of the four streets leading to the intersection. Voices drifted in from the direction of the docks too. It’d only be a matter of time before people headed in from the waterfront as well.

  “Books,” Amaranthe said, “grab a rifle and see if you can convince the gang leaders to take cover. Slow their approach. Akstyr—” She stopped. He was kneeling a few paces back, his eyes closed in concentration. She hoped he had something large and spectacular in mind.

  “If we crossed that way,” Starcrest called, “we’d be vulnerable to anyone with a bow or firearm. It’d take some time for all of us to make it over there, if everyone is able.” He glanced at the women. Tikaya propped a hand on her hip. Suan appeared more concerned than affronted.

  “We’re going to distract the gangs,” Amaranthe called.

  Books fired his first shot. It took one of the leaders in the thigh. The young man tumbled to the ground, but the others around him weren’t as scared as Amaranthe had hoped. A few of the ones in front, who realized what had happened, darted toward the sides of the street, seeking shelter in the shadow of buildings, but other people simply surged into the lead, some stepping on their own downed comrade.

  “Sicarius is up there,” came a distant shout. “A million ranmyas for his head. We’ll all be rich men!”

  A cheer went up. A million ranmyas split hundreds of ways would still be decent booty for those people.

  “It’ll take more of a distraction than that,” Starcrest called, but he’d come up to Deret’s side and gave an order, then circled the rooftop to speak with his soldiers. Soon, they were shooting at the ringleaders down there too.

  “We’re working on it,” Amaranthe responded.

  Akstyr lifted a hand in the air and clenched a fist. The cries of “Sicarius” and “reward” halted, at least from the street directly in front of their building.

  “Oh, that might work. Good, Akstyr, good,” Books crooned.

  Amaranthe started to ask, “What?” then spotted what was alarming the crowd. Four makarovi had run out from behind the factory’s massive tanks. Two charged up the hill and two more ran below Amaranthe, barreling toward the front of the mob. They paused and reared up, thumping their chests like gorillas.