Forged in Blood I

by Lindsay Buroker

  “No, of course not. Though she is in town, so I did have to send someone to detain her.”

  “What do you mean by detain?”

  “Escort her to a secret facility for holding until such time as we’ve completed our mission,” Amaranthe said. That didn’t sound so bad, did it?

  “You mean you kidnapped her?”

  “Technically, that word might be appropriate,” Amaranthe admitted.

  Books might have snorted, though it was difficult to tell with that shirt pulled over his head. Akstyr had shucked his robe and was bent over the unconscious guard in the engine room, removing the man’s clothing, his bare buttocks thrust through the hatchway as he did so. Retta, still manning the controls and checking their progress out the front window, did a double glance—one might call it a gape—when she noticed this display of nudity. Amaranthe rubbed her face. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined this trip going.

  “What mission are you planning to complete?” Retta asked when she recovered from the spectacle behind her.

  “We intend to make sure Ravido Marblecrest doesn’t succeed in his coup,” Amaranthe said, “and to do that, we need to ensure Forge doesn’t have any secret super powerful technology to call upon to aid him. The money and advanced firearms they’ve supplied are already giving him too much of an advantage. I assume they’re willing to use that huge black craft if they need to?”

  “They don’t wish to reveal it,” Retta said, “but they may use it or elements to ensure their agenda. They believe Ravido has enough to fight down mundane opposition, but one of the other potential candidates has Nurian allies with him. Assassins and wizards.”

  Amaranthe didn’t like the way she’d pluralized wizards. “We’ve met one of the assassins and a soul construct. Which general has these foreign friends?” She thought of the army surrounding Fort Urgot. At that very moment, Sicarius and the others might be trapped inside by those troops. She trusted his preternatural skills to keep him safe from guns and muscles—and Maldynado, Basilard, and Sespian were capable as well—but a practitioner? Maybe multiple practitioners? Ones strong enough to summon soul constructs? Even Sicarius had been smashed to the floor by Arbitan Losk’s power, and there’d been luck involved in the man’s defeat.

  “Flintcrest,” Retta said.

  Good. Mancrest had said Heroncrest was the one with the fort surrounded. With luck, Amaranthe could get the whole team back together before anyone came up against practitioners. “Neither Ravido, Heroncrest, or Flintcrest is an acceptable candidate,” she said. “Sespian Savarsin is alive and well and wants the throne, and we think he’s the best bet for a peaceful and prosperous empire.”

  “Ah.” Books had dressed in everything except socks and shoes, and he held one of those socks aloft now in a gesture of protest. “That’s not precisely what we want, at least not what I wrote up. A democratic election open to all educated members of the populace should determin—”

  “Not now, Books.” Amaranthe made a cutting off motion with her hand, then turned that gesture into a quick series of signs, spelling the last word out since Basilard’s language didn’t have many terms yet for discussing governments: Let’s keep it simple for those we’re recruiting; not everybody is ready for a new Turgonian paradigm.

  Retta was piloting the submarine closer to the light and didn’t seem to see, but her uncovered eye was tight, her face tense. “I don’t care who’s on the throne. I just want the freedom to study the Ortarh Ortak and other artifacts from this civilization, and now that Forge is suspicious of me, I want to get away from them. That’s been true for a while, as you know and used to your advantage.” She skewered Amaranthe with her gaze.

  “I meant what I said about helping you escape if I could,” Amaranthe said. “I’m back now.”

  “You’re here to use me again because you want to kick Forge in the balls.”

  Though it was clear Retta was irritated, Akstyr snickered and nodded his approval of this language. He and Books had changed into the uniforms and tied up the guards in the back. They’d shut the hatch and taken their places behind the navigation seats.

  “Yes,” Amaranthe said, figuring honesty was all that had a chance of working, “I want to use you. I was hoping you’d vouch for me here, but I can help you escape Forge too. Just leave with us after we—”

  “After you what? What do you think you’re doing to my craft?” She pointed toward the Behemoth and the light, almost blinding in its intensity as they drew closer.

  Amaranthe paused. “Your craft?”

  “I’m the one who’s been studying it for years. And for years before that, I was studying the language. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever seen. And the Ortarh Ortak? There’re a million things it can do, but I’ve only been allowed to focus on piloting it, landing it, and shooting things.”

  “Shooting?” Books murmured to Akstyr. “Is that what they call it when they raze an entire swamp, lighting fire to thousands of acres of wilderness, and blowing a dirigible out of the sky?”

  Amaranthe started to speak, but Retta cut her off. “Yes, it can damage things, and it’s very powerful, but there are facilities on here, technologies, that could be used for good too. For healing people and making items to improve life. A few years back, Professor Komitopis found a science lab in underwater ruins off the Nurian coast that was left by this civilization. Among other things, it can instantly fertilize and alter soil composition to favor whatever crops you wish. Something like that could end hunger forever.”

  Books and Akstyr were sharing dubious looks, and Amaranthe agreed with the sentiment. Even if she hadn’t been there for the razing of the swamp and the blowing up of the dirigible, she could see more uses for evil than for good with this technology. Humans couldn’t be trusted with this kind of power.

  “Has Professor Komitopis seen this craft?” Amaranthe asked casually, though her mind had leaped back to her earlier thought. What if Starcrest and his wife knew about the Behemoth and supported the research of it? Had Komitopis trained Retta herself?

  “No.” Retta scowled down at the controls. “Everyone high up in Forge has agreed that it has to be kept secret from outsiders. I didn’t know anything about it until Ms. Worgavic called me back from my classes on the Kyatt Islands. After a couple of years at their Polytechnic, I’d been selected for the tiny, secret program that studies this technology. The professors were very select about who they allowed in, and I thought it was my grades that won me entrance, but it turns out that Ms. Worgavic had a hand in things all along.”

  Amaranthe nodded. She’d suspected as much when she first spoke with Retta. She doubted that those Forge high-ups would keep the craft a secret forever, though, not if it could be used to secure the throne and the rest of their goals.

  “Where did you get that medallion?” Retta asked out of nowhere.

  Amaranthe almost blurted a, “Huh?” but remembered how Retta had noticed it up above. “We randomly picked it out as part of the costume.” At least Amaranthe thought it had been random. She met Books’s eyes.

  He shrugged and signed, They’re very popular in Kendor. They sell them to tourists at all the ports.

  “It looks like…” Retta cleared her throat. “When we were girls, Da used to go away on trips out of the empire. It’s what first got us interested in world history and other cultures. Once he brought back a medallion like that. I adored it, but he gave me some candies and gave it to Suan. She always got what I wanted.”

  “Well, here.” Amaranthe removed it and handed it to Retta with a smile. She knew she was trying too hard to win this woman’s favor, but the jewelry meant nothing to her and if there was a chance it would mean something to Retta… “You can wear it later when we take you to meet her, and you can gloat about how she got kidnapped and you didn’t. I bet she didn’t want that.”

  Retta snorted and waved her hand, as if she’d push the medallion away, but it snagged her eye for a moment, and, with a mulish set to her chin, she t
ook it and put it on. “Maybe I will.”

  A clank reverberated through the submarine, the hull shuddering.

  “What was that?” Akstyr asked.

  Retta’s hands flew over the controls. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. We’re here. We have to dock now.”

  She steered the craft into the source of the light, and another clank and shudder coursed through the submarine. Amaranthe thought they’d struck something at first, but some sort of arms had stretched out to clamp onto their craft. That was her guess anyway. The bright light obscured the details, and she couldn’t stare through the viewport for long.

  Retta released the controls. They were still moving, being pulled into some bay by those arms.

  Amaranthe sensed her heart speeding up. Not only did she have to face those soulless black corridors again, but she wasn’t sure Retta wouldn’t step out of the submarine and turn them over to the guards.

  Amaranthe leaned closer to her, dropping her elbows to rest on her knees. Last chance to make sure Retta was on their side. “We don’t have to destroy the craft,” she whispered. “I just want to make sure Forge doesn’t have access to it. If it was… I don’t know, buried under the ice in the South Pole, it wouldn’t be a problem. Only those who knew it was there could go and study it, a long way from all the major governments of the world.”

  Books watched Amaranthe steadily as she spoke, a question behind his creased brow. Maybe he was wondering if she meant what she said. She wasn’t sure. At the moment, she wouldn’t be above prevarications to ensure Retta worked with them.

  Retta didn’t respond to the words though. She was either concentrating on the gauges… or ignoring Amaranthe.

  A final shudder ran through the submarine as it came to rest on something solid. Gurgles sounded on the other side of the hull—water being drained from a holding chamber?

  Retta rose from her chair and headed for the hatch on the side. “We can go out now.”

  Akstyr’s fingers flew: Do we stop her?

  Books also watched Amaranthe for an answer.

  Yes, she thought, no, I have no idea. Outwardly, all she did was sign, No.

  • • •

  Sicarius crouched, making himself a smaller target for the soldier at the cannon. Out of the corner of his eye, he gauged the distance to the side of the water tank. If he could leap over the edge fast enough and catch the beam as he fell…

  Sespian took a step forward and removed his cap. “We’re on your side,” he called across the hundred-meter gap.

  “The armbands,” Sicarius said. Though the snow wasn’t falling as heavily as before, it still obscured the view, and the men might have a hard time seeing Sespian’s face and identifying him. The broad blue cloth strips tied to his and Sicarius’s sleeves were another matter.

  Sespian removed his as he continued shouting to the men on the wall. “General Ridgecrest sent us out to spy. He’ll thank you if you check before shooting us. We do, however, appreciating you trying to blow up that ugly mutt that was chasing us.”

  As if it knew it was being discussed, the construct stood and loped away. The cannonball hadn’t damaged it any more than rifles and daggers had, but it was done with the attack. Perhaps it knew it couldn’t reach Sespian now—or perhaps it thought Sespian might be taken care of by other means. Sicarius stared at the men manning the cannon, his jaw set, his eyes hard.

  “The general did not send a murdering criminal out to spy for him.” One of the soldiers, a young lieutenant perhaps, pointed at Sicarius.

  Someone over there must have a spyglass and be able to recognize faces after all.

  “Actually, he did,” Sespian responded. “On my suggestion. If you didn’t notice, I’m Sespian Savarsin, and though my authority is somewhat debatable right now, I’ve been working with General Ridgecrest since last night.”

  “The emperor is dead,” came the response.

  “I guess they didn’t notice the guest at Ridgecrest’s side for half of the day,” Sespian muttered. “Armies, the shield arm is always oblivious to what the sword arm is doing.” He raised his voice to the officer. “My death was a lie. Why don’t you go talk to Ridgecrest? See if he approves of you blowing up the water tower I’m standing on. I wouldn’t wish for you to be punished.”

  The officer muttered something to the cannon crew. Maybe he was wondering if they could shoot Sicarius while leaving Sespian upright. A lowly officer would find the idea of approaching General Ridgecrest intimidating—indeed, in the army, he’d be expected to report to his captain instead, and only eventually, after word had filtered through the chain of command, would he find out Ridgecrest’s response.

  “Come over here.” Sicarius gripped Sespian’s arm and pointed to the edge. “You can shout at them from behind the water tank.”

  Sespian grumbled under his breath, something about how those soldiers would have believed Amaranthe if she were making the same arguments, but he allowed himself to be guided toward the edge. “I can’t believe there aren’t at least rumors floating around the fort about me being alive.”

  “You had your hood up all day, and Ridgecrest has probably told his closest men that there better not be rumors, not until he’s made his decision.”

  “What else can we try? They don’t look like they’re in the mood to let us shoot a harpoon and tightrope walk to the wall.”

  Sicarius, gaze riveted to the officer and the cannon team, didn’t respond. In his peripheral vision, he observed the rest of the wall and the men in the watchtowers. When the officer said a single word and nodded once, he saw it.

  “Down,” he barked.

  Flattening to their stomaches might have been enough, but he wouldn’t risk it, not with his son at his side. He gripped Sespian’s arm and pulled him over the edge.

  They weren’t on the side of the tank with the ladder, so there was nothing to grab onto as they fell. Sespian blurted a startled, “What’s wrong with—” before the boom of the cannon drowned him out.

  Using his free arm, Sicarius caught the beam before they could zip past it. Between the fall and Sespian’s extra weight, even his best attempt to soften the landing couldn’t keep it from being jarring, and he wasn’t surprised at the flash of agony in his shoulder. The joint popped out of socket, the feeling—and sound—unmistakable. He hung on though, mentally clamping down on the pain as he swung Sespian up to catch the beam. When he’d locked on with both hands, Sicarius pulled himself up.

  After ensuring they weren’t in anyone’s line of sight, he bent his wounded arm, keeping the elbow by his side, and rotated the limb until he could push the shoulder back into joint.

  Sespian had been eyeing the sky in the direction the cannonball had gone—when it hadn’t thudded into Sicarius, it’d sailed across the field and into the trees—but he turned at the crunching noise and grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

  “Does that mean you won’t proffer a hug this time?” Sicarius gave his arm an experimental rotation and found the range sufficient.

  Sespian gaped at him for a moment, then snorted. “I don’t know. Did you just save my life again, or were you the target?”

  “The cannon was aimed at me. I agree with your earlier assessment that funambulation is unlikely for either of us.”

  “Fu…nam…bu…” Sespian shook his head, then laughed. It wasn’t a snort this time, but an unabashed laugh.

  Odd that Sicarius struggled to elicit humor in others when he attempted to do so, but in mere speaking could inadvertently have a humorous effect. Perhaps this was why Hollowcrest had always insisted he keep his mouth shut unless he was replying to a question.

  Sespian brushed at the corner of one eye. “I’m beginning to think my own childhood social awkwardness may have had less to do with a solitary, peerless upbringing and more to do with hereditary tendencies.”

  Sicarius wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but these acknowledgments that Sespian believed they did indeed share blood pleased him. �
��If they will not allow us inside, perhaps we should use the remaining night to sneak past Heroncrest’s army and return to the city.” And Amaranthe, he thought, if she hadn’t already left for her mission.

  “No,” Sespian said. “They need to know about the tunnel-boring equipment. Once Ridgecrest hears we’re out here, he’ll let us back in.”

  “He’ll let you back in. He’d prefer I not be around.” But Sicarius wouldn’t leave Sespian, not as long as that creature was out there. Although…

  He gazed across the field at the great paw prints left in the snow. With a trail like that, it would be easy to track. Sneaking through Heroncrest’s camp would be difficult with everyone up and alert now, but he’d managed such feats before. If he went alone, there’d be less likelihood of being caught. If he could find the construct and eliminate its owner, there’d be one less trouble to deal with. But, as they’d seen with Arbitan Losk, the wizard who’d animated the last construct, killing the creator wouldn’t necessarily stop the beast or alter its mission.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sespian asked.

  “Tracking. Traps.”

  Sespian eyed the trail of churned snow. “Now? Instead of going back in? Don’t you ever eat or sleep?”

  “I have rations with me.”

  Sespian winced. “Not those meat bars again.”

  “I do not require that you eat them, though you would find them nutritionally superior to many other offerings.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. Anything that tastes that awful has to be good for you. Listen—” Sespian waved toward the fort, “—come inside with me. We’ll talk to Ridgecrest together. He should know that you’re openly helping him. Everyone knows you as this notorious bloodthirsty assassin who’s slain countless soldiers, enforcers, and more than a few warrior-caste men in prominent positions. I’m never going to be able to give you a job on the staff if you don’t change a few people’s minds about your nature.”