The Leloup heiress shook her head. “You are insane.”
He grinned down at her. “Have to be, to rescue you.”
“Can we get to the part where we kill these vagabonds?” Sauvage demanded from above.
“Gladly,” he called back, pulling free of Una Leloup and crawling to the edge of the building. “Drop me my gun, Malin. I will cover you.”
The weapon fell to the dirt before him, barrel mercifully facing away. He grabbed it up and performed a cursory inspection. The revolver mechanism still worked. Nothing appeared to have jammed. No time to check the spring mechanism. Sigmund hoped he wasn’t about to break his wrist.
“Three shots left,” he shouted over a volley of gunfire.
“What’s going on?” a groggy voice asked from above. Ulrich was awake. Sigmund wasn’t sure whether that was perfect or terrible timing.
“You’re providing me cover,” Sauvage said. “Now hold still.”
Sigmund snorted. He could just envision Sauvage ducking low beneath those coils and letting the other beast simply absorb the shots meant for her. Assuming that his harvesting of a baroness’s daughter-thought-to-be-son didn’t bite him too hard on the ass, she stood to be a very useful addition to his menagerie.
“Hold still and steady,” Moreau called up. Another round of gunfire sounded. “Malin, how we doing?”
She gave no reply. Fear flooded down the roots.
“Malin, I need you to listen to me,” Moreau shouted. “Breath deep. Focus on our connection. Feel the roots binding us together. You feel those?”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Y-yeah!”
“Good! Focus on the roots, feel that I’m right there with you. You feel that?”
More gunfire.
“I-I do!”
“Good! That’s good. I’m going to send you commands through the roots. I need you to be open to them.”
“But I suck at sensing the roots,” Malin protested. “I can’t even tell when it’s you on the other side of a door!”
“That’s because you’re trying too hard,” Sauvage called. “Just breathe and feel them.”
One of the brigands sent a beast out. It charged across the ground toward them. Sigmund’s hand shook as he took aim. He lowered the weapon, took a deep breath, then raised and fired quickly. The beast’s head exploded, and his wrist didn’t break. Good, he thought. That would have been a perfectly awful complication to this situation. On the other hand, how strange was it that Sauvage was giving Malin advice on sensing the connection through the roots? He shook his head. This night was full of small curses and miracles alike.
He focused on his anima, on the roots that Malin had planted deep within him when he’d harvested her and sent commands along them. He sent with them feelings of confidence and reassurance. Or tried to. Skilled as he was as a keeper, some things were difficult to manage when pinned down by an unknown number of enemies in the midst of a burning fort.
“Ready?” he asked.
“I am not ready,” Ulrich called out. “I have no idea what is going on. What happened to me?”
“Ready,” Sauvage replied, and he could feel Malin silently nodding.
“Hold,” he said. “Hold.”
Two more beasts were sent charging across the open ground. Then two more. Then two more.
“Go!” He called out with more than just his voice. His shotgun roared twice, dropping one of the beasts in the lead and knocking the second off-balance.
Sauvage leapt from her improvised cover, saber held aloft as she bounded out to meet their opponents. Through the pain and fatigue saturating their roots, he could feel that familiar savage glee. A part of her was afraid, he sensed, but a greater part of her welcomed the challenge and didn’t just rise to meet it—it urged her to attack. She would have made a great duquesa, he thought, putting aside his gun in favor of his flute.
That earned an odd look from Una but she said nothing as he began to play. He’d been worried that Sauvage would not be able to hear the music over the commotion of the fight. It proved to be a non-issue. The music reached her just as she reached her opponents and two transformations occurred simultaneously.
Sauvage’s attack became a dance, and her opponents became prey. The first two fell in the same stroke, their throats slashed open as she pirouetted past them and turned her spin into a lunge, burying her blade into the eye of another.
Sigmund’s lungs and spine protested his position. The body was not designed to play a flute from a prone position while watching a battle. If he took his eyes away, he’d not be able to guide his beasts. If he quit playing, he’d deprive Sauvage of her greatest asset. Sigmund played on.
A beast covered in spines leapt at Sauvage, flames spewing from her mouth. Sauvage nimbly avoided the flames, which splashed off the nearby wooden buildings and set them ablaze. Sauvage struck, ending the spiny beast’s torrent of fire. The weapon lodged in her enemy’s skull, and another beast made to strike her from behind.
A stone flew out of nowhere to strike that beast in the face with enough force to crack her skull. Malin had taken up position on one of the nearby rooftops, invisible in the night, and begun to lay down cover fire with her sling. With bestial strength, her stones struck with almost the force of bullets. With no sound and no enemy in sight, Sauvage’s victims were thrown into confusion and slaughtered.
Sigmund’s shoulder screamed silently at him, the pain racking his body. His arms wanted to fall and he could barely keep his hold on the flute. He played on.
Beast after beast fell to Sauvage’s sword. Four left. Three. Two.
Flames rose high, devouring the ancient buildings which began to go up like tinder boxes. The entire fort lit up in their hungry glow.
Several brigands broke cover, charging with guns blazing and an assortment of melee weapons held high.
Ballista exploded through a nearby wall and ploughed into them like a marble battering ram. Schwarz and Joie following behind, killing any she’d missed, covered by Dupont, who ran after them, heaving with the effort of hauling his heavy rifle, which roared and spat death.
Sauvage fell.
The combination of toxins, pain, and blood loss finally got to her, and one of the beasts struck her hard enough to send her flying through the air. She crashed to the ground before him. Her sword flew from her hand, neatly broken in two.
She tried to push herself upright, coughed up a wad of blood and phlegm, and fell back into the dirt.
The beast that had struck her stomped across the ground. It was a massive thing, and it was immediately obvious why Sauvage had not been able to take this one down as Sigmund identified her seeds. An iron bear was just about the worst sort of matchup they could have hoped to meet, and this one had gone Rampant, swelling to immense size, its features more animal than woman. Its keeper must have been killed at some point in the recent chaos.
Where was Joie? Dupont’s oxidation beast was the perfect counter to this opponent. He’d have to shout to get their attention, assuming they could hear him over the madness. Doing so risked drawing the Rampant beast’s attention to his position, and, by extension, to Una. He couldn’t jeopardize her life. Sigmund kept his flute to his mouth and played on, enabling Sauvage to avoid a blow that would have snapped her spine.
He struggled to open his anima, to welcome this beast’s own rampaging spirit into him. He could not. Not so soon after harvesting Ulrich. Successive harvesting was a challenge for all but the most experienced keepers, and Sigmund had been too long without a menagerie. They would have to fight and kill it, and they would have to do it on their own.
Sparks flew from the Rampant beast’s increasingly animalistic head as a stone struck its temple and bounced off, having no effect. The beast didn’t even seem to have noticed. Nor did it notice the next three. Malin couldn’t hurt it either.
Sigmund stopped playing his flute.
“Ulrich,” he said, raising his voice to
be heard but trying not to shout. “We need you out there.”
Something struck him in the side and fresh pain exploded through his body. The blow had not been especially strong, but it jostled his collection of injuries, especially his shoulder, sending fresh pain pounding like thunder through his body.
“Don’t you dare send my brother out there,” Una Leloup demanded.
“Una,” Ulrich asked from above. “Are you hurt? Oh, Goddess, did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she called back.
“Shut up,” Sigmund said, scrabbling to pull new shells from his bandolier. They wouldn’t do any good against a beast with nigh impenetrable flesh atop such bulk, but he had to try.
Sauvage staggered, the energy the music had gifted her vanishing. He could feel her wounds roaring to life with fresh pain, the toxins in her body attacking her from within even as she continued to bleed. So long as she’d had music, she’d been able to ignore her pain and exhaustion. Now, he could sense those things forcing themselves into the fore of her mind, making it all but impossible to focus on anything else.
The iron bear roared and went after her. She barely managed to roll beneath the building with him and Una before the claws came down, digging great furrows into the ground where she had been just moments before.
The beast roared again and tore into the flooring above them. Una screamed. Sigmund fumbled the shells as he tried to reload his gun, his fingers shaking too badly. They rolled away out of reach.
“Ulrich!” he called out. “Now!”
“Get away from my sister!” Ulrich called out. She leapt. Liquid coils wrapped over the iron bear’s face and head, smothering it even as the beast seized up. Iron was not one of the best conductors of electricity in the world, but it was still a strong one. Against Ulrich’s seeds, whatever they might be, the matchup was just as ill-favored against the bear as it had been for Sauvage moments ago.
The iron bear fell to the ground, rolling, striking, thrashing, and Ulrich was tossed free. The beast roared and charged after her, savaging her with claw and fang. Sigmund could sense that the attacks were dealing no real damage to Ulrich, but they overwhelmed her, the force of each impact pinning her in place. More than that though, the sheer ferocity was something Ulrich had never before been forced to face. She screamed.
Sigmund forced his limbs and lungs to obey him and brought the flute once more to his mouth. Music poured out, and Sauvage struck.
She exploded to her feet, body broken and bleeding, his shotgun pistol—now reloaded—in hand. She staggered, then ran, then leapt atop the back of the beast and fired the shotgun point blank into the back of its head. That was one way to get around beast’s inability to aim, he supposed.
The Rampant beast fell forward, sparks raining off its skull. It roared, wounded but nowhere near defeated.
Bind it! Sigmund willed, silently shouting the commands down the roots connecting him and Ulrich. Ulrich’s coils flew up, half guided by instinct and half guided by Sigmund’s will. They twisted about the iron bear’s limbs and pinned it to the ground.
Electricity burst from Ulrich, stunning the beast. The energy flowed through it and struck Sauvage on her perch atop their enemy. She screamed in pain, but pulled the trigger again, point blank. More sparks. Sigmund nearly quit playing the flute. He caught himself, and so did Sauvage before she fell.
Another bellow erupted from the iron bear. It lunged forward, ripping free of Ulrich’s grip with one clawed hand and striking at Sauvage. She dodged, lost her balance, and fell. Pain lanced through their roots. She’d landed on her broken arm.
The Rampant beast struck again, barely missing her. The shotgun pistol was smashed beneath its claws.
A stone launched from Milan’s sling struck the wound on the back of its head. Then another. Sparks. Sparks. Another struck, and, instead of sparks, there was a splash of blood.
Keep striking there! Sigmund urged through all three sets of roots.
The beast tore free of Ulrich, hurling her into the nearest wooden building, which shook from the impact. It whirled upon Sauvage, muzzle dripping with silver liquid from Ulrich’s body, and came at her.
Sigmund’s hands shook wildly, pulling the flute away from his lips. It was all he could do to keep the music going. Still he played, willing Sauvage to move, to dance, to survive.
He felt the power of the music course through her body, the joy of it pulsing through their roots. Sauvage transformed her tumble backwards into a roll, snatching up the hilt of her broken sword. About a foot of blade jutted out from it.
The iron bear lunged at her. She spun aside from the attack with unnatural grace, raising one foot and bringing it down hard enough to drive the beast’s claws into the ground. She turned her kick into a step, spinning up the beast’s arm in a series of tightly controlled pirouettes, each borrowing momentum from the Rampant beast’s struggles to send her upward faster until she reached its shoulder. She directed all of that momentum into her attack, slamming the broken blade down into the opening she and Malin had created in the back of her opponent’s skull.
The Rampant beast toppled forward, dead.
Sauvage crumpled off of it to the ground.
Sigmund pulled himself out from underneath the building and ran to her. Malin dropped to his side. All around, the sounds of combat faded away. Beast and brigand alike had been defeated. Fort Raychester burned.
Malin dropped to the ground and hurried over to his side even as Ulrich pulled herself upright and slithered forward.
“Is she alright?” Malin asked, voice and face panicked. “Is she going to die?”
“This is all my fault,” Ulrich whispered.
“No,” Sigmund said, then pointed back at Una. “You two keep her safe.”
Malin whimpered. “But what about—”
“Keep her safe or this is all for nothing,” he shouted.
She and Ulrich hurried to Una’s side as he crouched over Sauvage and delivered a small slap to her cheek. “Wake up. Wake up. You can’t sleep yet.”
She groaned and opened her eyes. They alit on his face for a moment. She grinned. “Ragamuffin.” She sounded drunk. Her eyes slid out of focus.
He gave her cheek another slap.
“Stop hitting me,” she muttered.
“Stay awake. I need to know where Fort Raychester’s hot spring is.”
“Is this for extra credit?”
“It’s a pass or fail exam, Loretta,” he said, deliberately using her woman name. Anything to provoke her to consciousness. “You are Loretta Maradona, future duquesa of House Maradona. You do not fail, do you?”
Her eyes, still unfocused, burned with sudden intensity. “I don’t fail.”
“Good, that’s what I thought,” he said. “Where is this fort’s hot spring? Pass or fail.”
“Center,” she said, voice faint. “Center, below the engine room, behind the grand hall….”
She trailed off, neck going limp. She’d given him enough. With a grunt, he heaved her up over his good shoulder, and hauled her up. He staggered, but pushed on. Step-by-bloody-step.
Blood, hers and his, ran down his body. His shoulder screamed at him, demanded that he stop. His legs did the same, blood leaking from the shrapnel wounds. Everything hurt. Nothing wanted to move.
Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he saw faces, then heard their voices. Roux, Krake, Triomphe, the others. Their words were indistinct, almost inaudible. Each drove a frozen sword deep into his soul. They were dead. They were all dead.
Sauvage—Loretta—was dying too. The void that had consumed him before opened its hungry maw and threatened to swallow him whole. The only way to avoid it, he knew, was to keep going. He was in pain, but the void was agony.
Step after step, he hauled her through the fort to the decrepit engine room, down the stairs that the brigands had cleared out, down to the unlit hot spring below the fort. Please, he prayed to Goddess, please don�
��t let it have dried up.
He slipped on an unseen puddle in the dark and they fell to the ground, hard. Pain exploded through him. Hope followed. A puddle had to mean water, didn’t it? Water meant the spring was still there.
He tried to push himself up. His limbs refused to obey.
Sauvage groaned beside him. They were close. So very close. He could not see the spring in the dark cave, but he knew it had to be there. They just had to find it.
He dragged himself across the floor. One foot forward. Two. He found Sauvage’s body. She muttered something incoherent. Roux. Krake. Triomphe. He would not lose her too.
With a roar, he pushed himself upright and hooked his arms beneath hers.
“Hurts,” she whimpered. “It hurts.”
He pulled her backwards another step. Then another. Another.
The ground beneath his feet vanished, and he fell backward into the spring, pulling her into the hot water with him.
Chapter Twelve
Gefahr
The echoes of her name still sounded in her ears days later as Loretta patrolled the forest with Malin. If there were any surviving brigands, they’d escaped with their merchant leader. All that remained of Fort Raychester was a few smoking buildings. Which was why they’d begun taking it in turn to patrol the perimeter. With the defenses burned to the ground, there was nothing between their group and the Rampant beasts. Rampant beasts that were curiously absent, as was the shipment of beasts the merchant had mentioned.
They had been patrolling for three days, stuck in place as Moreau recovered from the fight and nearly drowning in the fort’s hot spring. The water had worked wonders in healing her, but had destroyed the documents they’d taken from the merchant’s office. They had hoped that Sir Balzac, who it turned out, had actually been a scribe, would be able to help them study the pages. Unfortunately, there was nothing left of them to be recovered. He’d departed with his menagerie that morning to return to The Company of Golden Swords with news of what had happened.
For three days, she had heard her name, spoken in his voice, echoing over and over inside her head. It wasn’t something she had ever given any thought, how often one hears their own name. It hadn’t been that long, really, since someone had called her by her name. Not just her name though, her title. She remembered that. Remembered it all too well. It had lit something inside of her, a fire in her chest.
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