For the fortieth or fiftieth time, she glanced behind. Wrists shackled again, Rias walked with a small team tasked with carrying the boxes of blasting sticks. A precautionary couple dozen meter gap lay between them and the main group, though, oddly, the captain walked at his side. She did not know what they spoke of, though his presence served as a deterrent to keep her from strolling back to walk with Rias. She had not seen Agarik since the day before, but his injuries must not be too severe, for he was ahead with the scouting team. Separate from the marines, separate from her two allies, she felt the loneliness and oppressive cold of the tundra. She was tempted to go back to walk with Rias even if it meant enduring the captain’s sarcasm.
A dead arctic jaeger alongside the trail diverted her thoughts. The large bird’s white-tipped wings were broken, its head smashed in, but no predators had sampled its flesh. Had it simply fallen from the sky? Two sets of snowshoe prints around it meant the scouts had stopped to look.
Long years had passed since her biology classes, so she left it without further examination, but she turned her attention to her surroundings as she continued on. Over the next few miles, she spotted other downed birds, all undisturbed by predators. An uneasy feeling shrouded her, and she wondered what would await them at the fort. More dead men? Another device?
“Prisoner Five, come back here!” Bocrest shouted.
Rias had set down his box of blasting sticks, and he churned across the tundra. Bocrest plowed after him, rifle in hand.
“Sir?” one of the marines in front of Tikaya called. “Do you need help?”
Bocrest waved, and the back two men stamped out of formation, flinging snow as they raced into the drifts with high-kneed steps. Tikaya veered after them, afraid they would think Rias was trying to escape and take violent measures—as if Rias would be dumb enough to run away with everyone watching. Unfortunately, her slog through the unbroken snow was less effective than theirs. Even with the snowshoes, she sank deep with each step, and she tripped twice before reaching the gathering.
Rias stopped, knelt, and picked up something. Bocrest and the others scrambled over, and Tikaya floundered up in time to hear the red-faced, scowling Bocrest speak.
“What are you doing, Five? Are you trying to get yourself shot? Prisoners don’t get to take unannounced side trips.”
Rias lifted his goggles to peer at his find.
“What is it?” Tikaya asked.
She attempted to slip past the other marines to join him, but one of them took a step at the same time and landed on the edge of her snowshoe. She sprawled, face heading toward the powder. Rias lunged, caught her, and even managed to keep from jarring her shoulder.
“Slagging librarians,” Bocrest grumbled.
Face red from more than the cold, Tikaya got her snowshoes beneath her. “Thank you. It seems I’m always tumbling into your arms.” She sighed, appreciative but a little envious too. Neither shackles nor snowshoes made him ungainly.
“I don’t mind,” Rias said. “Makes me feel useful.”
Bocrest snorted. “Any excuse to grab a tit.”
The two marines sniggered, and Tikaya stepped out of Rias’s arms, her cheeks warm. Rias merely shook his head at Bocrest, like a father disappointed in a wayward child.
Bocrest scowled. “What did you find, Five?”
Rias held an empty, one-inch cube of glass, or what appeared to be glass, on the palm of his gloved hand. One corner was broken, though the evenness of the cut suggested the hole planned rather than accidental. He flexed his fingers upon the cube. Though the thin sides appeared fragile, they did not bend or crack under pressure.
“It glinted in the sun and caught my eye,” Rias said.
“It looks like someone’s trash,” Bocrest said.
A dark shape loped across the tundra, and the two marines lifted rifles. A black wolf, so gaunt its ribs showed even at a distance. After her encounter with the berserk animals in town, Tikaya hoped the men shot it quickly, before it could attack.
“Hold,” Bocrest said. “Why’s it so scrawny when there are dead birds everywhere?”
She glanced at him, surprised by the perspicacious comment. He was right, though. It was odd. And this wolf, unlike the ones in town, gave no indication of aggressive behavior. Indeed, it did not seem concerned about the humans at all.
“It is the end of winter, sir,” a marine said. “Maybe it was a rough one for the animals.”
“That wouldn’t explain why it’s not eating those free meals,” Bocrest said.
The wolf loped parallel to the squad, then paused at the corpse of a jaeger. It sniffed and pawed at the bird, and Tikaya expect it to take a chomp. Instead it lifted its muzzle and howled. The oscillating mournful sound made her shiver. Another wolf answered from the foothills, its howl just as forlorn.
“He seems to find the fowl unpalatable,” Rias mused.
He turned his attention back to the cube, lifting it so the sun shone through the glass. Tikaya sucked in a startled breath. A familiar symbol etched one side.
She took it from Rias. “I recognize that. “It’s one of the symbols repeated often in the rubbings the captain gave me.” She nodded toward Bocrest. “Know anything?”
“Shit,” he said.
“Very elucidating, thank you,” Tikaya said.
“Where’d those runes come from, Bocrest?” Rias asked in a tone of command.
“That’s top secret.”
“If you want Tikaya to translate this for you, she needs to know everything about the symbols.”
Bocrest ground his jaw. Tikaya had made that argument before, and the captain had ignored it, but he waved the marines to go back to the squad. When he, Rias, and Tikaya were alone, he spoke.
“Last month, a black box covered with those runes was delivered to the research department of the biggest university in the capital. No name, no identification. They should have buried it somewhere and forgotten about it, but scientists being scientists…they fiddled with it, let out some kind of airborne poison. It killed everybody on campus. It was late in the evening, so not as bad as it could have been, but hundreds still died.”
Tikaya dropped the cube and stepped back. In her haste, she almost tripped over her snowshoes again. Rias’s lips flattened, and he rubbed the fingers of his glove together, as if he could wipe off any taint from the cube.
“It’s not the same thing, though,” Bocrest said. “The bodies on campus were horribly mutilated, and these birds barely look dead. Maybe our people at the fort are fine.”
“Those are carrion birds,” Rias said.
Tikaya swallowed with grim understanding. “Not as bright as the wolves then, eh?”
“It seems not.”
“What are you talking about?” Bocrest asked.
“We’re just guessing at this point,” Rias said, “but it’s possible our people are dead by the means you’re familiar with, and the poison was toxic enough that even the carrion beasts that tried to feed off them died.”
Bocrest scowled at the dead bird. “Oh.”
“Will it still be toxic if we get close?” Tikaya asked. “That cube wasn’t covered by snow, so this couldn’t have happened that many days ago.”
“I don’t know,” Rias said. “It depends on whether we’re looking at an area denial weapon or something short-lived, designed simply to kill.” He faced Bocrest. “The scouting party. How far ahead are they?”
Bocrest’s face froze, and a long moment passed before he said, “They’ll be there by now.”
Tikaya’s gut twisted. Agarik. She had not even had a chance to apologize to him. She prayed it wasn’t too late.
CHAPTER 11
The walled army fort squatted in the foothills, small and insignificant compared to the towering white mountains plunging it into shadow. Tikaya stamped her feet to keep warm and wondered if she was crazy for wanting to travel the last half mile to the gate. No soldiers manned the massive guns perched atop the ramparts, nor did any smoke waft fro
m the chimneys inside. Rias’s guess that everyone was dead seemed likely, but perhaps whatever weapon had done it waited within those walls. And such a weapon might be inscribed with language clues like those on the Wolfhump artifact. Now that she had made a little progress, the prospect of more tantalized her.
Rias meandered across the foothills, pausing to pick up something here and there. More of those cubes, she feared, not sure whether they were safe to touch or not. He carried a small notepad and scribbled something in it whenever he found one. He still wore his shackles, and two guards trailed dutifully behind him. Did Bocrest not know they were superfluous at this point? Rias had shown no interest in escaping since he learned what was at stake.
She hoped that loyalty to the empire would not result in his death. Or hers. She would much prefer to see him strolling on one of her island’s beaches, picking up agates and sand dollars instead of vials that might have housed lethal poison. And in this vision, she saw him with less clothing on. She grinned. Or none. She thought of the scar that bisected his eyebrow and wondered what other battle wounds stamped his olive skin. He had filled out since she first saw him in rags in his cell, and she imagined broad shoulders and powerful muscles beneath that parka.
A guilty pang ended her thoughts. She believed Parkonis would have wanted her to go on and find love again—though not with a Turgonian, no matter how academically inclined—so it was not that. It was that she had never daydreamed about him with his shirt off. Parkonis had been boyishly cute with freckles and a mop of red-blond curls, but not the type to inspire women’s fantasies. Of course, she was hardly the type to inspire men’s fantasies. She hated to dwell on it, but feared she would not be able to compete with others if she and Rias survived to return to a world where she was no longer the only woman for hundreds of miles.
Snow crunched behind her.
A pair of privates approached, and she braced herself for insults or crude comments. Acne scarred one’s face, and neither appeared older than twenty, though like most of the men here they were taller than she and no doubt dangerous.
“Ma’am, we’re, ah…” The speaker glanced at his comrade, who gave an encouraging nod. “We’re having rations.”
Er, what did that have to do with her? “Yes?”
Behind them, marines sat in groups of four or five and shared lunch while the officers conferred in a cluster. More than one man snoozed against his rucksack, oblivious to the frosty environs.
“You could join our mess if you wanted.” The speaker nodded to a knot of young men busy chatting, laughing, and stuffing crackers into their mouths. One waved. “We’ve got extra tooth dullers and—”
“Tooth, what?” Tikaya asked.
“Tooth dullers. You know, hardtack. It’s right awful stuff, but Private Ankars has some taffy his mum gave him—his mum always posts him the best sweets—and anyway if you wanted you could come share with us.”
“Oh, I…” After so much hostility from the marines, this kindness stunned her. The privates must know some of what had happened with the device, that she and Rias had been the ones to render it innocuous. “Thank you. It’s considerate of you to invite me.”
Rias strode their direction, brow wrinkled. The privates blanched when they spotted him.
“You’re welcome any time, ma’am.” The speaker waved to Tikaya, and he and his comrade scurried away.
“They bothering you?” Rias asked.
“No. They invited me to lunch.”
“Ah?” His brow smoothed and a smile plucked at his lips. “That’s an improvement.”
“Yes.” She nodded toward the pockets of men. “It’s amazing they can sleep and laugh in the face of death and inexplicable alien horrors.” As soon as she said it, she blushed. What about her? Fantasizing about Rias on a beach a few minutes earlier?
“That’s a trait shared by soldiers everywhere. The officers handle the worrying.” The grimness returned to his expression, and he held out his hand. A glass cube identical to the first rested on the palm. “I’ve found several now. The radial pattern and the distance from Fort Deadend implies…” He sighed. “I better see what’s inside before jumping to conclusions.”
“Are we going in?”
“Yes, good news there. The scouts are alive. The lookout has a spyglass and spotted them moving around inside.”
Tikaya exhaled with relief. “Good.”
Rias nodded. “Though you might want to wait until later for lunch.”
“Why? Are there better rations inside?” Even as she finished the question, the meaning of his comment washed over her. They anticipated more dead bodies, right. She waved a glove to let him know she understood.
“Fort Deadend isn’t known for its cuisine, no, but if I can escape Bocrest’s guards, maybe we can share a meal?” He arched his eyebrows.
And another, less abbreviated, kiss? She smiled at the thought but couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “I don’t know… Those privates over there have taffy. Can you top that?”
“Ah, perhaps not.” His expression grew wistful. “I fear I am a man with few resources these days.”
She patted his arm. “You’ll have to regale me with stories then. Such as why this place is called Fort Deadend. Are there more reasons than the obvious?”
“Not really. You’ve generally pissed in some general’s tea cup if you get stationed out here. There’s a pass through the mountains south of here, and the theoretical purpose of the installation is to guard against invasion from the north. But the route is as hospitable as an avalanche, so the likelihood of someone marching an army through it is close to nil. There’s a lot of gold in the hills, though, and foreigners trespass to set up mining operations. Patrols watch for that, and I imagine the fort commander has orders to keep an eye on the canyon where the tunnels were discovered as well.”
Tikaya thought of the invisible Nurian assassins. She was beginning to think they had transported back to their own ship the night of the attack, but that did not mean others with their skills were not out here. “Practitioners wouldn’t have much trouble sneaking by this fort to get inside.”
“They would have had to know about the place first, though I suppose after twenty years secrets are bound to get out. The Nurians obviously know.”
Voices sounded ahead—the scouting group returning. Agarik came at the end, head bowed, shoulders drooped, though he kept his rifle crooked in his arms, ready to use. The leader headed straight for Bocrest and his officers, but she caught Agarik’s eye and he tramped up the hill toward her and Rias.
A livid red gash dotted with black stitches ran from the side of his cheek to his nose, and the stiffness of his movement hinted at injuries beneath his clothing.
Tears pricked her eyes. She never should have sent him off alone.
Before he could speak, she stepped forward and hugged him. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you were hurt.”
He seemed startled by the embrace, but rearranged his rifle to return it. “No, don’t think that. I’m the idiot who let himself get ambushed.”
His words did nothing to assuage her guilt. When she stepped back, she could not look away from that cut. It would be a permanent scar.
“Is there anything I can do?” Tikaya asked.
“Hugs are good.” Agarik gave Rias a hesitant smile. “From anyone who wants to share them.”
Tikaya glanced at Rias in time to spot a neutral expression shift to bewilderment.
“What?”
The word sounded harsh, and, though Tikaya suspected the tone more a result of surprise than anything else, Agarik’s smile fell.
“Sorry, sir,” he said. “I didn’t mean, uhm.”
“What’d you find at the fort, corporal?” Rias asked.
Agarik straightened, face composed. “Everyone’s dead, sir. Ugly dead. Their skin and muscles were melted off like wax on a candle. You couldn’t even tell who was who if they weren’t wearing uniforms with name patches.”
Tikaya shared th
at’s-what-we-were-afraid-of glances with Rias.
“And there’s something you’ll want to see,” Agarik said. “Both of you.”
Before she could ask for details, an officer yelled, “Corporal Agarik, get over here!”
He saluted Rias before hustling off.
“You should hug him next time,” Tikaya said.
That bewilderment returned. “Marines don’t hug.”
“Have you talked to him at all?”
“Not as much as you, apparently.” He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow.
It took her a moment to match his concerned expression to the hug she had given Agarik. She almost laughed. As confident as Rias was about military and mathematical matters, she was surprised he did not share that confidence when it came to women. As if anyone here could offer notable competition.
“Pack it up!” Bocrest’s voice floated across the hill. “We’re moving out!”
Tikaya laid her hand on Rias’s sleeve before he could turn away. “Agarik wants your attention, not mine.”
Rias stared at her. “Oh.”
“You two prisoners want to join the group or you going to stay out here and work on your sun tans?” Bocrest shoved a rucksack into Rias’s arms as he stomped past.
“I can’t imagine that man having a wife,” Tikaya muttered as she headed off to retrieve her own pack.
“I’ve not met the woman,” Rias said, “but I’ve heard she’s as obnoxious as him and the undisputed master of the household.”
Tikaya would have been content to march at the end of the squad—the going was a lot easier when numerous snowshoes had tamped down a trail—but Rias strode through the drifts with his long legs and overtook the men. Determined to keep up, she forced her own strides to unnatural lengths. Sweat soon plastered her clothing to her body and soaked the fur lining of her gloves. She removed her wool cap and stuffed it in a pocket.
Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series) Page 15
