Dark Currents

by Lindsay Buroker

  Before Amaranthe could decide if she wanted to attack over Akstyr, the wolf lunged for her. A paw landed on Akstyr’s gut, and he sat up with a grunt. The motion distracted her, and snapping jaws almost clamped onto her arm.

  She sidestepped and drove the short sword into the wolf’s ribcage with all her strength. Bone crunched and gave. Her blade sunk so deep, the falling body pulled the weapon out of her hand.

  Akstyr was scrambling to his feet, but the wolf slumped against him. He staggered back under its weight, then heaved the dying beast over the side.

  “Akstyr,” Amaranthe groaned.

  “What?”

  “My sword was in that body.”

  A rifle cracked nearby, drowning his reply and reminding her they still had work to do. Three wolves snapped at Books and Basilard, who stood back-to-back in the center of camp. No one had had a chance to build up the fire. Beside the lorry, Maldynado clubbed another wolf with the butt of a rifle. She did not see Sicarius. Shapes darted through the shadows all around the camp.

  “Help Maldynado.” Amaranthe picked up her crossbow.

  She launched her remaining three quarrels at the wolves harrying Books and Basilard. Each thunked home. Again, the wolves seemed not to notice. She had to trust the poison on the tips would slow the beasts somewhat.

  She started to repeat her order to Akstyr, who was still in the lorry, but he had his eyes closed, hands lifted. He clenched them, and the campfire roared to life. Orange light threw back shadows, improving the illumination all around.

  “Thanks,” Amaranthe said. She spotted Maldynado’s sword lying next to his blanket and handed it to Akstyr after he dug his own blade out. “He’ll need this.”

  Amaranthe hopped down, leaving her crossbow to retrieve her sword. She planted a foot on the dead wolf to yank the weapon free.

  The improved lighting showed Sicarius battling with the three wolves on the road. Though he had a dagger for each hand, he was out of throwing knives. The wolves attacked together, trying to surround him and bring him down like a wounded elk. He moved as quickly as they did, darting and dodging to stay on the outside where he only had to fight one at a time. Dagger blurring, he eviscerated one wolf as it leaped for him. Two remained.

  She hesitated, wondering if she should join him. With his style of fighting, she might get in his way. More wolves lurked on the outskirts of the camp, though, and she would rather have him at her back than risk being surrounded herself.

  One wolf slipped around Sicarius. It and the other timed a strike, leaping at him simultaneously.

  Amaranthe sprinted for the road, thinking he might need help after all. He angled past the one jumping at his throat and opened its jugular with a dagger. It crashed into the second wolf, midair. Sicarius sprang back, blade slashing again. The second creature fell.

  She lurched to a stop at the edge of the road, her sword raised. He lifted his eyebrows.

  “I thought you might need a footstool to throw at them,” she said sheepishly, lowering her weapon.

  He grunted and headed off to retrieve his throwing knives.

  Dead wolves littered the road and the camp. None remained standing, nor were any slinking away. If all they had wanted was a meal, they never would have fought to the death; they would have fled as soon as the odds turned against them.

  “Is everyone all right?” Amaranthe called. “Any wounds?” She peered up and down the road as she cleaned her blade, half-expecting some shamanic beast-master to be lurking along the wayside. If such a person existed, he was not considerate enough to show himself.

  “Books jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow,” Maldynado said.

  “I thought you were a wolf,” Books said.

  “Then I guess I’m lucky you don’t know the pointy thing is supposed to go into the enemy.” Maldynado waved at Books’s sword.

  Akstyr laughed and Basilard grinned.

  “They’re all right.” Amaranthe smiled to herself.

  Sicarius returned to her side. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears and waited, expecting a chastisement for being so slow to wake everyone. Nobody should have been caught sleeping when the attack came. If she hadn’t been worried about losing face…

  “Good fighting,” Sicarius said.

  “Huh?” she blurted before something more intelligent could form in her thoughts.

  “Your accuracy with the crossbow was pinpoint, your sword skills adequate.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” From him, “adequate” was high praise, and she’d never heard him use the word pinpoint to describe any of her maneuvers. He must not have seen her get her sword stuck between that wolf’s ribs.

  He prodded the nearest corpse with a muddy boot. “These were more difficult to kill than wolves should be.”

  “Wolves don’t generally attack people either.” Maldynado strolled up. “Also, in case it wasn’t mentioned, that glowing-eye effect was a mite odd.”

  “Magic?” Amaranthe assumed.

  Akstyr knelt beside one of the wolves. “Not that I can tell.”

  “Er,” Amaranthe said. “What else could it be?”

  “I suppose it’s possible something has been done to them,” Akstyr said, “but the wolves themselves don’t feel crafted by a Maker. Not like the soul construct from this winter.”

  “Bas?” Amaranthe asked. “Your people live up north in these mountains. Any ideas what we’re dealing with?”

  Basilard shook his head.

  “They appear to be simple eastern timber wolves,” Books said, “native to these mountains, but hunted nearly to extinction in the last century by farmers and shepherds concerned for their stock animals. Though carnivorous by nature, these creatures are a smaller, less aggressive offshoot of the giant frontier wolves. Attacks upon humans are rare. Most incidents have involved individuals, not groups, and the wolves were starved from a harsh winter.”

  Maldynado made a show of yawning. “It’s bad enough I had to get up in the middle of the night; I didn’t think lectures would be involved.”

  Books opened his mouth to respond.

  “What could explain this behavior?” Amaranthe blurted, hoping to head off a verbal sparring match.

  “Maybe the professor can dissect one and let us know,” Maldynado said. “What do you think, Booksie?”

  “I was a history professor, you simian twit. Not a biologist.”

  “So…no dissections?” Maldynado asked.

  Amaranthe lifted a hand to end the discussion. “Let’s…” She considered the carnage, crinkling her nose at the butcher-house scent. Even if they moved the bodies out of camp, the blood would attract scavengers that would keep her team up the rest of the night. “Pack and get back on the road.”

  “Who has to drive and stoke the firebox, and who gets to sleep?” Maldynado asked, eyes narrowed.

  Books, Akstyr, and Basilard stepped back. That left Maldynado in the front.

  “I believe you’ve been volunteered,” Amaranthe said.

  Maldynado groaned. “This trip is off to a horrible start. When I agreed to help you so I could become famous and have someone make a statue of me, I thought my tasks would involve bad-man thumping by day and soft beds by night.”

  Amaranthe patted him on the back. “Statues don’t come easily, my friend.”

  “So long as it’s a big one when it comes.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Books adjusted his rucksack and sword as the lorry drove away, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. Amaranthe, Basilard, Akstyr, and Sicarius were driving off to investigate the suspicious lot while Books headed in—unannounced—to the Spearcrest estate.

  A hand thumped Books on the shoulder.

  “Thanks for requesting me for this side trip, Booksie.” Maldynado carried a rifle and ammunition in addition to his usual gear, all overshadowed by his ridiculous hat. He pointed the weapon toward a stone-and-timber home at the end of the driveway. It and a carriage house overlooked the wide river as well as the main road through the
pass. This early in the morning, the craggy valley walls cast shadows over the homestead.

  “Requesting you?” Books asked.

  “Sure, the boss told me how you thought my family connections could get us a friendly welcome and a warm bed.” He tilted his head back and yawned. “And that sounds particularly fine after last night’s interrupted snooze.”

  “Amaranthe told you that, did she?” She might be right, but Books wondered at her claiming the words had come from him. Did she think to ingratiate him to Maldynado? “I hope the fact that you’re disowned doesn’t get us turned away.”

  “Nah, these remote, rural Crests haven’t an inkling of what goes on in the capital. Look over there. Do you see that?” Maldynado pointed at a tiny shack downhill from the house.

  “An outhouse?” Books asked.

  Maldynado shuddered. “This place is as antiquated as the pyramid in the city.”

  “Not quite.”

  A rustic home did not mean these people could not get news from the capital, but Books shrugged and followed as Maldynado headed up the driveway.

  Snowy peaks scraped the sky behind the rocky valley. Giant boulders had fallen in eons past and lay in jumbled heaps along the river’s banks. Upstream, a mill perched with an old waterwheel turning in the current, its wooden frame gray with age. A pretty landscape, though nothing suggested the sort of wealth one associated with the empire’s aristocracy. A garden and greenhouse waited for the sun to peep over the crags, though they did not likely provide enough vegetables for more than a couple of people. Even timber was scarce on this side of the river; it must have been cleared in the previous generation.

  On the way to the front porch, Books and Maldynado drew even with the carriage house. The doors stood open, revealing two steam vehicles. A couple of young men labored beside one, shoveling coal into the furnace.

  Books halted. Not just “young men.” Soldiers. And the red-and-silver vehicle was the one that had passed the team on the road.

  A pair of dogs raced around from the back of the house. They bayed as they ran toward Books and Maldynado.

  “Maybe we should have kept the others with us longer.” Books tensed, hoping the hounds were simply announcing visitors. At least their eyes weren’t glowing.

  Maldynado squatted and spread his arms. “Hullo, puppies!”

  “You’re going to be missing a throat in a second,” Books said.

  “Nah.”

  The dogs sniffed around Maldynado. He ruffled one’s ears. The other kept its distance, huffing and grumbling, but it did nothing more threatening. The friendlier one leaned against Maldynado’s leg and cocked its head for the ear rub.

  “Must be female.” Books muttered.

  He doubted the soldiers would be so easily won over. The two young men came out of the carriage house, brushing coal dust from their hands. Suspicious frowns darkened their faces.

  “Howdy, lads,” Maldynado said, still petting the dog. “Is the lord of the manor home?”

  The front door opened. Thirty soldiers streamed out, rifles in their hands. Three enforcers, including the female, followed.

  “We’re in trouble,” Books murmured.

  A bald, bow-legged man stepped onto the porch. He was missing one arm. A white-haired woman stood in the doorway, fingers touching her lips. She emanated apprehension. Books probably did too. He held his hands away from his weapons, expecting the soldiers to arrest—or shoot—them, especially now that his face adorned wanted posters.

  The soldiers marched past, scarcely glancing his way as they headed for the back of the lorry with their gear.

  “Think they spent the night?” Books relaxed slightly as the last man passed him.

  “Probably,” Maldynado said. “If you’re warrior caste, you’re obligated to help the emperor’s troops if they pass by your land.”

  Further tension ebbed from Books’s muscles as the last soldiers climbed into the lorry. But he relaxed too soon. The enforcers were not so quick to pass, and the woman stopped before him.

  The top of her head came to Books’s nose—tall lady. Hair clipped close to her skull accented angular cheekbones and a strong, square jaw. Sergeant’s pins glinted on her lapels, making her the highest ranking enforcer there. Her hard brown eyes shifted from Books to Maldynado and back again.

  “Morning, ma’am.” Maldynado offered a deep warrior-caste bow, arms stretched away from his weapons. “Is there trouble at the Spearcrests? I certainly hope not. We’ve—”

  “I know who you are,” she said. “Both of you.”

  “Erp?” Books managed.

  Maldynado splayed a hand against his chest. “You do? You’ve heard about my roguish but charming personality? My daring escapades? I’ve always wanted to be famous.”

  Books kicked him in the ankle. Even if he and Maldynado could defend themselves against the female enforcer and her male cohorts, the soldiers were not far away. Also, the man and woman on the front porch were probably the lord and lady of the estate. Brawling with enforcers in front of them might make the cover story Books had planned less believable.

  “I don’t have time to arrest you two now,” the sergeant said.

  “Darn,” Maldynado said.

  Books kicked him again. “Where are you rushing off to with all those soldiers?” he asked.

  The sergeant snorted and strode toward the carriage house. “If you’re around when we’re on our way back, we’ll deal with you then.”

  “Looking forward to it.” Maldynado lifted his foot to avoid the third kick directed at his ankles. “How many days will we be waiting exactly?”

  She did not answer or look back at them.

  “Think Amaranthe was that stuffy when she was an enforcer?” Maldynado asked.

  “I think,” Books said, “she’s changed a lot since she started working with us.”

  “True, true. We’re a good influence.”

  “Some of us perhaps,” Books said.

  The lorry rumbled into the driveway, belching smoke into the crisp, mountain air. Maldynado headed for the porch.

  The man who was presumably Lord Spearcrest stood watching, his single arm propped on his hip. The sleeve of his other was pinned along the side and did not quite hide the outline of a stump that extended from his shoulder. He wore a glower darker than the inside of a smokestack. The woman relaxed against the door jamb as the lorry disappeared from view.

  Books jogged to catch up to Maldynado. “Let me do the talking up there. Your charms have proven ineffective this morning.”

  “I don’t think one enforcer is a large enough sample size to justify statements like that.” Maldynado stepped aside, however, letting Books ascend the stairs first.

  Lord Spearcrest’s glower deepened, and Books wondered if he should have let Maldynado lead—and take the brunt of the man’s displeasure—after all.

  “Good morning, Lord and Lady Spearcrest.” Books offered a semblance of a bow, though he clunked his elbow on his sword hilt—no chance of these people mistaking him for warrior caste. “I’m Professor Mugdildor, and this is my patron.” He decided not to mention Maldynado’s name in case news of his disownment had reached the estate. “I work at Bartok University, and I’m researching dialectal variations in the Turgonian language across the satrapy. How much does distance from the capital, remoteness, and proximity to outlying communities affect our mother tongue?” Books ignored the fact that his “patron” was rolling his eyes. “I hope to take my studies empire-wide eventually. I was wondering if you’d—”

  “Who’s here now, Father?” a feminine voice asked. A familiar feminine voice.

  Vonsha.

  Books’s mouth sagged open as she stepped into view behind her parents. A bandage wrapped her neck, and stitches laced a cut on her chin.

  “Hello, Books,” she said.

  He groped for words, and she smiled. She was a handsome woman even with the cuts and bruises.

  “Should have known someone who yapped like that wa
s a friend of yours, Vonsha,” the old man said. He stalked back into the house without a greeting, grabbing his wife with his arm. “Get rid of them. We don’t need any more overnight guests.”

  “Sociable chap,” Maldynado muttered.

  “When you suggested cider,” Vonsha told Books, “I thought you meant at a cafe in the city.”

  “Yes, of course,” Books said. “I did. I didn’t know you’d be here. I mean, I knew this was your family’s estate because you were researching this land and you told me, and, er…” He rubbed his lips, rattled not just by her smile, but by the fact that his cover story was useless now. She would never believe coincidence had brought him here.

  “He wanted to make sure you were well,” Maldynado said.

  Vonsha’s eyes widened. “You followed me all the way up here just for that?” She leaned to peer past Books. “You didn’t even bring a vehicle. How did you—”

  “We got a ride,” Maldynado said. “Booksie here felt guilt-stuffed after he had to run off, leaving you in enforcer hands. But he had to on account of a tiny problem with the law, you see. Entirely a misunderstanding, but it does make it needful for him to flee when those big steam carriages roll up. And Books was oozing blood out of all sorts of unsavory cuts, so he had to tend himself as well. He felt terribly disturbed by the turn of events that interrupted your research, and he couldn’t rest until he checked up on you. I came along to keep an eye on him.” Maldynado slung an arm across Books’s shoulders. “He’s an academic, not a warrior, you know. He needs my assistance from time to time.”

  Vonsha gazed up at him, listening to Maldynado’s every word.

  Books’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms. Though Maldynado was trying to help, Books hated the way his charisma—or pretty face—seemed to be charming Vonsha. Books was supposed to be charming her.

  “I see,” Vonsha said when Maldynado finished. “That was thoughtful of you to come with him. Are you two—” she eyed the arm slung over Books’s shoulders, “—a couple?”

  “What?” Books gaped. “No!” He shoved Maldynado’s arm away.