Forged in Blood II ee-7

by Lindsay Buroker

  Amaranthe considered the legendary man, not surprised that he could command the respect of officers twenty years after his exile, but impressed. One might have expected a softness in someone who’d spent so long on the Kyatt Islands, but he appeared lean and powerful, even in his civilian clothing, a mix of browns and forest greens beneath a fur-trimmed parka. Beneath his beaver cap, his silver hair was short and thick, a regulation military cut. His height and broad shoulders surely lent him authority-he had to duck his head to keep it from bumping the ceiling of the cab-but Maldynado possessed the same physical dimensions, and people didn’t stare raptly at him, awaiting an opportunity to please-unless they were women of course. Starcrest probably had a few admirers of that sex too. His face, not so angular as Sicarius’s but of a similar vein, was weathered and creased from the sun, with an old scar bisecting one eyebrow, but he’d still fit any woman’s definition of handsome. Amaranthe could easily imagine him as a rock-solid admiral, commanding his troops in the heat of battle, though his brown eyes lacked the cold intensity she associated with so many of the senior military officers she’d met; rather, there was a hint of warmth in them, or even mischievousness, as he chatted with the men, as if now that the threat to his children had been nullified, he appreciated this break from the monotony of cross-country train travel.

  So, Amaranthe mused, how do I get a legend to join our team?

  Unfortunately, she feared he was heading in to join one of the other candidates, Ravido most likely, given Forge’s connection to the ancient technology and Starcrest’s history with it. Though his wife was the expert at deciphering it, wasn’t she? If the children were along, did that mean she’d come on the trip too?

  After all Amaranthe had done to ensure Forge didn’t have anyone left who could control the Behemoth-she winced, remembering Retta’s horrible death-here came someone who had a better mastery of the technology than anybody else in the world.

  “Lord Admiral Starcrest,” Amaranthe said during a lull in the men’s conversation, “I…” She grew uncharacteristically shy as every set of eyes in the cab swiveled toward her-even those of the engineer. Shouldn’t he be studying the snow-covered trees and bends in the tracks ahead? Amaranthe cleared her throat and pushed on. “I must apologize for any harm you perceived we meant to do to your children. We didn’t know they were up here and that they were… gifted enough to impact our, uhm, results.” Right, reminding them that she’d meant to take over the train probably wasn’t wise. She shifted to, “What the captain says about my comrades and me is true. We’re outlaws, but we’re wrongfully accused outlaws and seek to clear our names. We also seek to put the rightful emperor back on the throne, Sespian Savarsin.”

  “You thought to do this by hijacking our train?” Starcrest asked, his voice mild. Deceptively so? There might have been an edge beneath it. Amaranthe had heard foreigners call the Turgonian language guttural and harsh, but his accent had been polished smooth by so many years away from the empire.

  Books nudged her and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Sespian wasn’t born yet when he was last in the empire. He might not care about him.”

  “It’s not a good idea to remind your captors of their advanced age when they’re holding firearms on you,” Starcrest told him.

  Amaranthe thought it had been a joke, but Books’s eyes widened with concern. “Urp?” he announced.

  Akstyr snorted. He was doing his best to look tough and surly, a hard image to convey when hunched in a ball on the floor. In addition, his sneer faded every time he glanced at the girl.

  Amaranthe was on the verge of deciding Starcrest’s humor might be a sign that they weren’t in as much trouble as she’d thought, but his tone grew cooler for his next question, “Why did you seek to commandeer the train?”

  “It wasn’t the original plan. We were…” Amaranthe tilted her chin skyward, then caught herself-explaining a flying lifeboat that traveled hundreds of miles in minutes seemed a daunting task-and shifted her chin tilt toward the back of the train, toward the mountains they were leaving. “We were stranded in the pass and needed to get back to the city as quickly as possible-Fort Urgot was under siege, and there may be full-on war in the streets by now.”

  Starcrest’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at the children. As one, they blinked innocently, clasped their hands behind their backs, and pretended to study the ceiling. Amaranthe imagined some past argument about whether they should be allowed to come or not.

  “Sespian needs us,” she continued. “We’ve been helping him with-I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there’s been a business coalition trying to control him from within the Imperial Barracks for the last year, and before that, Hollowcrest was drugging him, and… well, he hasn’t had a chance yet to prove what he can do for the empire. He hired us to help him.” Technically true, though he’d only wanted to be kidnapped, and they’d succeeded at that task several weeks earlier.

  “Sespian is dead,” the colonel snapped. “My lord, you can’t accept any of this woman’s words as truth. She’s a criminal, and I sincerely doubt she’s ‘wrongfully accused.’ She runs with that assassin, Sicarius, after all.”

  Starcrest’s face grew closed, masked. “Does she?” he said neutrally.

  Cursed ancestors, of all the times for him to hide his thoughts… He and Sicarius had met in those tunnels, twenty years earlier, she knew that, but had they been working together? Or against each other? Sicarius would have been doing the emperor’s bidding-quite loyally at that age, she imagined-and Starcrest had gone his own way afterward. Had they parted as enemies? Allies? Agreed not to kill each other this time, but with no promises for the future? She knew Sicarius respected Starcrest-one might almost say idolized, though that was a strong word to attribute to someone so cool and aloof as he. What had Starcrest thought of him?

  “Where is the assassin now?” Starcrest asked.

  “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days,” Amaranthe said, “but I can take you to him once we return to the city if you want to talk to him. I understand you had an adventure together once.” She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate.

  He didn’t. His face grew colder.

  Amaranthe couldn’t tell if that was a warning or a threat in his eyes. “He should be with Sespian right now. I know Sespian would like to see you.” Belatedly, she added, “My lord.” She wasn’t sure what his status was, as Emperor Raumesys had been the one to send him into exile and Raumesys was years dead now. The military men were “my lord”ing him, though, so she better do it too.

  “If Sespian has been alive all this time,” the colonel said, “why’d he let all of this come to pass? Why isn’t he on the throne now?”

  “Forge ushered him out of the city on that months-long inspection of the border forts,” Amaranthe said. “They tried to arrange his death on the train ride back, only, with the help of some plucky outlaws, he refused to die in the fiery explosion that lit up the night.” She decided not to mention that the plucky outlaws had been responsible for the explosion. The Behemoth had been on its way with plans to annihilate the train anyway.

  “My lord,” the colonel said in an exasperated you’re-not-believing-any-of-this-rubbish-are-you voice.

  “Let’s secure them in one of the freight cars,” Starcrest said. “I’ve kept in touch with General Ridgecrest over the years, and my understanding is that he’s currently commanding Fort Urgot.” When the colonel nodded, Starcrest finished with, “I’ll get the latest intelligence from him.”

  “He doesn’t know the latest intelligence, my lord,” Amaranthe said. “He might only have the version that’s been in the newspapers. Very few know what’s really going on, that Forge has been angling to run the empire, more than the empire, from the beginning. They own Ravido Marblecrest. They-erk.”

  The captain had grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. With her ankles bound, she had to concentrate on not tripping over Starcrest’s boots-that seemed a faux pas an exoneration-seeking
outlaw should avoid-instead of speaking. Books and Akstyr were similarly hoisted. Akstyr did trip and would have planted his nose in the metal decking right in front of Starcrest’s daughter, except someone caught him by the collar, like a mother wolf picking up a pup by the scruff of its neck. This save didn’t keep Akstyr from blushing with indignation, perhaps embarrassment.

  “Sergeant,” someone yelled out the doorway.

  Were there reinforcements waiting in the coal car? There must be, for mere seconds passed before three burly men swung inside, crowding the already crowded cab further. Amaranthe got a face full of someone’s back, then a meaty arm wrapped around her waist, hoisting her into the air. She landed with an “oomph” on someone’s shoulder.

  Her captor swung out of the cab and climbed along the narrow ledge back to the other cars. Icy wind clawed at them, and tree branches whipped past, all too close for comfort, but neither the threat of a fall nor his burden slowed him down. Amaranthe decided not to wriggle or attempt any sort of escape at that moment.

  Not until she, Akstyr, and Books had been paraded through five cars of troops-more than one man hissed at her with recognition in his eyes, half-rising from a seat, a hand reaching for a dagger-and dumped in a freight car did she start considering escape plans again. Crates were piled all about them; surely she could find something to facilitate rope freeing. Although, given the overpowering smell of turnips and potatoes, that wasn’t a guarantee. The two armed soldiers stationed on either side of the door provided a further obstacle to freedom.

  “Did I not say we should ride back to town and forgo the hijacking attempt?” Books asked.

  Alas, the soldiers had not thought to gag anyone. Well, that could be to her advantage. Perhaps she could plant some suggestions in their captors’ minds.

  “You did say that,” Amaranthe agreed. “But if we had, we wouldn’t know that Fleet Admiral Starcrest has returned to the empire, and we couldn’t have begun the process of wooing him to our side.”

  One of the guards grunted with disbelief while the other rolled his eyes. Books and Akstyr’s expressions weren’t much more supportive.

  “He didn’t look wooed,” Akstyr said, “and didn’t we agree to stop using that sissy word?”

  “Maldynado mocked it, but we didn’t discuss removing it from our collective vocabulary.” Books dropped his head, looking much like a man who would be pinching his nose and rubbing his temples if his hands weren’t bound. “Are you suggesting that this is all going according to plan, Amaranthe?”

  “No.” She made eye contact with Akstyr, silently urging him to do something to loosen their bonds. “I’m only suggesting that the plan could be modified to incorporate these new circumstances.”

  “New circumstances such as us being trussed up like a leg of lamb about to go in the oven?” Books asked.

  “Among other things.” Amaranthe shifted so she could gaze serenely at the door guards. “Who are you fellows working for, anyway?”

  The younger of the two, a gangly private who had more growing to do, opened his mouth. The other, a corporal with a few years on him, stopped him with a glare and a, “Sh, don’t talk to them.”

  “Why not? I’m sure it’s been a long, boring train ride.” Amaranthe assumed they’d come from the west coast, if they’d been toting Admiral Starcrest all the way. “We’re probably the most interesting thing to happen in weeks.”

  “She’s got a point,” the private muttered. The nametag sewn onto his parka read Gettle.

  “We’ll be in Stumps soon,” his comrade said. His name, Moglivakarani, must have challenged the seamstress who’d sewn the tag, shrinking the letters to fit. “Ignore them.”

  “You’re not wearing any armbands,” Amaranthe observed. “Does that mean you haven’t sworn allegiance to anyone yet? You’re not working for Admiral Starcrest, are you? He’s not an officer any more, or even an imperial citizen right now, is he?”

  “Not as I understand the situation,” Books said.

  “We’re Colonel Fencrest’s men. That’s all that you need to know.” Moglivakarani squinted at her. “What armbands?”

  A tickling sensation, like a kiss of air, brushed the hairs on Amaranthe’s wrists. Something plucked at the knot on her ropes. She struggled to keep any hint of discomfort off her face, though it was an eerie sensation, knowing her bindings were being untied without anyone being near her. “Flintcrest, Ridgecrest, and Marblecrest’s men are all wearing different color armbands on their fatigue sleeves. Someone asked Sespian if we should adopt a color for the troops he’s gathering to his side, but he objected, saying let the less legitimate parties change their uniforms. We are in the right here.” Actually, Amaranthe had said that when Yara asked, but Sespian, after hesitating over the “in the right” comment, had nodded.

  “Sespian?” Moglivakarani asked.

  “Emperor Sespian?” Gettle asked. “But he’s dead. That’s why all this… this.” His wave encompassed the train.

  “The newspapers reported him dead, but I assure you, he’s quite alive.” Or was when she’d last seen him two days before. Or was it three now? Amaranthe needed a full night’s sleep. All the crazy events were blurring together, the days seeming unending. “My team is serving him. By detaining us, you place obstacles in front of him. He seeks to reclaim the throne even as we speak.”

  The ropes fell away from her hands, and the ones on her ankles loosened as well. With her wrists behind her back, she doubted the guards could see, but she did her best to scoop the slack ropes in close anyway. Akstyr had his chin to his chest, hiding his eyes and the concentration on his face from the guards. Books gave her a slight nod. He was either free or would be shortly.

  Several feet separated her from the men and the door. Since she was on her knees, with ropes tangled about her ankles, it was conceivable, no, probable, that the guards would be able to pull out their weapons before she could cross the distance and attack them. A distraction would be good.

  “You could be telling us any sorts of lies,” Moglivakarani said, “thinking it’d improve your position.”

  Akstyr sat up straighter, met Amaranthe’s eyes, and gave the barest hint of a nod.

  “That’s true, Corporal.” She tilted her head. “I do have a letter in my pocket with his signature on it if you want to take a look. It’s dated so you’ll know it’s from this past week.”

  Books gave her a curious look. She gazed blandly back at him.

  “Which pocket?” Moglivakarani took a wary step toward her.

  Belatedly, Amaranthe remembered she wasn’t dressed in her usual pocket-filled fatigues. Though the prosthetic nose had fallen off, she still wore her Suan costume, complete with blonde hair and a pocket-free dress. Oh, well. Improvise. The letter wasn’t real either, after all.

  “It’s an inside pocket.” Amaranthe lowered her chin, eyes toward her bosom.

  “I’ll get it,” Gettle blurted and hustled forward.

  Moglivakarani lunged after him, grabbing his arm. “Private, you’re not going to grope the-”

  Books and Akstyr leaped to their feet, each barreling into a separate man, as if they’d somehow coordinated their attack ahead of time. It didn’t take Amaranthe much longer to rise, but she needn’t have hurried. Akstyr and Books were both kneeling on the backs of their men, pinning arms behind backs and mashing faces into the worn floorboards. She gave them nods, admiring how efficient they’d grown in the last year, then collected the soldiers’ weapons.

  “Perhaps I should wear dresses more often,” Amaranthe said. “That ruse doesn’t work as effectively when I’m in those figure-shrouding army fatigues.”

  “Ruse?” Gettle muttered. “Does that mean there was no letter?”

  “No pockets either,” Amaranthe said.

  “Idiot,” Moglivakarani said.

  “How was I supposed to know their hands were free? How were their hands free?”

  “Tie them up, please,” Amaranthe told Books and Akstyr. She didn’t
want to encourage the private’s line of thought.

  The clacks of the wheels on the rails seemed to be slowing. Wondering if they were reaching the lake and the capital, Amaranthe clambered onto a crate and peered through a slat in the wall. They’d come out of the mountains, but were passing through white rolling hills rather than the farmlands west of the lake. “Willow Pond,” she guessed, naming the last stop before Stumps.

  “Perhaps we should get out here and catch the next train,” Books said.

  “And let a legendary war hero go without making a solid attempt to win him to our side?” Amaranthe asked.

  “We did attempt that,” Akstyr said, “and we got thrown in here. We-”

  The metal rollers of the sliding door squeaked, and light flooded the car. Amaranthe spun, raising her new army pistol. She halted, however, when she spotted a similar weapon already pointed at her chest. The hand holding it belonged to Starcrest. Books and Akstyr had finished tying the soldiers, and they, too, spun toward the door, crouching, fists curled into loose fists, ready for a fight.

  “Interesting,” Starcrest said, taking them in, as well as the prone soldiers.

  They groaned when they heard his voice, more in embarrassment than pain, Amaranthe guessed.

  She lowered her pistol. Starcrest was the only one standing in the doorway as the train slowed, icicle-bedecked buildings passing behind him, but she couldn’t be certain there weren’t ten more soldiers lined up to either side of him. She didn’t want to fight with him anyway.

  “We like to think so.” Amaranthe propped an elbow on a crate. “Won’t you come in? We’d love to discuss things with you.”