Table of Contents
FOREWORD
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Forged in Blood II Preview
Also by the Author
FORGED IN BLOOD I
(Emperor’s Edge, Book 6)
by Lindsay Buroker
Copyright © 2013 Lindsay Buroker
All rights reserved.
FOREWORD
This is the first of a two-book finale for the Emperor's Edge series. I'd originally intended a one-book finale, but the characters weren't ready to go quietly into the night after a mere 400 pages. The final book should be ready to publish in August, 2013.
This last story references events from the previous novels and also from some of the Emperor's Edge short stories ("The Assassin's Curse," and "The Frozen Water Trade" from the Ice Cracker II Collection) and the "Beneath the Surface" novella. Also, in the second part, we'll see characters from Encrypted/Decryptedand "Enigma." You shouldn't have to read these extras to enjoy Forged in Blood I & II, but if you feel like you've missed some of the details, you can check into those adventures. The short stories are currently only available in ebook form, but, if there's an interest, I'll look into doing a paperback collection.
Thank you for following along with this series. I hope you continue to have fun on the ride.
Chapter 1
Wind gusted across the abandoned stadium, rattling chains on flagpoles and stirring the fresh snow coating the rows of stone benches. In the chilly, predawn air, Amaranthe Lokdon stood atop the highest wall, the cold rim of a spyglass pressed to her eye. The empty arena opened to her right, while the cold black lake stretched to the left. A million-people dense, the capital of the Turgonian Empire, long ago nicknamed Stumps for its bevy of beheaded statues, spread out in front of her for miles and miles.
One might have expected dormancy at that early hour, but numerous trolleys and steam vehicles navigated the city, and a disturbing number of uniformed people marched along the sidewalks. Some of the soldiers bore flintlock rifles, but many carried the sleek, new weapons Forge had commissioned, weapons that could fire several self-contained cartridges with no need for the separate loading of powder and ball. Out on the lake, all manner of military vessels plied the frosty waters with a number of them forming a blockade across the river to the south.
A locomotive chugged past the stadium, slowing as it approached the city, sooty plumes wafting from the smokestack and blending into the gray sky. It was a black military transport, and Amaranthe had little doubt that it was full of troops, though she didn’t know if they were for General Ravido Marblecrest or one of the other potential candidates to the throne. All she knew was that none of those troops were coming to support Sespian; as far as everyone in the city knew, he was dead.
“You are silhouetted against the sky,” Sicarius said from behind her shoulder.
Amaranthe hadn’t heard him join her on the wall. Not surprising. “It’s a little early and cold to worry about snipers gamboling about, don’t you think?”
“No.”
Of course not. Neither the frosty heart of a glacier nor the molten core of a volcano would have ever kept him from his duties when he’d been Emperor Raumesys’s assassin. Nor, she reminded herself, had such ever kept him from fulfilling his duties when he’d been working for her. With her, she corrected. Though he acknowledged her right to lead the team she’d assembled, he still had a tendency to do things his own way when something truly mattered to him.
“If the people behind those snipers were smart, they’d be more interested in recruiting us than shooting us,” Amaranthe said. “We’ve proven a great aptitude for defeating soldiers through cunning, athleticism, and an uncanny knack for blowing things up at the right time.” She admitted it might be more luck than an uncanny knack, but thought her word choice might draw a semi-amused snort from him. As a whole, her men had been grim during the last few days of their overland trek, with the newly amorous Maldynado and Yara being the only exception. They’d been too busy playing swat-and-grope with each other to be bothered by the rain, snow, and hail that had pounded the team as it dodged patrols and skirted checkpoints full of soldiers. She’d struggled to keep her own grimness off her face as well, reflections of the ghastly dreams that stole her nights and sometimes, when she let her mind wander, tried to steal the days as well.
No hint of amusement came from behind her.
“With all this going on—” Amaranthe waved toward the boats, train, and troop-filled streets, “—I doubt anyone will notice us up here.” She lowered the spyglass and crunched about on the snow to face him. “Most of the officers leading troops about down there aren’t aware that we have tiles in the game, and I doubt Ravido is going to waste time looking for us until he finds out Sespian is here.” Maybe not even then if Forge published the news about Sespian’s… dubious parentage, and the Company of Lords dismissed his claim to the throne.
As always, Sicarius’s face might have been chiseled from granite for all the insight it gave into his thoughts. Though the weeks of travel and battle had wreaked havoc with everyone else’s wardrobe—Maldynado was still lamenting the loss of his most recent hat—Sicarius looked the same as always, adorned with copious daggers and throwing knives, and lean and muscular beneath his perennial black shirt and trousers. Somehow he’d even obtained a fresh pair of the soft black boots that allowed him to glide through the shadows without so much as a whisper. Once, in a fit of mischievousness, Amaranthe had absconded with those boots for long enough to try them on and find out if they held any magical silencing properties. Alas, the size difference had only granted her with magical clumsiness, and she’d tripped, rammed her hip against a table, and knocked over a chair. After recovering from the ungainly move, she’d found Sicarius watching her from behind. She’d returned the boots sheepishly, unable to come up with an explanation that he wouldn’t find utterly silly.
“Forge knows we are here,” he said.
“They’re not the types to send snipers though. I don’t think they can knock me from the wall with dastardly political or financial machinations.”
Without comment, Sicarius hopped down from the wall. The cool glance he sent back over his shoulder meant he expected her to do the same.
Amaranthe sighed and followed him down the stairs and out of the stadium. Since escaping from Pike’s torture chamber, she’d teased more conversation, and even some playfulness, out of him, but he wasn’t in the mood for it today. Rightfully so, she supposed. It was time to be serious.
“See anything good?” Akstyr asked, when she rejoined the team in the shadows of a tree between the stadium and the train tracks. Actually the team occupied the shadows of a few trees. With the addition of Sespian and Yara, her group had grown of late. Eight people, including herself. It seemed like a tremendous number of expectant eyes turned in her direction, though she feared the number would be far too low to make a difference in the city, in deciding who sat upon the throne when the snow melted in the spring.
No, she couldn’t think that way. They could make a difference. Upon many occasions, small numbers of people had been responsible for great changes in history.
“I saw a good… challenge,” Amaranthe said.
Akstyr brushed a few snowflakes
out of his spiky ridge of hair—it was green this week. “A challenge? That means a whole lot of injury and death with absolutely no pay, right?”
“There may be some pay.” Amaranthe watched his face as she spoke, expecting a sullen expression and a threat to leave for the Kyatt Islands, the one place he believed he could study the mental sciences in peace.
Akstyr only said, “Ah,” with resignation hunching his shoulders as he dipped his hands into his pockets.
Books lifted his head from an open journal long enough to say, “That’s not precisely the dictionary definition,” before his gaze was inevitably dragged back downward. The book-stuffed rucksack hanging from his shoulders must have weighed close to a hundred pounds. Amaranthe wondered if he’d ever thanked Sicarius for the months of arduous training that allowed him to carry such a load. Probably not.
“Where to first, boss?” Maldynado asked. He and Yara stood a few paces away, not quite touching but standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a pose that said, “Yes, we are a we now, thank you very much.”
Amaranthe wished she could get Sicarius to stand next to her that way, when there were actual witnesses looking on, but that would probably have to wait until they were finished here and the fate of the empire had been resolved. One way or another. She glanced at Sespian, who’d been in the middle of a sign-language conversation with Basilard when she walked up. They’d stopped and waited attentively.
“Well,” Amaranthe replied, meeting everyone’s eyes before she continued, “as I’ve warned a few of you, I have a plan.”
“That’s why everyone is watching you with looks of concern,” Yara said, her voice still gruff and no-nonsense despite whatever cuddliness Maldynado might have drawn out in private.
“And here I thought they were gazes of trust and adoration.” Amaranthe supposed Yara was officially one of the team now if she’d joined with the teasing.
Sicarius, who had set himself up a few paces away, where he could see all the roads and paths an enemy might take to approach the group, gave Amaranthe a cool, get-to-business look. So much for gazes of adoration.
“Before I unveil my plan,” Amaranthe said, “we need to do some intelligence gathering.” A large part of her plan involved infiltrating Forge, and, right now, she had no clue as to where they might be.
Basilard nodded—the gesture might have had a tinge of relief to it. Did they think she’d go barreling into the city, hurling explosives, without finding out exactly what they were facing? Perhaps a couple of her schemes had been a tad extemporaneous of late.
We must learn who controls the majority of the forces, he signed, and if Forge has regrouped and arrived yet.
“Agreed,” Amaranthe said. “That’s why Maldynado and I are going to visit his old journalist friend, Deret Mancrest.”
This time Sicarius’s look had a baleful undertone.
“With his resources, he ought to know what’s going on in the city,” Amaranthe said. “Also, given that his newspaper’s been prematurely reporting Sespian’s death, among other Forge-favoring tidbits, I want to find out if he’s in the coalition’s pocket, being coerced to write their stories for them, or—”
“Is open to being wooed to our side?” Books suggested.
“Didn’t we already woo him once?” Akstyr asked.
Perhaps men only stay wooed so long as the wooing influence is present in the area. Basilard pointed to Amaranthe.
Maldynado raised a finger. “Is anybody else concerned with how many grown men are using the word ‘woo’ here?”
Amaranthe made a chopping motion to halt the tangent. “While Maldynado and I are looking for Mancrest, I’d like Basilard, Yara, and Akstyr to locate a promising hideout for us. While you three are doing that, you can mill about on the streets, listen in on conversations, and tease out what tidbits you can from the general public. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to keep your hoods up and your faces in the shadows. Many of us are still featured on wanted posters, and Forge may have bounties out on everyone by now.”
Yara’s lips twisted into a sour expression. She might be lamenting her choice to stay with them. If so, she didn’t say anything. Those deadly rockets the team had uncovered on the steamboat ride back upriver seemed to have convinced her that, even if Sespian wasn’t the undisputed heir any more, it was worth risking her career to keep Forge from playing puppet master to the new emperor.
“Where are we all going to meet up in the meantime?” Maldynado asked. “Until we find a suitable secret hideout, and, as long as we’re on the topic, might I suggest an above-ground hideout without any vermin, scat, urine, or otherwise unsavory leavings in the area? I know the boss is handy with a broom, but she might not have time to clean things up for us for this mission.”
Yara took a step away from Maldynado. “Handy with a broom? Clean for us? Are you telling me that you need Corporal Lokdon to tidy up after you?”
Maldynado avoided her eyes. “Not me specifically, but, uhm.”
Amaranthe watched the exchange with some amusement. She was certain her fastidious streak had been brought up in front of Yara before, but perhaps her new relationship with Maldynado inspired her to want to… hammer him into the mold, as the marines liked to say of their young recruits.
“I’m positive that Basilard, Akstyr, and Yara will find a suitable hideout,” Amaranthe said to keep Maldynado from getting himself into trouble. More trouble.
“Hot water and indoor plumbing would be appreciated,” Books said with a weary sigh, one that spoke of being ready for a year’s worth of hardship to come to an end.
Amaranthe could understand that; she wouldn’t mind easy access to hot baths either.
“I notice you haven’t assigned Sespian, Sicarius, or myself to tasks yet,” Books went on. “Is that because you know it’s important to leave me to my current project?” He tapped the open tome in his hands. “I’m close to having a preliminary constitution fleshed out.”
“That’s good news, but no,” Amaranthe said. “I’d like you to go with Sespian and Sicarius.”
Books blinked a few times. Meanwhile, Sespian eyed Sicarius warily out of the corners of his eyes. He’d grown less vocal about his distaste, but he hadn’t noticeably warmed up to the idea of having an assassin for a father.
“Go where? And to what end?” Books asked.
“As soon as people from that Forge meeting get up here, if they haven’t already, we can expect a newspaper announcement that shares the truth of Sespian’s heritage. Maybe they won’t bother as long as they believe he’s dead, but as soon as we present him as the rightful heir to the throne, they’ll seek to discredit him.”
“Correctly so,” Books said. “If his father is of lowborn origins, his claim to imperial rule comes only through his mother’s side.”
Sicarius’s flat expression turned toward Books. He probably didn’t care if he was “lowborn” or not, but Books squirmed and lifted an apologetic hand beneath the stare.
“True, but his mother’s line gives him as good a claim as many of the other potential candidates,” Amaranthe said, “with the possible exception of Ravido, thanks to the Marblecrests’ not-so-distant history with the throne, but what if Sicarius isn’t of lowborn origins?”
“What do you mean? We don’t know who his parents were, do we?” Books pointed at Sicarius.
“No,” Amaranthe said, “but we can surmise that Hollowcrest chose based on intelligence and physical prowess, hoping the offspring would receive the traits of the parents. If some notable Crest man were involved, the populace—and the Company of Lords—might find Sespian’s pedigree more appealing.”
“A Crest?” Maldynado sounded affronted as he regarded Sicarius with new eyes.
“For all we know, Fleet Admiral Starcrest could have been his father,” Amaranthe said.
A wistful expression flashed into Sicarius’s eyes; it was gone so quickly she doubted anyone else noticed it.
Books scoffed. “Starcrest wasn’t blond.”
“Not many Turgonian men are,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe Hollowcrest picked a Kyattese, Mangdorian, or Kendorian woman to birth him, in hopes that his features would be less classical empire, and that he’d be able to blend in when visiting other countries.”
“Visiting,” Sespian muttered.
Amaranthe ignored the grousing. She couldn’t blame him for that one. Visiting was an innocuous word for what Sicarius had really been doing when he entered other nations.
“This is baseless speculation,” Books said.
“At this point, yes. That’s why you’re going to research his heritage.”
Amaranthe met Sicarius’s eyes, wondering how he’d feel about having other team members prying into his past. She could send him alone—his records were probably in the Imperial Barracks somewhere, if they existed at all—but thought Books might have some useful insight into genealogy studies, should Hollowcrest’s notes prove difficult to decipher. Sicarius didn’t avoid her gaze, but he was being inscrutable, as usual.
“Is it necessary that I go?” Sespian asked, then rushed to add, “Someone should check on Fort Urgot and see what’s going on there.” It sounded like an excuse.
“Fort Urgot can wait,” Amaranthe said. “Aren’t you curious who your grandparents might be on your father’s side? What if they’re still alive?”
Sespian opened his mouth, but shut it again without saying anything. Sicarius’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. Surely he’d wondered before if his parents were still alive. Or maybe that twitch meant he already knew they weren’t.
“Whatever records remain of my training and inception would be in Hollowcrest’s office,” Sicarius said. “If his office hasn’t been disturbed.”
“It hasn’t been moved,” Sespian said, “but Forge owns a number of my… the intelligence officers who work in the Barracks. I’m sure it’s been searched.”
“But Forge didn’t have any knowledge of your true heritage until…” Amaranthe winced, reminded that she’d been the one to release the hounds, however inadvertently.
Forged in Blood I Page 1
