Forged in Blood I

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Nonetheless, I think we’ll have less opposition if we try to make these changes gradually.”

  “I think that a revolution must be swift, thus to catch the power players by surprise, or it’ll never take place at all. This is the time. Forget trying to win the favor of lords or even soldiers. It’s the common man to whom we must appeal. With no obvious choice to put forward as an imperial candidate, this is the ideal time for upheaval. If we wait… those currently in power are perfectly capable of burying my ideas in a quagmire of bureaucracy.”

  “Quagmire of bureaucracy?” Deret asked.

  “If your question is, ‘Does he always talk like that?’ the answer is yes,” Akstyr said.

  “No, I’m curious about these ideas and…” Deret leaned forward, eyeing the stack of papers on the desk. “What is that? Have you drafted up a proposition for a new government?”

  Deret oozed interest, and Books latched onto it like a tick on a dog. “Indeed I have. Would you like to see what I have so far?”

  Before Deret could do more than nod his head, Amaranthe gripped his arm. “You had other news, I believe?”

  Deret tore his attention from Books’s opus. “Yes. You’ve heard that the ships coming up the Goldar River are being detained, right? They’re being searched by the military to make sure no unauthorized troops or weapons are ferried into the city.”

  “Yes, we had to come in on foot to avoid being discovered that way ourselves,” Amaranthe said.

  “That’s not the only reason we came on foot,” Books murmured.

  Deret’s eyebrows arched.

  “We sank the steamboat we were taking upriver,” Akstyr said.

  “For good reason,” Amaranthe said when Deret’s curious gaze swung in her direction. “Books will explain it to you when you two chat.”

  “That should prove interesting,” Deret said. “The reason I bring it up is that there’s a ship being detained now that’s out of Kendor. The Dancing Salamander. One of my contacts got the roster, thinking there might be something newsworthy—warrior-caste families returning home who might have a sway in the succession struggle, that sort of thing.”

  “And?” Amaranthe prompted, though she had an idea as to why Deret was bringing this up.

  He dug a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. Amaranthe skimmed through the names, and her shoulders slumped at the familiar one two thirds of the way down the page. Suan Curlev.

  “Bloody ancestors, I knew she was coming, but I thought I had a couple of weeks.”

  “What is it?” Books leaned across the table to read the list.

  “The lady I want to impersonate may be arriving at the same time as me.”

  “The boats have been delayed up to twenty-four hours at the mouth of the lake,” Deret said.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be enough time, even if I go tomorrow. Unless…” Amaranthe tapped her chin. “Yara isn’t that enthused about going with us. Maybe she can stay here, while I take only my mental sciences adviser and the scribe who handles my business books.” She waved to Akstyr and Books, naming the roles she’d made up for them. “Deret, I don’t suppose you and Sergeant Yara would like to go on your own mission together?” Yara could hunt for weapons on the side.

  “I don’t know. I had a mission of my own planned. Besides, I can’t imagine what I’d talk about with a woman who finds Maldynado fascinating enough to sleep with.”

  “I’m not sure it’s his fascination that draws her,” Amaranthe said.

  Books snorted.

  “What mission did you have in mind?” Deret asked.

  “Nothing particularly challenging. Just kidnapping an intelligent globe-traveling woman and holding her here until I get back.”

  Books lifted a finger. “Perhaps I should volunteer for that one.”

  This time Amaranthe snorted. From the description, this Suan did sound like the type of woman for him. But… “I need you down there, Books. You and Akstyr, both. If Retta isn’t there, or if we can’t find her, we’re going to need to figure out how to destroy the Behemoth, or at least nullify it so Forge can’t use it. Success squabbles aside, Forge could take over the city with the power of that craft alone.”

  “I know,” Books said. “I understand.”

  Deret stroked his chin. “If I help you do this, will you help me take my newspaper back?”

  Amaranthe almost blurted a ‘yes’ right away—she’d much rather have an ally in charge of the city’s most influential paper than an enemy or indifferent party manning the presses—but she didn’t have many people left to send with him. “How quickly do you need it done?”

  “The sooner the better. Right now, the Gazette will be somewhat… disheveled. An ideal time to attack.”

  “I’ll help as soon as I’m able,” Amaranthe said. “You could take Yara now and… the two soldiers down there on guard. Maybe Akstyr can heal the injured one—” she almost choked on the idea of introducing a superstitious imperial man to magic that way, “—and you can take them on the kidnapping too.” Better to have them off on some mission than here alone where they might decide to wander back to their own unit and, oh, report the location of Lokdon, Sicarius, and their heinous band of outlaws while they were at it.

  “For my team, a woman and two soldiers inept enough to be caught by the likes of Maldynado, eh?” Deret asked.

  “Yara’s an enforcer sergeant and extremely capable.”

  “And the two soldiers?”

  “I don’t know them that well yet,” Amaranthe said. “They stand guard nicely.”

  “What an accolade,” Books said.

  Amaranthe spread her hands. “If Sicarius and the others return tonight with good news, I may have more men that I can assign to your task. Retaking the Gazette would benefit us as well, so I’d be pleased to help you with that.”

  Deret grimaced. At first she thought it was because Sicarius was the last person with whom he’d want to work, but he said, “That’s my second piece of news.”

  A heavy feeling of dread settled in Amaranthe’s stomach. “What is?”

  “Your other men… They went to Fort Urgot tonight, didn’t they?”

  “Yes…”

  “Fort Urgot has been surrounded by twenty thousand troops.”

  Amaranthe gaped at him and mouthed, “What?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve kept up with the papers, but Satrap Governor Lord General Heroncrest captured one of the railroads a couple of weeks ago, and he’s been ferrying soldiers into the area. He has enough of the right blood in his veins to make a bid for the throne. It seems he’s ready to make his first move.”

  Amaranthe dropped her head onto the desk. If her men had been caught inside, she might not see them for days. Or weeks. And Sicarius certainly wouldn’t be standing guard for her that night.

  • • •

  Inches of snow blanketed the walls around Fort Urgot as well as the window ledges in the clock tower overlooking the square. Thick flakes wafted down from the dark sky, and, even with a spyglass, Sicarius could barely see the knot of uniformed men huddled on a white field to the west. Four of General Ridgecrest’s officers were out there along with a small contingent from the invading army. Whatever they were discussing, they’d been at the conversation for some time.

  He shifted the focus of the spyglass to Ridgecrest and Sespian again. Along with several other officers, they stood on the west wall, overlooking the group of men on the field. Sespian was keeping his hood pulled close to his face. If anyone except Ridgecrest knew who he was, it wasn’t apparent.

  Hours had passed since the thousands of soldiers had amassed around the fort, and they were setting up tents and digging trenches out there, but no weapons had been fired since the opening rounds from the invaders, more of a warning to cooperate than a true attack. The auto cannons mounted on the walls remained quiescent, though they’d been loaded, ready in case the invaders drew close enough for an assault on the fort.

  Se
spian’s head turned, and he scanned the rooftops inside the compound. Looking for someone? His father? He must wonder where Sicarius and the others had gone, if they’d stayed inside or left him to fend for himself.

  Though it went against his nature—the last thing he wanted to do was draw a soldier’s attention to his position—Sicarius waved a hand when the searching gaze drifted in his direction. Sespian’s eyes lifted, then halted. They looked at each other for a moment, then Sespian turned back and responded to some comment Ridgecrest had made. It occurred to Sicarius that all Sespian would have to do was say a few words, and squads of soldiers could be sent to the clock tower with orders to kill him. Sespian didn’t have the heart of a murderer, but was it truly murder to give an order to have a notorious assassin slain? Or, in his eyes, was it justice? Perhaps he’d find that more amenable than having to deal with his father’s attempts at establishing a relationship with him.

  Stop being melodramatic, Sicarius told himself. Sespian might have once loathed him, but surely familiarity had resulted in a modicum of… tolerance. Hadn’t Amaranthe often said that people had a hard time killing those they knew? Of course, she had a knack for getting people to like her, not simply know her. Either way, he’d already picked a couple of likely escape routes if he had to flee the clock tower. Even if the exit below were blocked, he had rope in his pack and could toss a line to the wall or a rooftop. Besides, the soldiers were intent on those outside the walls at the moment.

  “Is there an army order against pissing in a corner of a clock tower?” Maldynado asked.

  With his back to the men, Sicarius didn’t see Basilard’s signed response.

  “Are you sure?” Maldynado asked. “You’re not even Turgonian. How would you know?”

  Sicarius ignored the conversation and shifted the spyglass back to the field. The knot of men was breaking up with the four from the fort heading back to the gate.

  “Fine.” Maldynado walked up to the window beside Sicarius. “Then is there a rule about pissing outside of a clock tower? We’ve been cooped up in here for hours, and I haven’t unleashed the snake since we left the warehouse.”

  Without lowering the spyglass, Sicarius turned his coldest stare onto Maldynado. “You will not urinate out the window.” Soldiers previously occupied by the invaders might develop an interest in the clock tower should suspiciously yellow snow catch someone’s eye.

  I told you, Basilard signed.

  “Where then?” Maldynado propped his hands on his hips. “The way things are going, we’ll be here for days. Even you can’t hold it that long.”

  A creak drifted up from the double doors marking the fort entrance. The four officers jogged through the sally port and headed for General Ridgecrest’s portion of the wall. Their route took them near the clock tower, so Sicarius drew back into the shadows, glancing at Maldynado to ensure his “snake” wasn’t anywhere near the window. Intent on their mission, the officers did not look up. They ran up the stairs, stopping before Ridgecrest, and a long dialogue ensued. At the end, Ridgecrest drew Sespian to the side.

  Sicarius lifted the spyglass again, trying to read lips. Ridgecrest’s back was to him, though, and he couldn’t decipher much of the conversation. After a few minutes, Sespian nodded, pointed toward the field, then walked down the stairs. Ridgecrest also descended, though he strode in another direction, toward the headquarters building in the center of a complex of offices.

  Sespian’s route zigzagged, first down one street, then up an alley, and Sicarius realized he must be coming to see him, choosing a route that someone watching from the wall wouldn’t be able to follow. Judging by the gesticulations and curses being flung in the direction of the army outside, few people were paying attention to him. Sicarius didn’t think anyone noticed him come out of an alley and jog across the square to the base of the clock tower.

  A soft thump drifted up from below, the sound of the door closing.

  “What was that?” Maldynado blurted, in the middle of… Sicarius stared at him. He had chosen a dim corner in which to relieve himself.

  I told you, Basilard signed again, this time adding, They’re coming for you.

  “What? Who?”

  The military police.

  “Very funny.”

  The wooden stairs leading to the top of the tower creaked. Cursing under his breath, Maldynado hastened to button himself in.

  A second step creaked, and this time it was Sespian who cursed under his breath. “Just so you know,” he called up softly, “I was stepping on the edges. These stairs are hundreds of years old. And creakier than a granny’s rocker.”

  Sicarius grunted softly and almost responded that it took time to master the art of stealth, but Maldynado and Basilard’s presence squelched his thoughts of speaking.

  Sespian climbed out of the shadows and went straight to Sicarius at the window. “I have a message for you.”

  Sicarius waited.

  “The confabulation out there wasn’t useful. General Ridgecrest hasn’t learned anything except that the army is being led by Satrap Governor Lord General Heroncrest—his are the soldiers who’ve been wearing the blue armbands around town—and that he has a lot more men in the area than anyone expected. He’s got one of the railroads, which everyone has known about, but the last stop before Stumps has been monitored, and that many people—” he waved toward the encamped army, “—never disembarked. We’re surmising that his men have been coming in day and night, but getting off at the previous stop and forming up in the mountains.”

  “This message is for me?” Sicarius asked.

  “No, but I thought you’d want to know the background information. What Ridgecrest is interested in from you is… he wants more intelligence, for someone to spy on that camp and report back to him.”

  Sicarius stared.

  “You can’t be surprised,” Sespian said. “Everyone’s heard of you. As his X.O. said, you’re legendary.”

  “He used that word?”

  “It was close to that word,” Sespian said. “His actual choice might have been infamous.”

  “I see.”

  “But Ridgecrest nodded.”

  “They thought of me for this intelligence-gathering endeavor? Of their own accord?” Sicarius deemed it unlikely. To the army, he was nothing more than a loathed criminal who’d killed dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers over the years. Besides, the general would have his own trained spies.

  “I… may have volunteered you,” Sespian said.

  “Oh, this should prove interesting,” Maldynado chimed in.

  Basilard gave him a shushing swat.

  Sicarius said nothing, merely waiting for a further explanation. He understood that Sespian wanted to ingratiate himself to Ridgecrest, but found it hard to believe the general would have accepted this offering.

  Sespian lifted a hand. “Now, before you get huffy…” He glanced at Maldynado and Basilard and whispered, “Does he ever get huffy?”

  Not in a manner that would cause most people to notice it, Basilard signed at the same time as Maldynado said, “Yes.”

  Sicarius stared at them briefly—this caused defensive shrugging, then squirming from Maldynado—before returning his attention to Sespian.

  “I’ve volunteered myself for the mission too,” he said.

  Maldynado gaped at Sespian. “You did what?”

  Though also surprised, Sicarius kept his face neutral. “You wish to go on a dangerous mission with me?”

  Sespian grimaced. “I’m not sure wish is the word, but I sense that this might improve General Ridgecrest’s opinion of me. He hasn’t been rude, but from a few comments… I had the impression he doesn’t have a lot of respect for… what did you call me?” He glanced at Maldynado. “Bookish?”

  “Bookly.”

  Basilard signed, Is that a word?

  Maldynado pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you start. I get hounded about words enough from Books.”

  “Bookly, yes,” Sespian said.
“I don’t think Ridgecrest respects bookly types as much as warriors.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” Maldynado said, dropping his goofy expression in favor of a more serious mien. “He came by the house some when I was a boy. He’d served a few years on the west coast and was a contemporary of Lord Admiral Starcrest. He had all sorts of respect for him, and by all accounts Starcrest was on the bookly side. But he used his smarts to succeed in war, and the stories say he was the type to lead men into battle, a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other.”

  Sicarius had wondered if Ridgecrest had ever met Starcrest. If the two had a past bond, it could prove useful if—

  “Perhaps I should have been asking you for cutlass- and pistol-wielding lessons these last weeks,” Sespian told Sicarius with a sigh.

  Sicarius refrained from pointing out that he’d been available and that if someone hadn’t been sulking someone could have had as many lessons as he wanted. “We can begin anytime you wish.”

  “Can we gather intelligence for Ridgecrest first?” Sespian asked. “Everything Maldynado said makes me believe my impression was correct, and that Ridgecrest might respect me more—no, be more willing to ally with me—if he saw that I’m capable of the sorts of physical feats that Turgonian emperors have always demonstrated. He needs to know that I’m a man who’s not afraid to walk into danger; I won’t simply hide in the Imperial Barracks and send others out to die for me.”

  Normally, Sicarius would approve of this line of reasoning, but the earlier howl of the soul construct concerned him. If the creature was, as he suspected, after Sespian, he’d be safer inside these walls and surrounded by thousands of people. Heroncrest might be the man who’d allied with the Nurians. If Sespian walked into their camp and was captured… Heroncrest would get rid of him in a second to make his own route to the throne simpler.

  Sespian cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the clock tower. “I know I’ll slow you down, but I thought… maybe you could show me a few things out there—the things you do so well. Less the throat-cutting ideally. Amaranthe said… I mean, it seems like you want to. Show me things, that is.” He gave a self-deprecating eye roll at the awkwardness of his words. This must mean much to him—perhaps he saw Ridgecrest as his only chance.