Forged in Blood I

by Lindsay Buroker

  “It can be trained, much like skills relying on muscle and agility can be improved, by practicing identifying scents. Punishment for failures cements the lesson in the mind more firmly.” Sicarius hesitated, realizing Sespian wouldn’t likely place himself in a situation where someone stood behind him with a whip, prepared to administer a correction should he fail to identify a tree species when blindfolded. “Rewards would work, too, likely.”

  Sespian opened his mouth, as if he might say something, but decided against it. He pointed at the I-shaped support beam, its rivets the only things offering handholds. “Do you want me to go first, so you can catch me if I fall?”

  “You may go first.”

  “No promise of catching me, eh?”

  “I will strive not to allow you to become damaged tonight,” Sicarius said.

  “An interesting way to put it.”

  Sespian wrapped his fingers around the post up high, then jumped, his feet slipping several times before he figured out a way to grip it with his legs. Lifting one hand at a time, he picked his way up, his speed increasing as he grew more familiar with the climb. Clumps of snow fell from above as he reached the top and slid out onto the narrow ledge. Sicarius touched his harpoon launcher, ensuring it was firmly secured, then climbed to the top in a couple of seconds. A ladder led up the side of the tank, and he skimmed up that as well. Wind, more pronounced so high above the ground, swirled the snow about and threatened to tear his fur cap from his head. He stopped at an edge overlooking the white expanse below that led, he remembered in his mind’s eye, to evergreen trees edging the parade field. He couldn’t see them through the snow, but he’d observed the area with a spyglass during the day, so he knew they were there and that there were tents in front of them. The trees rose a few meters behind the front edge of the camp. The roving guards would be marching past on snowshoes perhaps twenty meters out into the field.

  Sicarius prepared the harpoon for flight by attaching the thin, strong cable to it. Before they’d left, he’d wrapped it carefully so it would unspool without a hitch.

  “Uhm,” Sespian said, “I can’t see anything to shoot at over there. Are you going to tell me your eyes were enhanced by training as well?”

  “I have had vision training,” Sicarius said, “but I also cannot see the trees or the camp right now.”

  “Are you waiting for the snow to clear to shoot then?”

  “No. Our approach depends on the heavy snow to mask us.”

  Sespian waved at the harpoon launcher. “How’re you going to hit your target then? Even with a clear sky, it’d be almost impossible. Those trees are what, a hundred meters away?”

  “Slightly more.”

  “You’ll be lucky if the harpoon even reaches that far. I hope you don’t hit anyone. This isn’t how you’re planning to get rid of Heroncrest, is it?”

  “It’s unlikely he’ll be near the perimeter.”

  “That was a joke.”

  Sicarius tied the end of his cable to an eyelet and lifted the harpoon launcher to his shoulder. He closed his eyes, seeing the topography in his mind, conjuring up a picture of the tower, the field, and the trees. He’d been past the area often enough to be able to do so. Of late, his mind had been occasionally wandering on missions—a worrying sign of the distractions caused by this new fostering of interpersonal relationships—but he’d once been trained to notice everything, to analyze distance, patterns in nature, lifeforms, species of foliage, and every detail of the world around him as a way to remain focused and aware of his surroundings. Hollowcrest had often demanded he verbally relate those details or draw accurate to-scale representations of them.

  From his mental image of the trees, he selected an old, thick pine on the edge of the field. The softer wood would allow the harpoon to sink in deeply. The strong but fine cable he’d chosen didn’t weigh much, but he and Sespian were another matter.

  When he was certain of his aim, Sicarius pulled the trigger. The harpoon sped away, the cable trailing behind it. Though he’d shown only confidence to Sespian, he waited, doubting, in the long seconds that followed. The heavy snowfall continued to hide the trees, and it was only the fact that the cable stopped speeding past that he knew the harpoon had struck something. Judging by the few meters of tail left, it had struck at the right distance. The angle suggested an elevated height too. In truth, he wouldn’t know if he’d pegged his chosen pine until he reached the harpoon.

  Sicarius tested the strength of the anchor, then retied the cable, pulling it taut. He fastened a couple of screw pin shackles he’d dug out of one of the mechanic’s shops inside the fort. Lastly, he attached short ropes for handholds. He’d been listening as he worked and hadn’t heard any shouts drift across the snow to suggest someone had noticed the harpoon thunking into camp—or the cable stretching overhead. The falling flakes must be providing adequate camouflage, for the moment.

  “Give me a minute to get down there and, if necessary, subdue nearby guards.” Sicarius pushed one of the screws toward the end of the cable and nodded for Sespian to grip it. “There’s no way to brake with your hands, so we’ll use our boots. Don’t let yourself get going too fast, or it’ll be difficult to slow down in time. Remember there’s a tree at the other end.”

  Sespian snorted. “If it’s the pine tree you claim it is, I’ll eat my boot.”

  Sicarius gazed blandly at him.

  “Perhaps just the tongue.”

  “One minute,” Sicarius said. “I’ll be waiting on the ground.”

  Grabbing the rope grips with either hand, Sicarius pushed away from the tower. He mentally prepared himself to land in the snow on the slope of the hill if the anchor failed and the cable wilted, but it held fast, and he sped into the night. Mindful of Sespian watching, he swung his legs up, using the sole of one boot and the side of the other to cup the cable and apply friction to slow his descent. As he swept downward, closing on the camp, a steam tramper on patrol clanked past below. He sped over its mechanical back without the pilot ever seeing him. Campfires came into view next, and he made out a few silhouettes of tents, though the trees coming up dominated his attention. He braked further, the scent of scorched leather reaching his nose—he’d need new boots after this.

  The familiar outline of a pine, its needles longer than those of the firs beside it, formed out of the snow. He alighted on a branch forty feet in the air. Though tempted to wait and see if Sespian needed help, Sicarius descended instead. If anyone had witnessed his approach—or heard the harpoon thunking into the tree—there could be armed soldiers poised at the bottom.

  Dagger in his mouth, he half climbed and half slid the last twenty feet. When he landed, the weapon was in his hand.

  But nobody waited in the snow-free hollow at the base of the pine. He peered up at the gray sky, searching for evidence of his cable. Even knowing its location, he couldn’t spot it. Good. There was no way to cut it down without the risk of someone seeing it fall, so they had to leave it intact.

  Lanterns burned along paths winding between tents and past clearings filled with parked vehicles. Heroncrest’s men had settled in, prepared for the possibility of a long siege. The smoke of coal stoves hung densely around the camp, filling Sicarius’s nostrils. He’d have a hard time impressing Sespian with his olfactory skills with that pall blotting out lesser odors. Snores came from a few tents, but the susurrus of dozens of conversations filled the camp.

  It would have been safer to come later, when more people were sleeping, but this way there was a chance they’d overhear plans being formulated. The boughs of the evergreens blocked some of the snowfall, and Sicarius picked out a large tent a couple dozen meters away with lanterns on either side of the door flap. Numerous people were talking inside. It was unlikely that he and Sespian would stumble upon the command tent so easily, but it was worth checking.

  Pine needles fluttered down, dusting Sicarius’s shoulders. He took that to mean Sespian had arrived. He hadn’t heard a telltale thump—or gru
nt of pain that would suggest a clumsy landing. Good.

  A few seconds later, Sespian dropped to the ground beside him. He, too, had pulled out a knife. A lantern burning outside the closest tent provided just enough light for Sicarius to see the huge grin of exhilaration splitting his son’s face. He must have enjoyed the airborne ride. The grin pleased Sicarius, an unusual feeling for him. Perhaps it had something to do with why Amaranthe was always trying to get him to smile.

  After glancing about, Sespian pointed to the large tent and signed, That way?

  Sicarius nodded and, fur cap pulled down to hide his blond hair, led the way. Instead of skulking amongst the shadows, he strode across the snow-dusted forest floor, as if he were a soldier sent scurrying off on some mission from a superior. It’d take forever to search the camp if they stuck to stealth, and with the uniforms for disguises, he deemed the tradeoff for speed worth the risk of being stopped. If necessary, they could tie up anyone who confronted them.

  Sespian followed suit, and they soon arrived at the large tent. It was only a chow hall. From the sounds of the conversations within, the soldiers had long since finished their meals and were using the tent as a common area for games of Tiles and Bones.

  Scrapes and clanks came from an attached kitchen on the backside where a few lowly privates scrubbed at pots. Sicarius paused and grabbed a couple of empty water jugs, gesturing for Sespian to do the same. They’d be less likely to be stopped by a sergeant or officer if they appeared to be on some mission already.

  So laden, they continued on, ostensibly in search of a lorry hauling the potable water tank, but Sicarius took in every detail of the camp as they walked. Other soldiers were about, but most had their heads down as they hustled from one tent to the next, in no mood to linger outside as the temperature dropped. Still, he was careful to avoid getting too close. As one would expect this close to an enemy outpost, everyone carried his rifle and ammo belt. It didn’t matter that “the enemy” was a part of the same army. The weapons were standard army issue—muzzle-loading rifles that required reloading after each shot—rather than the more advanced Forge firearms.

  A large clearing held a pair of mechanics’ tents and numerous lorries, rough-terrain trampers and armored steamers. Sicarius halted, his back to a tree, to eye a large conical shape on the back of a flatbed.

  “Any idea where the command tent is?” Sespian whispered, stopping beside him. He was glancing all around, but hadn’t noticed the object of Sicarius’s interest yet. “We’ve passed three water tanks. If anybody’s watching us… What are you looking at?”

  “Unless I am mistaken, that’s a replacement drill head for a tunnel-boring machine.”

  Sespian took a longer look at the vehicle yard. “I guess they’re not going to be content to wait for us to run out of food and water, eh?” He brushed snow out of his eyelashes and squinted at the huge drill head in consideration. “If they’re down there tunneling, that’d be a lot of effort to get into Fort Urgot, wouldn’t it? There’s nothing that strategic about it except for the troops housed within. Granted, they’ll be more likely to surrender—something imperial men are notoriously bad about doing—if the fort is compromised from within, but…”

  “It may be a practice run for taking the Imperial Barracks.”

  “Oh. Good point. The Barracks are on a rocky hilltop, so the borer makes even more sense. Too bad we can’t just shoo Heroncrest along and send him straight to harass Ravido.”

  Sicarius pointed at a conglomeration of tents on the other side of the vehicle clearing, all well lit. “That may be the command area we seek.”

  “It’s busy.” Sespian waved toward the soldiers coming and going. “I see a lot of pins with officer rank too. People who’ll recognize you even if you’re wearing a uniform and carrying a water jug.”

  “You’re worried about them recognizing me? My face isn’t on the currency.”

  A hair-raising howl floated across the fields, cutting off whatever Sespian’s reply might have been. Sicarius’s humor evaporated; there was no mistaking that eerie cry for anything except the otherworldly. It sounded as if the source were miles away, but with the muffling effect of the snow, it could be much closer.

  “We should hurry,” he said. “This way.”

  Sespian didn’t object. He followed closely and didn’t ask questions when Sicarius diverted into the vehicle area. Guards stood at the corners of the clearing, but the towering lorries and trampers provided cover.

  The flap of one of the mechanics’ tents stirred, and two soldiers walked out. Their route would take them straight toward Sicarius and Sespian. For a moment, Sicarius thought about testing their disguises, but the soldiers might wonder why someone was hunting for water amongst the vehicles. He chose a different option.

  After tapping Sespian’s arm to ensure he was paying attention, Sicarius set the water jug in the shadow of a tire, then slithered under a lorry. Sespian joined him, and they remained silent as the two sets of boots crunched through the snow two feet away. Instead of continuing to some destination, the pair of soldiers stopped at the front of the lorry. A soft rasp sounded, then the scent of burning tobacco reached Sicarius’s nose. They’d be there a while. He tapped Sespian again, then crawled toward the opposite end of the lorry. Instead of rising, he chose a route that continued beneath the vehicles, using them for cover as he drew closer to the command area.

  Perhaps fifteen feet away from the largest tent, he had to stop. The row of lorries had ended, and he was looking at the gangly legs of a steam tramper; two of the towering vehicles were parked side by side. Sicarius eased into a crouch, intending to slip between those legs and head straight for the tent. But, as Sespian had pointed out, there were numerous soldiers coming and going. In addition, the trampers were in full view of a guard at the corner of the vehicle area.

  Sicarius eyed the boxy metal bodies above the pillar-like legs. Cannons stuck out of raised portholes on the side, not dissimilarly to an imperial warship on the high seas. The top of the body would be flat, aside from a gunner’s turret.

  “This way,” he breathed to Sespian.

  When the guard had his head turned, Sicarius darted to the closest leg. He climbed up it, his sensitive fingers finding handholds on the icy metal. Cold snow waited on the top. He slid his fingers beneath it to grasp the edge, so he could swing his legs up. He dropped to his belly and gripped Sespian’s arm as soon as it was close enough. Sicarius pulled him over the edge. Staying low, he crossed to the opposite side. Again waiting for the guard’s head to be turned, he leaped the five-foot gap between the two trampers, landing lightly in the snow on the opposite one. Sespian followed, landing almost as easily.

  “Good,” Sicarius whispered. Though speaking wasn’t wise, it seemed important to let Sespian know that he approved of his efforts.

  They dropped to their bellies on the top of the tramper, the cold snow pressing against their parkas. They squirmed to the edge closest to the large tent. Two flags were thrust into the ground on either side of the entrance. From across the vehicle clearing, Sicarius hadn’t been able to make out the patterns on the material, but he could see them now: the crossed swords on a blue background—the empire’s flag—and a gold pick crossed over a musket and powder horn—the Damark Satrapy’s flag. Lord Heroncrest did indeed govern that northern region.

  Sicarius slipped out his black dagger. He would listen for what intelligence might be had, but he intended to eliminate Heroncrest that night, cutting out this thorn before it embedded itself more deeply and festered. He thought of sending Sespian away, making some pretense of going back to check on something, but he doubted that’d spare any harsh feelings. No, he’d simply do what he intended, no lies, no excuses.

  “That’s the command tent, right?” Sespian whispered.

  He scooted closer to the edge, shoulder to shoulder with Sicarius. Touching. It was the first time Sicarius could remember Sespian coming that close of his own volition. He rubbed his thumb against the
side of his dagger. Killing Heroncrest… It’d put distance between him and his son again.

  Regrettable, but Sespian would be better served by a quick resolution to the succession.

  A captain trailed by a private carrying a notebook hustled for the command tent. He ducked inside without a word, but voices started up soon after.

  “News, Captain Bearovic?” It was an older man’s voice, General Heroncrest, Sicarius guessed, though he’d never heard the man speak and couldn’t be positive.

  “Yes, sir. Our intelligence men have reported back. Ravido Marblecrest is still in the Imperial Barracks and has approximately two thousand troops within the walls there and another fifteen thousand maintaining the peace in the city. So far, they’re not openly attacking your men, and nobody’s that concerned about Flintcrest’s forces on the other side of the lake, but there have been isolated incidents between factions. There have also been a few altercations with civilians, university students mostly, who liked Emperor Sespian’s progressive policies. They’re causing trouble, demanding to know what really happened to him. They’re pointing out that nobody’s seen his body.”

  Sespian’s head lifted. “I have supporters?” he whispered, a speculative note to his tone. Perhaps he was thinking he could make an appearance at the University and try to find men to back him there. But the young academic pups would be slaughtered if they tried to cross swords with soldiers.

  “Because his body was incinerated in a train wreck,” Heroncrest snapped.

  “Are we certain about that, sir?” the captain asked. “We only have Marblecrest’s word, right? And he’s apparently being fed information by that gaggle of women.”

  Sespian leaned closer to Sicarius to whisper, “It’s good that Ravido’s colleagues don’t seem to respect him or his alliance. We just have to prove that I’m the better option.”

  “And eliminate the Forge threat,” Sicarius responded. “As powerful as that coalition is, it won’t matter if anyone else supports Ravido or not.”