Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 4

Twilight darkened the banks of the Goldar River by the time Maldynado and Yara neared Crow Landing, an old mill yard that had been turned into a park after the timber industry waned. Lights burned in nearby cottages, but this quiet part of town lacked the gas lamps and multi-story tenements of the busier city across the water. No lamps at all burned in the park, though Maldynado could make out old donkey engines and cutting blades taller than men that had been turned into sculptures. In the fading light, they cast strange, dark shadows across the fields and trails.

Maldynado expected the emperor and the rest of the team to be waiting near the park entrance, but nobody called out when he and Yara arrived.

“Nobody’s eager to try on their new clothing?” Maldynado asked, voice loud enough to carry.

Maybe the others were simply being cautious and staying out of sight. Not a bad idea. Maldynado had seen more soldiers patrolling the streets on the way out of the city core. It’d been so nice of Sicarius to run around assassinating people so that all of the authorities were on edge. One of the guards on the bridge had questioned why Maldynado and Yara were leaving the city so soon, and at night. Fortunately, Maldynado had annoyed the men into waving them through by overzealously handing out business cards and touting the clothing at Madame Mimi’s Evenglory Boutique.

“Perhaps they’re worried your outfits will accentuate their curves,” Yara grumbled.

Maldynado shouldn’t have mentioned her outfit. She hadn’t seen the clothes yet, but she’d commented several times already that they’d be too frilly to be practical.

“The only thing curving on Basilard are his dagger blades. I have, on occasion, accused Books of having womanly attributes, but I don’t think breasts are among them.” Maldynado sniffed. “I smell a fire. Maybe they found a camp spot by the river.”

“It’s cold. Most of the houses around here have stoves going.” Yara waved toward the homes abutting the park.

“Coal stoves, yes.” Maldynado started down an unlit trail that seemed to head toward the shore. “I smell a wood fire. And is that the scent of cooking fish? Basilard must be making something for the emperor.”

“I hope it’s an improvement over those meat bars.”

Though the gravel trail wasn’t wide, Yara insisted on walking beside Maldynado on it. Perhaps she relished the idea of bumping arms and hips with him. He didn’t mind, but figured it more likely that she simply refused to acknowledge him as her leader.

“Basilard’s a fine chef. You’d be amazed at what he can do with roots and herbs scavenged from the middle of the woods.” Maldynado patted his belly, intentionally bumping Yara’s arm with his elbow. She scowled at him, and he smiled. “He’ll fill our bellies with palatable victuals. A good thing too. Meals have been infrequent this week, and my pants are fitting too loosely. Women like to run their hands along your chiseled muscles; they’re less enamored by the touch of boney ribs. I’m sure you’d agree.”

“I don’t let women touch my chiseled anything. I-what’s that?” Yara pointed to the trail ahead.

Maldynado stopped. A shadowy form lay across the path, dark against the pale gravel. He sighed. “Given how things go for this crew, I’d guess a body.”

“One of your people?” Yara’s hand dropped to the short sword belted at her waist.

“I’d be terribly disappointed in their training if that were the case.” Maldynado kept his tone light, but a tendril of concern wormed its way into his stomach. He set down his shopping bags, so they wouldn’t encumber him in a fight.

“Someone one of your people killed?” Yara’s tone grew harder.

While they spoke, Maldynado eyed their surroundings. The sculptures and hedges lining the park, along with the darkness itself, provided countless hiding places. Frogs croaked by the river. An owl hooted from the direction of an old mill, a two-story timber building a hundred meters away. Maldynado seemed to remember that it had been refurbished and turned into a dance hall at some point in the past. Right now, darkness blanketed it, and his imagination conjured not dancers but snipers crouched in the loft, observing the park through the open windows.

“Watch my back,” Maldynado murmured and continued down the trail.

This time Yara let him go ahead. Hand on the hilt of his rapier, Maldynado crept closer to the still form. It was definitely a person, though low foliage on either side of the trail blocked the view of the head and legs. Black clothing covered the body. Good. Nobody on their team had been wearing black, unless Sicarius had come back for the purpose of dying on a random park path. That was about as likely as the man developing a sense of humor.

Maldynado drew his rapier and prodded the body. It didn’t move. He crouched for a closer inspection and wished he’d thought to pick up lanterns while he’d been shopping.

Blood stained the gravel and saturated the person’s shirt. Maldynado rolled over the body, revealing a man with short-cropped hair and a clean-shaven face. A soldier, perhaps, though the tight-fitting black outfit was more suited to an assassin’s trade than the battlefield. A crumpled hood lay next to the head. Someone else had been there, trying to identify the man.

Soft crunches sounded behind him-Yara edging closer.

“Knife fight, I think,” Maldynado whispered.

“You think?”

“Sorry, identifying killing techniques by starlight isn’t something my boyhood tutors covered.”

“If you hadn’t spent so much time selecting curve-enhancing outfits, we could have stumbled across it in daylight.”

Maldynado wasn’t sure if that was a criticism or a joke. Maybe some of both. “I don’t think it would have been here then. His skin is still warm.”

Down by the river, the frogs stopped croaking.

Maldynado lifted his head.

“Your colleagues?” Yara murmured.

“Let’s find out.”

Though only a smear of twilight remained, Maldynado didn’t want to stroll straight down the path where his silhouette might be visible against the distant backdrop of houselights. The gravel wasn’t conducive to sneaking either. He veered into the knee-deep grass and wildflowers alongside the path and angled toward an old log-hauling wagon. Behind it, a row of hedges defined one of the park’s boundaries. He and Yara could follow the shrubbery to the river, hiding in the shadows.

Dew drops dangling from the vegetation hadn’t yet turned to frost, and water soon soaked the cuffs of Maldynado’s new trousers. The mercenary life was not conducive to maintaining a fine wardrobe. He wondered what Cousin Lita and the rest of his family would think if they knew what he did for a living. Or maybe the family did know. Could that by why they wanted him back? If Ravido had learned that Maldynado had been training with the infamous Sicarius and had more combat experience than anyone else in the family, maybe he wanted Maldynado for help with the coup.

“Right,” Maldynado muttered. Father was, more likely, embarrassed by having to explain that his youngest son was roaming around with outlaws and assassins. He probably wanted to bring Maldynado back and put him to work on one of the family’s remote wineries, so he couldn’t continue to make a spectacle of himself in the capital.

Distracted by the thoughts, Maldynado almost missed the soft clack, clack that whispered across the park.

“What was that?” Yara asked. She’d been doing an admirable job of walking silently behind him.

“It sounded like it came from the old mill.”

Maldynado wondered if they should have searched in that direction first. The grounds around it were open, though, and, if someone waited in there, odds weren’t in favor of being able to sneak up without being noticed.

“Let’s check the river first,” Maldynado said.

A dozen paces ahead, water lapped at the banks. The frogs remained silent.

The hedge ended at a pebbly beach. Downstream, a hint of orange came into view-burning embers in a campfire. Maldynado didn’t see anyone, but reeds strangled the shoreline in places, and driftwood large enough to hide behind littered the beach.

Staying low, he headed for the fire. The grasses and vegetation weren’t high enough to provide much camouflage, and Maldynado felt vulnerable as they approached, but nobody jumped out at them, nor did snipers start shooting from the mill. He and Yara reached the remains of the campfire. Cook fire, Maldynado amended, after almost stepping in a refuse hole filled with fish heads and bones. A flat rock by the fire held the oily remnants of a fried meal. Hints of green drew him closer. Yes, those were the remains of herbs-most people in the empire would call them weeds-that someone had chopped to add to the fish. Only Basilard would scavenge up seasonings for a meal cooked on a rock.

“They were here,” Maldynado said.

Foliage rustled. That was the only warning Maldynado received.

He spun toward the brush in time to see a dark figure leaping out of the night at him. The outline of a knife was visible against the night sky, a knife meant to pierce Maldynado’s back, but he dropped to his belly before his attacker reached him.

“Visitors,” Maldynado barked for Yara’s sake as he rolled away from the fire pit.

A twang cut through the air-a crossbow firing. The quarrel bit into the pebbles inches from Maldynado’s face, spraying sand. He leaped to his feet, his rapier in hand, his back to the river. Two hooded men charged him. Two more men were already trading blows with Yara on the other side of the campfire.

Before Maldynado’s attackers crashed into him, he leaped to the side of one. As Sicarius had so often demonstrated in group sparring practice, the way to fight multiple opponents was not to fight multiple opponents. If he kept one in the way of the other, he’d only have to face the nearest man.

As the closest figure spun toward him, Maldynado launched a feint-stab combination to test his opponent. With multiple foes to worry about, the temptation was to rush and try to finish one first, but a man in a hurry could make mistakes. Especially in such poor lighting.

Maldynado’s feint didn’t fool his attacker. Steel clashed against steel and the jolt of a hard parry from a heavier weapon ran up his arm. The follow-up came by way of a combination of slashes, alternating toward his chest and thighs. His foe wielded a saber, and Maldynado recognized the style. Pure army. The sort of combinations that were drilled into young soldiers during their early years of training. The attacks were competent, but lacked the lightning speed of something from Sicarius or even Basilard. Maldynado kept his feet moving, so the second man couldn’t circle around his comrade, and parried blows while waiting for his foe to repeat a familiar pattern. Further, he used the man’s body to block any snipers aiming at him from the brush.

The second man made a wide circle in a new attempt to reach his side, so Maldynado decided to take care of him first. Without slowing his parries, or looking at the encroaching foe, he dipped his left hand to his belt and drew the utility knife there. Using his swordplay to hide the movement, he readied the shorter blade to throw.

“What’s the story with the hoods?” Maldynado asked, hoping to further distract the men. “The executioner look isn’t in fashion this season, you know.”

The hooded figure in front of him said nothing, though, as the saber blows failed to hit more than steel, his movements grew faster and choppier, a sign of growing frustration. Good. Maldynado would turn defense to offense in a moment, but he wanted the second man out of the ring first. He continued to defend, his sword gliding from side to side, eyes ostensibly focused on the opponent to his front, until the other fellow committed himself to a charge.

Without missing a parry, Maldynado hurled the knife. The blade took the man in the chest with enough force to stop him mid-run. He pitched sideways, hands clutching his chest as he thudded to the pebbles.

The attack startled the first man, and he stumbled on a rock. Maldynado knew he had the man off-balance and didn’t bother with a feint. He batted his foe’s blade to the side and lunged in, leading with his rapier. Under other circumstances, he might have tried to subdue his foe instead of stabbing him, but Yara, enmeshed in a battle of her own, might need help. His rapier slid between ribs, and the man screamed. His saber clattered onto the pebbles.

Maldynado pulled his blade free and raced around the campfire. One of Yara’s attackers lay prone a couple feet away from her, but she was on the ground, entangled with the other. Even as Maldynado ran toward them, Yara yelped with pain, and the dark figure found his way on top. He straddled Yara, holding her down with one hand while the other raised a knife, ready to plunge it deep.

Maldynado leaped, kicking the blade as he came down beside them.

Yara’s attacker snarled and reached for another weapon on his belt, but Maldynado launched a second kick, this time into the person’s shoulder. The man tumbled sideways, helped aside by an angry thrust from Yara. She jumped to her feet, landing in a crouch, hands balled into fists. She snatched her sword up from the rocks and looked like she was going to ram it down the man’s throat.

Not certain any of the other three would live, and figuring information would be helpful, Maldynado lifted an arm to block her at the same time as he stepped on the fallen man’s shoulder to keep him from going anywhere. Yara snarled, and Maldynado wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t ram her sword down his throat. Saving a woman didn’t count for as much as it once had.

Maldynado grabbed the man by the shirt and pinned him to the beach. His prisoner snatched a handful of pebbles and hurled them at him. They plunked off his chest. After what Maldynado had endured in the recent train battle, the pebbles were laughable. Using both hands, he hauled the man to his feet. More than his feet. The man lacked Maldynado’s height, so his toes dragged across the pebbles. It wasn’t necessary, but Maldynado hefted him a couple more inches into the air, in case such power might impress Yara.

She said nothing, merely yanking the figure’s hood off. A young, short-haired man sneered at them.

“Who are you?” Maldynado asked. “Why’d you attack us?”

The prisoner growled.

“That’s not an acceptable answer.” Maldynado lowered one arm and curled his fingers into a ball. He wasn’t much for torturing folks, but a fist to the belly often softened a man’s resistance-or caused him to throw up on one’s shoes.

Twang!

A crossbow quarrel sped out of the darkness and sliced into the outside of Maldynado’s arm. He cursed and released his prisoner. The man sprinted for the river. During the split second Maldynado was debating whether to chase him or hurl himself to the ground and find cover- idiot, how had he forgotten the crossbowman? — Yara raced into the brush. Afraid she’d be shot, Maldynado charged after her.

Before he reached the undergrowth, foliage thrashed ahead of him, followed by a loud thunk.

“Awk!” came a man’s pained cry.

Leaves rattled, and the crossbow wielder darted onto the beach, dropping his weapon when it caught on a bush. He leaped over the campfire and dove into the river. His comrade had already disappeared into the water. Splashes announced enthusiastic swimming, and Maldynado couldn’t muster the desire to hurl himself into the river on a cold night to give chase.

“Brave men.” Yara picked up the discarded crossbow and waved it in the air.

“Well, you did hit him,” Maldynado guessed. “And you’re an intimidating figure. He probably lost the urge to fight after he wet himself.”

Yara snorted.

Maldynado headed for her, but paused, his gaze drawn by a light across the park.

“Thanks for helping,” Yara half-mumbled. “Not that I couldn’t have handled those two on my own, but, if I hadn’t been able to, it’s good you were there to-Maldynado, are you listening?”

“Uhm.” Maldynado pointed at the mill building where soft green light glowed behind the windows and seeped out through cracks between the timbers. “This night is getting stranger and stranger.”

• • •

Maldynado and Yara crouched beside a rusty donkey engine ten meters from the mill. The stout machine, with its broad base and vertical boiler, offered the last bit of cover before one had to cross the gravel paths and short-cropped grass surrounding the old building. A pair of tall, split-log doors marked the front of the structure. One stood ajar, allowing a slash of sickly green light to flow out.

“What’s the plan?” Yara whispered.

“I was hoping the rest of the team would show up and tell us,” Maldynado said. They’d passed two more bodies on their way to the mill, but encountered no sign of their comrades.

“Do you always wait for others to take charge?”

“Surely, as an enforcer, you’re familiar with the chain-of-command concept. And with being one of the lower links.”

“Surely you’re familiar with the concept of the lower links being capable enough to step up and take charge when the upper links aren’t around.”

A snippy comment came to Maldynado’s lips, about how she wasn’t taking charge or offering ideas either, but he merely said, “Not really. If Amaranthe is missing, Sicarius bosses people around. If they’re both gone, Books lectures us until we submit to him. If those three are all gone… it’s usually time to go find a drink and a woman.” He rubbed his head. Maybe it was the arguing, but a headache had taken up residence behind his eyes.

“Your devotion to your duty is impressive,” Yara said.

“You should be impressed that, in the absence of my teammates, I haven’t dragged you off into the bushes to engage in carnal relations yet.”

Yara bared her teeth. “You could try.”

Maldynado wouldn’t admit it, but he found the idea of facing rogue soldiers and creepy magic less intimidating. “I’ll look in the mill. Watch my back, will you?” He flicked a finger at the crossbow Yara had claimed for herself.

“Acceptable.”

At least she was willing to take orders if he gave them. Yara must believe that, as a newer member of the team, she held a lower rank than he did. Or maybe she just wanted him to be the one to wander in and get fried by some strange, light-emitting doodad.

After eyeing each window and door for signs of people-snipers, more specifically-Maldynado crept toward the closest wall. Full darkness had fallen, but the green light leaking between the timbers cast its glow onto the grass. His skin appeared sallow under the influence. His headache grew in intensity, and he thought of the device Shaman Tarok had deposited in the lake the spring before, and how its power had contaminated water over a hundred miles away, not to mention filling the forest with deranged glowing-eyed animals. Maldynado hoped this light lacked similar properties.

He paused a few steps from a window with a shattered pane. A crossbow quarrel protruded from the frame, and a second one had probably been responsible for the breakage.

Careful not to make a sound, Maldynado eased closer. Scratched and dulled by time, the window offered a poor view. He wiped away a circle of grime and spattered grass clippings from the last mowing. A single, large room with worn wooden floorboards stretched before him. Old mill machinery, the cutting blades removed, had been pushed into corners, leaving a large open area in the center. A squat cylindrical device sat on the floor, emitting the light from four holes in a dome-shaped top.

Two men lay crumpled on the floor on either side of it.

“Emperor’s balls,” Maldynado whispered. It was Books and Akstyr, neither of them moving. Maldynado wasn’t even sure if they were breathing.

For a second, he thought about running inside and dragging them out, but the dull ache behind his eyes had turned to stabbing pain. He had to escape that light for a minute. He and Yara could figure out what to do from across the field.

Before Maldynado could step away from the window, cold, sharp steel touched his neck. Curse Yara, she was supposed to be watching his back.

His first notion was to hurl an elbow backward and try to catch his attacker off balance, but the dagger pressed deeper. Another hair, and it’d slice into his flesh.

Maldynado eased his hands out to the sides, palms open. “Mind if we step away from the light?” he murmured, careful not to let his emperor’s apple dance about-and get cut. “I think it’s melting my brain.”

“Tell me what you know about it.”

Maldynado’s jaw dropped, a movement he promptly regretted, because it made the knife cut into his skin. But the speaker-the person with the blade to his throat-was the emperor.

“Sire?” Maldynado squeaked.

“Did you arrange for this trap when you were in town?”

“No! We were shopping. Look, I’ll show you our bags. We left them on the path-”

“Sire,” came Yara’s voice. “He didn’t arrange this. There was a conversation I should tell you about, but I heard enough to know it wasn’t about sending men to your hiding place.”

Maldynado bit his lip to keep from snapping at Yara for not warning him about Sespian’s approach. Best to stand still and not dig himself into a hole-a deeper hole.

A long moment passed before the blade disappeared from Maldynado’s neck. He touched his skin and grimaced when blood came away on his fingers.

Arms wide, Maldynado turned, intending to impress upon Sespian just how innocent he was, but the emperor was already stalking away. Basilard had joined Yara by the steam donkey. His approach must have kept her from noticing Sespian as he sneaked up on Maldynado. That Sespian could sneak so well was surprising. Maldynado might have to reassess his image of the young emperor as a harmless, bookish sort.

Basilard waved for attention as soon as everyone stood in the shadow of the donkey engine. Maldynado realized he was the only one there who could understand his hand signs.

We routed the men in black, but we must figure out a way to retrieve Books and Akstyr. Basilard pointed to the building. That device didn’t start glowing and affecting us — he paused to touch his temple- until they were inside. The men with the crossbows tried to ambush us while we ate. I noticed them coming, and we took to the field, but there were a lot of them firing rapidly. We decided to take cover in the mill. As soon as we approached, Akstyr said he sensed magic inside. We were being shot at, so he and Books volunteered to go in and investigate. I don’t know if they turned the device on or if it fired up of its own accord, but they fell unconscious before they could run back out. It’s been at least twenty minutes, and they haven’t moved.

“What’s he saying?” Yara asked.

Maldynado translated.

When he finished, Sespian added, “It was a trap. I think we were all meant to be in there when the device turned on. I don’t know how these men knew we were here-” the look Sespian gave Maldynado dripped with significance, “-but they did.”

“Sire,” Yara said, “it’s possible the soldiers identified you when the group stopped on the road to discuss crossing the bridge. Just because we didn’t have spyglasses doesn’t mean they lacked them.”

It felt strange to have Yara come to his defense, but Maldynado was relieved she was doing so. “How many of these blokes in black did you cut down?” he asked. “Any idea whose stray cubs they are?”

Basilard considered the park while he tallied numbers on his fingers. Fourteen.

“Fourteen?” Yara asked. “Just the two of you?”

Though he knew Basilard possessed a great deal of competence, not to mention the stealthy feet of a cat, even Maldynado found the number surprising.

The emperor is a capable fighter, Basilard signed.

Sespian watched his fingers, trying to learn the hand code perhaps.

“He says you’re a capable fighter,” Maldynado said when Sespian looked to him for a translation. “That’s moderate to high praise from Basilard. If Sicarius ever says that, it’ll mean you can thump ninety-nine out of a hundred men. Possibly all at the same time.”

Yara snorted.

Sespian seemed less amused by the attempt at humor. “We must find a way to retrieve your comrades. The men who originally attempted to ensnare us in the mill are… gone- dead. ” Sespian winced, apparently not pleased that he’d been forced to such action. “But it’s possible they have allies around, allies who might have been alerted when the device went off. Practitioners can do things with their minds and create links to objects they made that are beyond our ken.”

So, the emperor knew a thing or two about magic. That was good since their expert, insomuch as Akstyr could be considered one, was unconscious. Or worse.

“Any idea how to get them without passing out? I’ll go in and do whatever needs to be done.” Given how suspicious everyone was of him lately, Maldynado figured he’d better volunteer for heroics at every chance.

“I’ve been musing over that.” Sespian squatted down, draping his elbows over his knees. “You’ve noticed how getting closer to the light causes pain behind your eyes?”

“Looking in the window made my head feel like someone had chained me down and forced me to listen to Books’s lectures all day.” Maldynado glanced about, expecting Books to glare at him or come up with a vocabulary-heavy rejoinder, before remembering that Books was in trouble. “Yes, I noticed,” he said more seriously. “I didn’t know if it was the light or something else.”

It’s the light, Basilard signed. The pain intensifies when you look at it.

“So, we ought to be able to close our eyes, stroll in, and collect our people?” Maldynado asked.

“You can still feel it through your lids.” Yara had closed her eyes and turned toward the beam slanting through the open door. Her brow wrinkled. “Pain.” She turned her back on the mill. “No pain.”

Maldynado lifted a finger, then trotted back to the riverbank. He grabbed one of the discarded hoods the men had been wearing. He’d assumed his attackers were trying not to be identified, but maybe they had another reason for donning the headwear. After a quick poke around the interior, he found a band that could be pulled down over the eye slits.

“Maybe this’ll do it,” Maldynado said when he rejoined the others.

Sespian, Yara, and Basilard were facing the park entrance, and nobody responded.

“What is it?” Maldynado asked.

Machinery, Basilard signed and touched his ear.

A faint rumble floated across the park from the street leading toward the entrance.

“Steam carriages or lorries,” Yara said.

“More than one,” Sespian said.

“They might not have anything to do with us,” Maldynado said.

The others looked at him as if he’d told them Sicarius’s next training session would be easy.

“Where’s the optimism?” Maldynado waved the hood. “I’ll get our lads. Someone yell at me if I’m about to trip or crash into the wall.”

“Wait.” Yara touched his arm. “We don’t know if… ” She nodded toward the mill. “There’s no way to know if they’re still alive, is there?”

Basilard and Sespian exchanged looks.

“We couldn’t tell without going inside,” Sespian said. “They haven’t moved.”

“I’m sure they’re alive,” Maldynado said. “Captured prisoners are more useful than dead ones, right?”

“I… am not certain I’d risk my life on that assumption,” Sespian said.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Maldynado flung an arm around Yara’s shoulders. “Don’t look so concerned, my lady. I’ll not die before I’ve fulfilled your most concupiscent fantasies.”

Yara shoved his arm away. “We’ve discussed you not touching me numerous times now.”

“Does this mean no good-luck kiss?”

The rumbling machinery grew louder, and lights brightened the street leading to the park entrance. Enough trading endearments with Yara. Maldynado had best get going.

Before he could think wiser of it, he tugged on the hood and, arms outstretched, headed for the mill. The soft, black fabric had multiple layers and blocked out the green glow, but he clamped his eyelids shut anyway.

Probing the ground with his toes as he went, Maldynado reached the building without mishap. He mashed his knuckles against the door, but at least his head didn’t hurt.

The noise from the vehicles drifted across the park. They sounded like they’d pulled to a stop. He hoped they were in a spot where they couldn’t see him.

A thud sounded-someone getting out and a door being shut?

“Hurry, Maldynado,” came Yara’s whisper.

Maldynado slipped through the front door of the mill and felt his way inside. He slid his boots along the floorboards, hoping he wouldn’t get turned around and crash into some ancient piece of machinery with sharp protuberances. His foot came down on a bump, and it took him a second to realize it was someone’s hand.

“Oops. Sorry, fellows.”

He bent, found the hand, and used it to hoist the prone person over his shoulder. Akstyr, he guessed, as Books was taller and heavier. He didn’t take the time to check for a pulse, but the skin felt warm to the touch.

Maldynado patted around with his feet, trying to find Books. In picking up Akstyr, he’d lost his sense of direction. When he thought he must be close to the second body, he clunked into the magical device instead. With his knee. He cursed and thought about trying to kick the thing over, but it might have defensive capabilities.

A soft bang came from outside. It didn’t sound like a musket or pistol, but Maldynado had a feeling he shouldn’t linger.

He probed about, faster now, not worrying if he kicked Books. He could apologize later. His toe caught on clothing. There.

Balancing Akstyr on his shoulder, Maldynado grabbed Books by the arm. He debated trying to hoist him over his other shoulder versus dragging him out.

A clack sounded at one of the windows. Someone throwing a rock in warning?

A long squeal came from the park entrance.

“Time to go,” Maldynado muttered.

He dragged Books toward the exit as fast as he could. He smacked face-first into the wall and loosed another string of curses before managing to find the door. He kicked it open, no longer worrying about being seen.

He’d gone no more than two steps when something slammed into the mill behind him. Wood cracked and the ground shuddered.

If Maldynado had a hand free, he would have yanked the hood off, but he couldn’t let go of his comrades. Still dragging Books, he staggered in the direction he thought he’d left the others. Another crack sounded inside the mill, followed by the patters of dozens of objects hitting the walls and the ceiling. Shrapnel? From an exploding cannon ball or something similar?

Maldynado had no sooner had the thought when an explosion roared behind him. The force hurled him to his stomach. Instead of turning the fall into an efficient roll that would prevent injuries, he grew tangled with Books and Akstyr and sprawled flat. He lost the grip on one man-Akstyr? — and the other landed on top of him. Still unconscious, they were dead weight.

Maldynado pushed them away long enough to tear off his hood.

Half of the mill had collapsed, the roof and two walls tumbling inward, and flames leapt from the remains. The orange glow of the fire brightened the sky in every direction. The green glow had been dulled-beams falling on the device perhaps-but it still leaked into the night, and Maldynado’s headache returned. But not enough to slow him down. He leaped to his feet.

“This way,” Yara barked from somewhere ahead.

Basilard appeared by Maldynado’s side and hoisted Books over his shoulder. Maldynado maneuvered Akstyr into position over his own shoulder. They hustled to reach the others.

Shouts came from the park entrance. Dark figures poured out of two lorries and ran toward the mill. They carried rifles and pistols, not crossbows, and they were closing ground quickly. Books and Akstyr hadn’t stirred yet. As fit as Maldynado and Basilard were, it was unlikely they could outrun trained soldiers while carrying the weight of full grown men over their shoulders. They needed…

“I have an idea for a distraction,” Maldynado whispered just loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire that had engulfed the mill. “Yara or, uhm, Sire… ” Was it unseemly to ask the Turgonian emperor to tote one’s comrade on his back? No time to worry about it. “Can you carry Akstyr? I’ll-”

As one, Sespian and Yara grabbed Akstyr. Maldynado waved toward the neighborhood on the far side of the park. “Head that way. I’ll catch up with you.”

Gravel crunched. The newcomers, at least a dozen of them, were surrounding the burning mill. They didn’t seem to realize that Maldynado had made it out of the building. With all the light the fire threw off, they would soon.

After Basilard and the others moved a ways into the darkness, Maldynado sprinted toward the river. He thrashed through the foliage, making as much noise as he could. A rifle fired, and he dove to the earth, rolling to gain ground as he went. More shots fired over his head, but the branches stabbing him as he careened past were more painful. As soon as his momentum faded, he found his belly and low-crawled toward the river at top speed.

Though damp leaves slapped at Maldynado’s face, and roots sought to entangle his arms and legs, he made it to the beach without slowing-or being shot. The rifles had stopped, but snaps and rustlings in the brush behind him promised pursuit. That was good… so long as he had time to put his plan into action before they caught up with him. Unfortunately, the men, running instead of crawling, were gaining ground quickly. Lanterns rattled and banged as people tore down the trail to the beach.

Maldynado veered toward the campfire. Only a couple of dull red embers still glowed, not enough to illuminate the beach. Good.

Maldynado found the body of the man he’d stopped with the knife throw. He dragged it to the edge of the water, then risked rising to his knees to gain leverage. Careful not to grunt or make a sound himself, he hefted the body with both arms and hurled it as far as he could.

It landed with a noisy splash that ought to be audible for dozens of meters in each direction. Maldynado grabbed a few sizable branches from the woodpile by the fire pit and tossed those in too.

“There!” one of his pursuers shouted. “They’re trying to swim away.”

Yes, keep believing that, Maldynado thought as he crawled back toward the foliage. Doing his best to emulate a snake, he shimmied into the weeds even as the riflemen stormed onto the beach. Pebbles clattered and flew under the barrage of boots.

Maldynado’s first instinct was to crawl straight toward the far side of the park, in the direction he’d sent the others, but he remembered his shopping bags. They lay discarded by the path where he and Yara had come across the first body. He stifled a groan. To leave empty-handed, without the emperor’s disguise or any of the clothes he’d bargained for, clothes he’d desperately need when dawn showed him just how many new grass-and dirt-stains plagued his current attire…

Maldynado kept crawling away from the river, but lifted his head, trying to gauge where he’d left those bags. It wasn’t far from the park entrance and the lorries. The darkness made it difficult to tell for certain, but he didn’t think that more than one or two people stood guard over there. The rest were stomping around the beach, calling, “Can you see them?” and “Are you sure they went in?”

A new plan formed in Maldynado’s mind, one of which he believed Amaranthe would approve. Still crawling, except where the foliage rose high enough to hide him as he darted forward in a running crouch, he angled toward the bags and the lorries. This wasn’t an unnecessary risk, he told himself. It wasn’t just for clothing. The others might need more time to escape. They were carrying two inert bodies, after all.

“Yes, give that excuse to Books when he’s bailing you out of jail,” Maldynado whispered to himself. “Or, more likely, lighting your funeral pyre.” The sobering thoughts couldn’t quite squelch the grin on his lips at the idea of his plan.

Maldynado reached his shopping bags. They’d been kicked into the foliage with a footprint mashing one.

“No respect for fashion around here,” he whispered and, taking the bags with him, continued onward.

As Maldynado drew close to the lorries, he stayed lower than ever to avoid the notice of a guard stationed between them. When he circled around the back, he noticed the newness of the vehicles. He would have recognized military vehicles, but these were civilian models. Forge-owned toys?

Maldynado set his bags down and slipped between the two vehicles, hoping to sneak up behind the guard.

The shouts by the river had stilled. He hoped the men hadn’t figured out his ruse.

Knowing he might not have much time, Maldynado lunged straight for the guard without checking to see if he had a friend in one of the cabs or on the far side. He took the fellow by surprise, wrapping an arm lock around his neck. Even as he cut off the man’s airway, Maldynado forced him to the ground to steal his leverage.

A click sounded-a door opening.

“Emperor’s balls,” Maldynado cursed.

His plan to subtly take down the man by denying him air turned into slamming the bloke’s head into the nearest lorry door. It clunked with satisfying solidity. He duplicated the move to ensure its effectiveness, then spun as a second dark figure launched a kick at his head.

Maldynado dropped into a butt-scraping squat in front of the man, just evading the attack. With both hands, he caught the fellow’s calf before the foot could return to the ground. He leaped up, hoisting the leg over his head. The man pitched over backward.

Maldynado scrambled onto his foe and pummeled him into the ground. Amaranthe would choose tying people over beating them into a stupor, he admitted, but he didn’t have time. So long as they were too battered to move for a few minutes…

When Maldynado stood, neither man did more than moan and curl into a ball. Good.

After a quick glance toward the river-lanterns still moved about on the beach-Maldynado climbed into the cab of the far lorry. He yanked open the furnace door for light and located the safety valve. He grabbed the coal shovel, flipped it, and used the handle to break the gauge. The loudness of the cracking glass made him wince, but he doubted he had time for a quieter tactic. He shoveled heaps of coal into the furnace.

“Oskat, what’re you doing?” came a shout from the beach.

Uh oh. Maldynado hustled out of the cab of the sabotaged lorry, grabbed his bags, and climbed into the other vehicle. Whistling a little tune, he threw a control lever into reverse. The lorry belched smoke and rumbled backward.

“Oskat!”

“Hurry, they’re stealing our lorries!”

By the time the men were racing back up the trail, Maldynado had the vehicle turned around and was rolling into the street beyond the park. Houses lined the curving avenues, so he resisted the urge to thrust the control lever to maximum speed. Besides, he didn’t think he’d need to worry about pursuit. That second lorry shouldn’t go far before the overburdened boiler became inoperable. Or airborne. One of the two.

Though Maldynado had only a vague recollection of the neighborhood, he took a few turns and found a route around the park. The shouts faded from hearing. As the lorry rumbled down a broad avenue lined with cedar-shingled houses, he was wondering how he would find the others when he spotted a shadow near the side of a corner market that had closed for the day. Yara?

He clucked to himself, slowed down the vehicle, and stuck his head out the window. Sicarius never would have let the team be so easily spotted. Yara was waving, though, so maybe she’d spotted him first. In the shadows of the building, Basilard supported a groggy Books while Sespian stood with Akstyr’s arm slung around his shoulders. Maldynado’s lip twitched as he recalled an imperial law about commoners not touching emperors.

“Say,” Maldynado called, “do any of you gents, or ladies, need a ride?”

A boom sounded in the distance. Maldynado leaned out and craned his neck to look behind him. A plume of smoke rose from a street somewhere near the park.

“I guess they didn’t notice that safety issue,” he said blandly, then waved out the window. “You chaps coming? I don’t know that it’s wise to linger.”

“Sire,” Books said weakly.

Maldynado rolled his eyes. Barely conscious and Books was correcting him.

“You chaps and Sires coming?”

Books shook his head at this disgraceful use of language, but allowed Basilard to guide him into the vehicle. Akstyr, strung between Yara and Sespian, looked less cogent, though he did cast a longing glance back toward the park. He probably wished he’d had a better look at that magical gewgaw before passing out. Maldynado tossed them a couple of shopping bags.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t lose your new ensembles.”

“Joy,” Books said.

Sespian climbed into the cab beside Maldynado while the others piled into the cargo area in the back.

“Am I any closer to getting a statue?” Maldynado wriggled his eyebrows at the emperor. It was probably silly, given how the day had gone thus far, but he felt proud of his rescue.

Sespian stared at him as if a fine set of elk antlers had sprouted from his temples. Ah, well.

Maldynado, not certain they had completely eluded their pursuers yet, nudged the lorry into motion. “Enjoying your time with our group thus far, Sire?” he asked in an amiable way, wanting Sespian to know that he didn’t hold a grudge for that knife-to-neck moment. Maldynado wished he could think of a way to convince Sespian he’d had nothing to do with that trap. Maybe it was good that they’d have to spend time alone in the cab. Maldynado could work on endearing himself to the emperor, or at least being likable. Amaranthe had often pointed out that people tended to trust those they liked.

“I haven’t enjoyed much about the last five years,” Sespian said after a thoughtful moment. He pointed behind them. “I still need to get across the bridge.”

“Want to see if there’s a map in that lockbox? There must be other bridges along the river, and now that we have a ride, it doesn’t matter if it’s twenty, thirty miles out of our path. We can still get into the city tonight.”

Sespian unsuccessfully tried to open the lid of the indicated box. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a key to this anywhere?”

“Nah,” Maldynado said. “Might have been in one of the men’s pockets that I was bash-, er, subduing, but I didn’t have a chance to search them.”

It seemed unlikely that an emperor would have come equipped for lock-picking endeavors, so Maldynado withdrew his sturdy utility knife, leaned over, and slammed the tip into the metal box’s thin lid. The blade punctured it and mutilated the lock. When he pulled the blade out, the lid lifted too, hinges squealing. Papers and envelopes fell out.

“You’re welcome,” Maldynado said when Sespian gave him a strange look.

Maldynado had a feeling the young emperor didn’t know what to think of him. It was making him feel self-conscious, but he had to be himself, or he’d seem more suspicious, wouldn’t he?

“Not that you needed my help,” Maldynado said. “I’m sure you would have come up with a similar solution.”

“Perhaps,” Sespian murmured and picked up the papers.

“You seem handy with a knife. I reckon emperors get a lot of good training from master duelists and the like.”

“Weaponsmaster Orik would be pleased that you found my knife skills adequate.” Sespian flipped through the papers. “He found me an inattentive pupil and often lamented that I devoted the majority of my energy to thinking of ways to get out of his practice sessions.”

“Huh.”

Sespian opened a sealed envelope and frowned.

“Problem?” Maldynado asked.

“These look like orders, but they’re encrypted.” Sespian patted through the boxes again and sighed. “Nothing. I suppose it wouldn’t make sense to ship the decryption key alongside the secret orders.”

“You should let Books have a look. Give him some time, and I bet he can figure out what it says. He likes puzzles like that.”

“Ah, good idea.”

Before Maldynado could slow down the lorry, so Sespian could get out, walk around, and hand the orders to Books in the cargo bed, Sespian crawled out the window.

“Uhm,” Maldynado said.

He couldn’t see out that window from his position, but, a moment later, thumps sounded in the back.

“Odd lad,” Maldynado mused and decided it was unlikely they’d get to spend that time alone together after all.