Forged in Blood I

Chapter 9

There weren’t many troops patrolling the streets in the upscale neighborhood that housed the Mildawn Business School for Women. A good thing, since it wasn’t as late an hour as it should be for sneaking into a locked building. Wanting to a meet a lover for a midnight tryst probably wasn’t a valid reason for a rebel leader to rush her breaking-and-entering plans, so Amaranthe decided it was the need to acquire information with enough time to study it that motivated the evening infiltration. Anyway, it was dark and late enough that the students and faculty should be gone for the day.

“Let me know if anyone comes.” She slipped out her lock-pick set.

“Of course,” Yara said, a hint of indignation in the tone. Yes, she hadn’t needed to be told. She already had her back to the wall beside the kitchen door, and was watching the alley.

“You didn’t answer my question on the trolley,” Amaranthe said after a few minutes of prodding in the lock. Down on one knee, the cold from the concrete stoop seeping through her trouser leg, she figured this would take a while. The school could afford high quality locks.

“That’s because we had to jump off between stops to flee enforcers who were squinting suspiciously at you,” Yara said.

“We didn’t flee anyone. We were simply disembarking preemptively to ensure the enforcers didn’t have time to confirm those suspicions.”

“Disembarking preemptively. I see.”

Amaranthe supposed Yara would be offended if she pointed out that she, with her brusque, sometimes humorless manner, reminded one of Sicarius at times.

“Yes,” Yara said, finally answering the question, “things are going well with Maldynado.”

She started pacing the alley, checking the streets on either end. Meanwhile, Amaranthe finished with the lock. She pulled matches and lantern out of her pack, and stepped into the kitchen. By the time Yara joined her, shutting the door at their backs, the light from the flame played over polished wood cabinets, countertops, and flooring.

“Are there likely to be squatters?” Yara asked.

“At Mildawn School for Women? I should think not.” Amaranthe issued her best haughty sniff. “But we’ll keep an eye out regardless. It’s early enough that a night janitor might be around.”

Amaranthe led the way past large coal stoves and racks of hanging pots. They slipped into the wide empty hallway that ran the length of the building. The last time she’d been here had been with Sicarius-nicknamed, to his disgruntlement, Hansor at the time-and she smiled to think how far they’d come in the last year. And how far they might go later that night. She flushed at the memory of the afternoon’s… promise. If she’d known talking about hurling herself into danger could bestir that response in him, she would have done it more often. Usually she hurled herself into danger without warning him beforehand.

Of course, she was nervous at the prospect of “later that night” too. What if she were overcome with some intense memory of being sprawled on Pike’s table? What if, in the middle of things, she grew scared and decided she couldn’t go through with it? What if she were so cursed tired that she passed out and drooled all over Sicarius before they got started? Sure, girl, she thought with a snort, that’ll happen. He could rouse the unconscious with those roaming fingers. All this time, she’d been certain he wouldn’t be all that practiced with women, at least not in the art of teasing… physical responses from them. Princess Marathi must have given her teenage paramour some lessons. Amaranthe couldn’t imagine anyone else in the intervening years who might have had the gumption to dare instruct him.

“Are we going in or will the records magically appear under the threshold?” Yara asked.

Amaranthe blushed. They’d climbed the stairs to the third floor and were standing in front of the headmistress’s office. Judging by the comment, they’d been standing there for a while. “In.” She tried the knob and found it locked. “Shortly.” She set down the lantern and withdrew her tools.

Yara sighed and leaned against the wall again. “Are you sure you’ll need me for this underwater adventure of yours? Someone should take a portion of Sespian’s funds and try to acquire some of the Forge prototype rifles. For our new troops.”

“All two of them?”

“You’ll get more. I’ve heard your spiel,” Yara said with a pointed sidelong look. Yes, she’d received the recruiting speech herself. “Besides, Sespian is out trying to get more men right now, isn’t he? We should be prepared.”

“Would you prefer a weapons-acquisition assignment for yourself? Instead of going to the Forge lair with me?” Amaranthe hadn’t been certain about bringing Yara anyway. She could imagine getting two “assistants” past the Forge ladies, but, as she had told Sicarius, it was unlikely the real Suan traveled with an army.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Yara said. “I could take the new men, make them feel useful and part of your team. They’d be less likely to cross us that way.”

Amaranthe appreciated her initiative. Yara’s enforcer promotion hadn’t come simply because she was a woman, and Sespian wanted a few female sergeants on the force, Amaranthe was certain of that. She couldn’t resist the urge to tease Yara though. “Are you sure you aren’t simply looking for a way to get out of wearing the costume Maldynado picked out for you?” Surprisingly, the velvety blue fabric was quite attractive, but if one didn’t like dresses, one didn’t like dresses.

“It’s the ridiculous footwear that always comes with those sorts of clothes,” Yara said. “My feet are already big enough that I don’t need snowshoes in the winter. Those dumb… girl shoes just draw attention.”

Hm, she must harbor secret longings to experience life as a modestly proportioned waif of a woman. Amaranthe wondered how many waifs out there saw Yara’s height, athletic form, and easy power and wished they could experience her life. The veins were always richer in someone else’s mine.

“Your feet are perfectly proportionate,” Amaranthe said. “Maldynado certainly doesn’t seem to mind them.”

Yara snorted.

Amaranthe replaced her picking tools and pushed the door open. They entered a tidy office overlooking the street, with a floral seat cushion on the desk chair and light airy curtains framing the window the only feminine touches. She moved the lantern to a bookcase and tried the door beside it, one of two that led to the records area. The other door was in the scholarship office-a room she and Sicarius had visited. She sighed when she found it locked. “They’re dedicated to security around here.”

Fortunately, this last lock could have been picked with a rusty hairpin, so she made short work of it. They walked into the long aisles of the records room. Long, dusty aisles. Amaranthe crinkled her nose and resisted the urge to whip out a kerchief.

“Maldynado is too busy being impressed, so he says, by my other attributes,” Yara said, surprising Amaranthe by continuing the conversation. “And attitude. And willingness to do… Well, I like a challenge. I think he expected me to be shy. I’m not.”

No, Amaranthe imagined Yara would have no problem telling a man exactly what she wanted. And what he wanted too. “He’s probably not used to that. Not all of us are that…” Brave was the word that came to mind, but she didn’t want to confess to being cowardly. “Unshrinking,” she finished lamely.

She waved away the sentence and focused on the rows of student records, hunting for less recent ones. Suan Curlev would have graduated in-

“If it makes you feel better,” Yara said, “I’d be intimidated by your assassin too. His list of kills, his reputation, his sheer deadliness. If someone like that ever got mad at you… I don’t know that I could-I mean, what could anyone do? Woman or not?”

“Oh, I’ve seen his temper. It takes a lot to disturb his rigid control, but I’ve… pushed him. He didn’t take it out on me, though a cabinet door did suffer ignobly. I trust him not to hurt me. He hasn’t even… there are times when he could have said cruel things-I’ve deserved them-but he didn’t. Even when he lost his temper, he was more irritated with himself than me.” Amaranthe chewed on her lip. Why was she sharing all this? “Anyway,” she said by way of closing off the conversation, “I’ve learned that reputation is a truth others concoct to serve their own needs. Genuine truth is revealed in one’s actions, actions preformed under duress without the time to calculate how they’ll make one appear in the world’s eyes.”

Yara digested that for a moment, then responded lightly, “Are we still talking about bed play?”

“I don’t know,” Amaranthe said, relieved her comrade had chosen light over serious. With Sicarius being so private, she almost felt like discussing their personal moments was an act of betrayal. “Is duress often involved in your bed play?”

“Often.”

This time, Amaranthe snorted. She wouldn’t be surprised. Maldynado probably had handcuffs, rope, and ancestors knew what else rolled up in his blanket.

She tapped her fingers on the shelves. “It looks like the records are only kept for ten years. Suan graduated before then. I guess this trip was wasted, and we should have gone shopping for ammunition after all.”

“Is it possible older records are stored in a basement or some secondary archive system?” Yara asked.

“I don’t remember hearing about anything like that, though let’s check the library. If this Suan was so brilliant and so beloved by her teachers, maybe some of her papers were kept for posterity.”

They locked the doors and returned to the hallway. Amaranthe led the way back down to the first floor, though she paused as soon as she stepped out of the stairwell. A mop and bucket rested near the wall.

“That wasn’t there on our way in, was it?” she murmured.

“No,” Yara said.

Amaranthe shuttered her lantern and skirted the bucket. With luck they could slip into the library without chancing across the janitor. She didn’t want to leave a trail of bound-and-gagged people stuffed into closets, not on this excursion. If Forge learned she’d been at the school, they might make some guesses as to why she’d been at the school.

She slowed as they neared the double-door entry to the library. One of those doors stood ajar, faint light seeping out from within. She stopped on the threshold and risked peering inside. If the janitor were down on his hands and knees scrubbing floors, maybe they could sneak in behind him without being noticed.

Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t visible from the doorway. The light from a single lantern brightened the end of an aisle several meters into the library. If the furnishings hadn’t been rearranged in the last ten years, tables and desks lay down that wide book-filled corridor. Maybe the janitor was dusting. Amaranthe wanted to look in an alcove on the other side of the room, one that held copies of periodicals and newspapers featuring articles from former students, as well as a handful of economics books written by faculty.

She’d taken no more than a step when a chair creaked, followed by a sigh. Keys jangled on the person’s belt. He might be rising to his feet, or simply shifting his weight.

Amaranthe ducked back into the hallway. She waited, but nobody walked out of that aisle.

Before she stepped into the library again, Yara tapped her on the back and signed, Smart do this? You don’t know if anything good inside, right?

Yara hadn’t yet learned all of Basilard’s hand signs, but she knew enough to be understood. Amaranthe shrugged and stepped back into the library again. This time, she padded to her destination as quickly as she could. Yara waited in the hallway.

The illumination from the janitor’s lantern didn’t reach the alcove. With no other choice, Amaranthe risked unveiling a sliver of her own light. The periodicals and newspapers were organized by date rather than author contribution, so she checked the books first. She doubted Suan had taken the time to write a three-hundred-page epic on economics before heading off on her adventures, but one never knew. And the books were alphabetized.

Curlev, read a name on the spine of a narrow tome.

Surprised but pleased, Amaranthe slid it out. It wasn’t something published via the academic presses, but a hand-written treatise in a leather-bound journal. The title, inked on the front, read, The Distribution of Wealth in Modern Day Turgonia.

It must be nice to be so brilliant that one’s final-year report was set aside in a special spot in the library. Amaranthe could understand why Retta had been jealous of her older sister.

She tucked the journal under her arm and shuttered her lantern again. About to step out of the alcove, she halted when the light flickered ahead. The wooden floorboards creaked. This time the janitor was definitely moving.

Hidden by the shadows, she remained stationary, though she glanced at the door. Out in the hallway, there weren’t many places for Yara to hide, unless she ran all the way back to the stairwell.

The janitor walked into view and… wasn’t a janitor at all. Dressed in black army fatigues with lieutenant’s tabs on his collars, the man headed for the door. The jangling she’d heard hadn’t been keys at all, but ammo pouches and other military appurtenances hanging from his belt, including a dagger and a pistol. He didn’t wear a colored armband to link him to any of the current factions.

So what was he doing here? And where was the janitor?

The lieutenant strode into the hallway, and Amaranthe held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t spot Yara. His footsteps faded into distance down the hall without any pauses to investigate something breaking their even rhythm.

Amaranthe started for the door, but curiosity steered her feet toward the aisle the lieutenant had vacated. He’d taken his lantern with him, so she risked opening hers a sliver again. All save one of the tables were empty. The closest one held a single book, left open to an index. Careful not to lose the page, she lifted it to check the title.

The title blurred into insignificance before she read it. It was the author that commanded her attention. Worgavic. Neeth Worgavic.

So. Someone had figured out the name of at least one of the Forge founders and had come to do research. At that point, Amaranthe didn’t know whether this was good or bad for her. If it meant someone else was angling to take out Forge, that might be good. If it meant another of the factions wanted to ally with Forge for a chance at some of those weapons, that might be less good.

“Hsst,” came a soft voice from the end of the aisle.

Amaranthe replaced the book on the table.

“He’s gone to the WC,” Yara said. “He’ll be back in a second.”

“Right, let’s get out of here then.”

They didn’t make it out of the library before the lieutenant returned, but hid in the alcove until he’d gone back to his reading. A part of Amaranthe wanted to question him, but a bigger part wanted to make sure nobody saw her at the school, not until she’d completed her infiltration of Forge and no longer needed to be able to pass as Suan Curlev.

She and Yara eased out of the building unnoticed. They jogged into the city, taking a circuitous route back to the factory to make sure they weren’t followed.

• • •

Sicarius led Sespian, Maldynado, and Basilard across the dark field toward the towering walls of Fort Urgot. After their training session, Sespian had asked Basilard to join them. Sicarius did not know if they’d struck up some affinity with each other, or if Sespian had merely wanted more people around to lessen the chances of ending up isolated with a father he felt awkward around. Logically, Sicarius could not expect any other reaction, given their history and his life’s work, but the thoughts roused disappointment nonetheless.

The sun had set a couple of hours earlier, but there were no culverts or hollows to hug on the flat, cleared parade fields that extended for a half mile in each direction from the fort. The cloudy sky promised snow, but none had fallen yet, a fortunate circumstance. Sneaking up to the walls on bright white ground would have been close to impossible. They’d have a challenge even without snow. Though he and the others wore black, with their knapsacks and climbing ropes also made from dark material, alert guards in the towers perched along the walls might pick out movement on the stark field. Mortars and rapid-fire cannons were mounted along the parapet in between the towers, and soldiers strode back and forth up there, more men than usual for the fort, which, this deep into imperial territory, had rarely seen action in the last couple of centuries.

Lanterns burned in some of the towers, and Sicarius picked an illuminated one for their approach. The night vision of whoever stood watch inside should be dulled by the nearby flames. Staying low, he and his team closed on the base of the wall.

In the darkness, hand signs were useless, but he’d already told the others he’d go up first, take care of the nearest guards, then signal for them to follow. He wasn’t expecting anyone to attempt communication, with soldiers roaming about a mere twenty feet above their heads, but, after he’d unslung his rope and grappling hook, someone gripped his arm. Sespian.

He leaned close to whisper in Sicarius’s ear, “You can’t kill anyone, if we’re to have any chance with Ridgecrest.”

An obvious statement-these were the very men Sespian hoped to make his own, after all. Sicarius didn’t allow himself to feel irked at this unnecessary reminder. He simply returned the grip, not wishing to speak with men so close above, then drew away to give himself room to toss the grappling hook.

He tilted an ear toward the parapet, listening for footsteps and the clanks of weapon-laden utility belts. Fortunately, his own men remained still and silent, and did not issue any competing noises. Muted voices drifted on the wind, coming from the guard tower to the north, the lighted one. Not a sound came from the one to the south, a dark one. Once he topped the wall, he’d check that one first. With two men stationed in each tower, it was unlikely anyone was asleep on duty. No, those two were probably the more attentive. Though he understood why killing wasn’t an option here, the practical part of his mind lamented it, for it was much faster than subduing. He’d have to move quickly to gag and tie the men before others spotted him. Amaranthe, he knew, would have had Maldynado and Basilard go up at the same time he did, trusting their stealthiness and capabilities, but Sicarius trusted his own abilities more.

The footsteps he was waiting for grew audible. Two sets. These were the roving guards for this, the north wall. When he and Basilard had scouted the fort the night before, Sicarius had counted how long it took the men to complete each pass. He’d have approximately ninety-five seconds before they walked this way again.

After the footsteps faded from hearing, he waited five more seconds, then swung the grappling hook, releasing it at the apex. For a moment, its prongs were outlined against the cloudy sky above, then it disappeared over the parapet. Thanks to padded tips, the clank as it landed on stone was muted. Not completely silent, though, and Sicarius’s ears had no trouble picking it up.

He gave one quick tug to test the line, then skimmed up the rope, reaching the top in a couple of seconds. Though his ears promised him no one waited above, he paused for a quick glance in either direction, and also toward the brick buildings and walkways inside the fort. In a grassy square lined with streetlamps and bare trees, several whitewashed wooden houses stood-the homes of the high-ranking officers stationed here. General Ridgecrest’s family should live in one of them.

As he took in these details, Sicarius released the grappling hook for the others to catch-he’d leave no telltale sign of his arrival on the wall. Then he skimmed down the walkway toward the dark tower.

The stout wooden door stood closed, but there wasn’t any glass in the windows overlooking the fields. Sicarius leaped onto the wall, fingers finding grips in the mortar between the stones, and, like a spider, he crawled around to the closest opening. As he’d guessed, two soldiers waited inside. Nobody was sleeping. They were standing with their backs to him, one pointing toward the ground outside the other window, one lifting a rifle.

Sicarius’s gut clenched. They were aiming at the spot where he’d left the others. Sespian.

He launched himself into the room, his black dagger finding its way into his hand. Instincts told him to ram the blade into the man’s back, to the left of the spine, between the ribs, to find his heart. At the last instant, he flipped the weapon in his hand and shifted targets. He slammed the hilt into the soldier’s head, then grabbed him by the back of the neck and thrust his face into the stone wall. When flesh met unyielding granite, the man crumpled. Sicarius tore the rifle out of his hands before it could clatter against anything.

The second man spun in his direction, but he moved too slowly. Sicarius slammed his elbow into his solar plexus. He gasped and bent, staggering backward. The soldier tried to yank out the pistol at his belt. His hand never reached the weapon. Sicarius swung the butt of the rifle upward, clunking him beneath the chin. The man jerked backward and toppled to the ground. Clothing rasped against the stone floor-the first man trying to grab a knife at his waist. Sicarius stepped on his windpipe to discourage further struggles and pulled out his gags and ties. While keeping an eye on the second man-he’d gone down hard and wasn’t moving-Sicarius bound the first. Aware of the heartbeats passing-and the footfalls as the roving guards approached-he tied the knots as swiftly as possible, again reminded why his instructors had simply instilled in him the instinct to kill. He could have nullified every guard on the wall in the time it was taking him to subdue two.

As he moved onto tying the second person, the footfalls stopped outside the door. The roving guards didn’t usually check inside the towers. They must have seen or heard something. A soft clank sounded, the latch releasing.

Sicarius tied the last knot and leaped for the window. The door swung open. He scurried around the outside of the building, using the bulk of the open door to hide his return to the parapet.

“What?” one of the guards blurted.

It was all he got out before Sicarius landed behind them, bringing the hilt of his dagger down onto the speaker’s head as he dropped. The blunt end struck the coronal structure hard enough to cause the soldier to stagger forward, gasping in pain and confusion, but not hard enough to kill him. Before his comrade could whirl about, Sicarius pinched his fingers together into an arrow shape and dug them into the pressure point near the man’s kidney. Trusting the pain to be intense, he snaked his free hand around the soldier’s head, flattening it against the mouth. With those hard fingers jabbed into his back, the man staggered into the tower on his tiptoes. His back arched as he tried to squirm out of the iron grip. Using his boot, Sicarius tugged the door shut behind him. He bound and gagged the standing soldier, then attended to the second.

With four men now subdued in the guard tower, he returned to the rest of his team and signaled for them to climb up. While they did so, Sicarius took down the soldiers in the lit tower using similar methods. When he returned, Sespian, Basilard, and Maldynado waited in low crouches, hugging the shadows between the towers. They’d wound up the rope and grapple and were ready to move on.

“If nobody escapes,” Sicarius whispered, “and nobody checks the towers before the shift change, we’ll have two hours before anyone notices security has been compromised.”

“What happens if they do escape?” Sespian asked.

Sicarius admitted that was a possibility. For all that he’d tied the knots tightly, the men would have nothing else to do but work on freeing themselves. “We’ll have less time.”

Maldynado grunted at this statement of the obvious. “We just have to get to Ridgecrest and convince him to have a chat with us. If we’re having cider in his office with him, nobody’s going to start shooting at us. He’s got a wife and a couple of teenage daughters, too, if we need them.”

“Are you suggesting we use hostages to arrange our escape from the fort?” Sespian asked, his tone oozing disapproval. For once, it wasn’t aimed at Sicarius.

“Uhm, no?” Maldynado said. It sounded like a lie, but then he smiled and added, “I figure they’ll fall in love with me after I’ve been flirting with them for a while, and they’ll help us escape of their own volition.”

“If we stop talking, we can get in and out without anyone but Ridgecrest knowing we’re here.” To announce the conversation at an end, Sicarius left them, trotting for a stone staircase leading into the streets below.

He kept an eye out as they traversed the fort, sticking to unlit alleys as he picked a path toward the officers’ houses. It was past bedtime, but not so late that nobody would be about, and he paused, waiting for more than one person to pass. During peacetime, many officers and senior enlisted soldiers, especially those who were married, stayed in the city, bicycling or jogging to work each morning. But now, with the capital poised for battle, those who were stationed here were sleeping on base, and lights burned behind many of the barracks windows. The armory and several supply and office buildings were lit as well with people working late. Every bicycle rack was occupied and military-style steam carriages and lorries were parked before the senior officers’ houses.

They reached the grassy square, and Sicarius headed for the largest house. The first snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

Sespian jogged a few steps and caught up with Sicarius, matching pace, perhaps wanting to be the first person General Ridgecrest saw. Without knowing where Ridgecrest stood-just because he wasn’t eager to jump into bed with Ravido didn’t mean he’d be delighted to see the emperor he’d thought dead-Sicarius had no intention of letting him walk in first, nor would he knock on the door as if they were coming for a friendly chat. It was possible that force or manipulation would be required to win the general’s hand-and his agreement to turn over Fort Urgot to Sespian. This was a man they should catch off-guard.

“We must conclude our business swiftly,” Sicarius said. It wasn’t in his nature to start conversations that had little purpose, but he felt the need to try with Sespian. As Amaranthe had pointed out, if he never said anything, how was his son to get to know him? “The snow will make it hard to stay hidden at night.”

“Swift sounds good to me,” Maldynado said. “It’s getting cold out here. My brother should have waited until summer to try and take over the empire.”

Sicarius leveled a cool stare over his shoulder. He hadn’t intended his words to be an invitation for Maldynado to participate in a conversation with him. Maldynado didn’t notice the stare. He was sniggering over some response Basilard had signed.

A hint of laughter drifted to Sicarius’s ears, and he lifted a hand to alert the team. He led them into the shadows between two trees. Engaging Sespian in conversation would have to wait until later.

They’d drawn near the largest house. A gas lamp burned on the porch, lighting a sign that read Lord General Ridgecrest.

They’d reached the right place, but two figures were turning off the street and heading up the walkway to the house. One wore an officer’s pressed black fatigues, but the other sashayed along in an ankle-length dress and woman’s parka. One of Ridgecrest’s daughters?

The two advanced to the porch, talking and giggling, their heads bent toward each other. Sicarius settled on his haunches to wait, expecting the young man to drop his lady off, then leave. But they went from talking and giggling to kissing and giggling. Bundled up for the weather, they didn’t seem to notice the cold.

“If I’d known we were going to get a show,” Maldynado whispered, “I would have brought candied pecans and a flask of cider.”

Basilard elbowed him.

Sespian was averting his eyes from the display. “Maybe we can go in the back?”

“Yes.” Sicarius had been eyeing the towers on the wall, thinking of their limited time. “Maldynado and Basilard, stay here.” He slipped out his lock-picking kit. “Warn us if someone comes or…” He waved at the kissing couple, meaning he wanted an alert if they entered the house.

Maldynado chose to misconstrue the unfinished sentence. “The show gets better?”

Sicarius gave him a hard look, but a brief one. They had work to do. “Sespian, come.”

The darkness cloaked Sespian’s expression, but there was a stiff set to his shoulders as he followed. He must not be accustomed to being ordered around. For Sicarius, he either issued commands or followed the orders of others, those rare few who had earned his respect. He didn’t know how to relate to people outside of that realm. He’d called Sespian “Sire” when it had applied, but it had been difficult giving that reverence to a youth, and he found it hard to do so now.

They reached the back deck and Sicarius tried the door, found it locked, and knelt to work. This side of the house lay in shadows, just as he preferred. Sespian shuffled to the side to watch the street behind the square. The snow had picked up and a layer dusted his shoulders.

“Do you know how to pick a lock?” Sicarius murmured.

“My how-to-be-an-emperor lessons didn’t cover it.”

The answer didn’t invite further questions, but Sicarius tried anyway. “Do you wish to learn?”

Sespian didn’t answer. He might have been mulling over the question or ignoring it.

Sicarius’s inclination would have been to work in silence, but he launched into instructions, softly explaining what he was doing as he maneuvered a pick and tension tool. He probably could have found an unlocked second-story window, but on the chance Sespian might appreciate learning a new skill, he pressed on.

“Hunting and fishing,” Sespian said at the end of the explanation.

“What?” Sicarius finished with the lock and stood.

“I have no personal experience, but from the stories I’ve read, fathers and sons are supposed to go hunting and fishing together. There were never any mentions of picking locks and breaking into houses.”

Sicarius suspected this was some sort of joke, but he couldn’t guess at what the correct response should be. “You wish me to take you fishing?”

“No. I meant… Never mind.”

Sicarius pushed open the door, paused to listen, then, upon hearing nothing, slipped into the house. The lingering smells of a kitchen greeted him. The scents of cinnamon and cloves from a baked apple dessert nearly overpowered the lesser odors of elk stew with carrots and parsnips that must have comprised the main meal. A hint of lye soap hung in the air as well.

When Sespian entered, Sicarius headed for stairs, the outline visible at the end of a hallway leading away from the kitchen. There were no lamps lit in the house, though that might change when the daughter entered. He glided up the wooden staircase, pausing only when a creak sounded on a step below him.

“Sorry,” Sespian whispered when he glanced back.

“Wood is challenging,” Sicarius breathed, hardly believing he was talking when they were sneaking into someone’s house, but they’d have to wake Ridgecrest soon regardless, and Sespian might appreciate the instruction. “Step near the edge of the treads for less risk of creaks, and walk near the walls when we reach the hallway.”

“All right.”

Sicarius continued into the hallway above, opening doors to check for slumbering occupants as he went. They passed two children’s rooms, an office, and a library. At the end of the hall, double doors opened to a room with a wide bed in the center. Two people lay in it. The air smelled of sweat and sex, but whatever had happened earlier, the man and woman were both breathing rhythmically in sleep now.

Sespian hesitated in the hallway. “Should we… maybe we should have knocked on the door.”

Except that the porch was occupied. Besides, the houses were close enough together that a shout from the general would wake the neighbors. Sicarius didn’t want any shouting tonight.

“Wait in the office,” he whispered. “Light a lamp.”

“What are you going to…?”

“Wake him and bring him to you.” And dress him, Sicarius thought.

“Don’t… irk him.”

Sicarius gave Sespian a gentle push toward the office. Seeing Sespian would surprise Ridgecrest enough that he’d forget any feelings of ire this waking would bring.

After checking to see if the general kept knives or firearms within reach, Sicarius stepped up to his side of the bed. He checked a dark piece of cloth near the nightstand, but realized it was an eyepatch, not any sort of weapon holder. Yes, that was right. He’d seen the general before. Ridgecrest had lost an eye during some past battle.

Sicarius pulled the general upright, clasping a hand to his mouth. He woke with a start, reflexively trying to grab his attacker. Expecting it, Sicarius caught the arms. He locked them behind Ridgecrest’s back and tugged him from the bed without jostling the mattress. The woman slept on.

Chest heaving, muscles bunching, the general tried to pull his arms free. From behind him, Sicarius had all the leverage. He propelled the general to a chair, where a pair of trousers hung over the back.

“Dress,” Sicarius said in his ear.

Ridgecrest tried to ask a question, but couldn’t with the hand clasped across his mouth.

“Answers shortly.” Sicarius jostled Ridgecrest again to reinforce his “dress” suggestion.

A stiffness set into the general’s spine. He wasn’t going to comply. His state of undress mattered nothing to Sicarius-he’d simply assumed the general would prefer to be clothed to face visitors-so he turned his prisoner about, pushing him toward the hallway. The older man dug his heels into the floorboards. He was taller and heavier, but Sicarius lifted the arm lock a couple of inches, and Ridgecrest lurched up onto his toes. Sicarius shoved him down the hall toward the office. The wife never stirred.

The glow of lamplight escaped beneath the office door. Sespian must have heard something for he opened it as they arrived. Sicarius pushed the general inside and toward an oversized brown chair. Seating him required Sicarius to release the arm lock, but he kept his grip on Ridgecrest’s mouth and moved around behind him. He withdrew his dagger and rested it on the general’s collarbone. Sicarius hadn’t interacted with the man, having only seen him in passing a handful of times, but it was possible he would recognize the black blade. Indeed, Ridgecrest’s single eye went wide as he glimpsed the tip below his chin. That eye grew wider still when Sespian brought over the lamp and sat in the chair opposite from him.

“Release him, please,” Sespian told Sicarius.

If they meant to continue the ruse of Sespian as legitimate heir, Sicarius should follow his orders. Sicarius lifted his hand from Ridgecrest’s mouth-he could quickly muffle it again if needed. He let the dagger remain, resting on that collarbone. Ridgecrest didn’t squirm, but he looked like he wanted to. With the cold alien alloy against his flesh, perhaps he regretted passing up his chance to put on clothes.

As befitting a sixty-year-old officer, he recovered and found his equanimity. His arms lowered to the chair rests, and his chin rose. “Sespian. You are looking well. I am pleased to see you are not, as the newspapers have been reporting, dead.”

Sespian. Not, Sire. Someone must have told him the truth.

Sespian met Sicarius’s eyes over Ridgecrest’s head. Yes, he’d made note of the address too.

“I apologize for rousing you from bed in this unseemly fashion.” Sespian’s spread fingers encompassed the general’s nudity. “I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes. If you’ll agree to listen without raising an alarm, I’m sure I can allow you to get more comfortable. More clothes, fewer daggers at your throat, that sort of thing.” He tried a smile.

“I do not need comfort.” Ridgecrest propped an ankle over his opposite knee, hiding nothing of his nudity. If anything, he looked pleased at the idea that his state might make Sespian uncomfortable. “Say what you came to say.”

The general had assumed an unthreatening pose, but Sicarius kept an eye on him. Though gray hair ringed his bald spot, he was still muscular with broad shoulders that filled the big chair. He carried many a scar from old wounds, including the deep gash that had stolen his eye. His nose had been broken on more than once occasion too. He had survived numerous battles.

“It’s quite simple,” Sespian said. “I intend to retake the throne. Whatever you’ve heard, I believe my policies are superior to those of the others who want the position for themselves, with Ravido Marblecrest, in particular, being ready to act as a figurehead while businesswomen run the empire behind his back. I am open to working with the warrior-caste and ensuring they have a say in the government going forward, even as we strive for a more progressive stance when it comes to dealing with our subjects and people from other nations as well.”

Ridgecrest watched Sespian as he spoke, but his face never changed, and he didn’t say a word.

“I have powerful allies already.” Sespian nodded toward Sicarius, though there was nothing smug about it-Sicarius had the sense that Sespian didn’t truly want to claim him as an ally and was only doing so because it might help. “I need troops, however, to march into the city, to retake the Imperial Barracks, and to oust Ravido.”

“Why not simply have your powerful ally assassinate Marblecrest?”

“I have never sought to rule through such means, and I’ll not descend to those depths now,” Sespian said.

“Couldn’t get to him, eh?” Ridgecrest studied his blunt fingernails. “I understand someone’s employed a wizard to keep the riffraff out of the Barracks.” He didn’t look at Sicarius when he made the comment, but the insult hung in the air regardless.

“Actually, we’ve been inside,” Sespian said. “Recently. We ran into a Nurian assassin there. I’m not the only one who doesn’t approve of Ravido as a successor it seems.” Sespian watched Ridgecrest intently. Wondering if he had something to do with the assassin?

Sicarius doubted he did. Ridgecrest didn’t have the proper bloodlines to make a claim of his own, and it’d be dangerous for him to risk picking the wrong side. That was why he was trying to remain neutral-and why it’d be difficult for Sespian to get him to commit.

“Interesting,” was all Ridgecrest said.

Something tinked against one of the office’s glass windows. Trusting he could still stop Ridgecrest if he tried something, Sicarius slipped around a desk and bookcase to check outside.

Though the office faced the unlit yard behind the house, a dusting of snow helped him locate a familiar black wool cap. Basilard moved closer to the light from the window. Even with the movements exaggerated, his hand signs were hard to read, but Sicarius caught the gist.

They’re coming inside.

Even as Basilard signed, the faint snick of a door being shut drifted up from below. The front door, not the back, Sicarius decided. Footsteps followed, two sets.

Sicarius signed, The suitor is coming in with the daughter? That might cause some drama if the father was unaware of the relationship-or aware of it and disapproved. Ridgecrest, intent on Sespian, didn’t seem to have noticed the sounds from downstairs yet.

Not exactly, Basilard signed. Maldynado went in with her.

What?

Basilard lifted his shoulders and, though it was hard to tell in the dark, that might have been an eye roll. He said Amaranthe said he was supposed to come in and help sway the general.

Somehow Sicarius doubted that had been Maldynado’s motivation in approaching the girl. Remain on guard, he signed.

Basilard lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

“I think it’s admirable-or ambitious-that you want to reclaim the throne,” Ridgecrest said, “especially given that Ravido’s business allies have a few cannons aimed in your direction. But from what I’ve heard, you no longer have a stronger claim than any of the others descending on the capital.”

“If Ravido is your source, he can hardly be trusted,” Sespian said. “He’d say anything to legitimize his attempt at usurping my position.”

“Are you saying the assassin lurking at my window is not your father?”

Sicarius returned to lurk behind Ridgecrest again. Soft murmurs drifted to his ears via the hallway. Maldynado must have stopped to chat with the girl in the kitchen. Sicarius was tempted to check on him and ensure all he was doing was chatting. Sicarius didn’t care with whom Maldynado engaged in coitus, but doing it with the daughter of the general they were trying to win to their side would prove problematic.

“That he thinks he may be my father does not make it the truth,” Sespian said. “My mother was sleeping with Raumesys at the same time.”

Sicarius wondered if Sespian believed his own words.

Ridgecrest rotated in his chair, his single eye squinting up at Sicarius. “Enh.” He turned back to Sespian. “You look more like him than Raumesys.”

“You look more like a knife fighter off the streets than a general.” Sespian waved to the older man’s battered face. “But I’m not going to hold it against you.”

Ridgecrest chuckled at that. When Amaranthe was negotiating, Sicarius usually found it to be a good sign when the enemies started laughing, but Sespian didn’t have her charm, and Sicarius didn’t know if he’d won anything yet.

“No matter who ends up on the throne,” Ridgecrest said, leaning back in his chair, “many men will be killed in the fighting, men who signed on to defend the empire against foreign invaders, not to battle each other. No matter who wins in this, Turgonia loses. If you were the ancestors-decreed proper emperor, I’d be obligated to back you, but if your claim is no better than several others…” Ridgecrest hitched a shoulder. “I’m not going to commit Fort Urgot, especially when you, pocket assassin or not, have so few forces at your command. Do you have any forces, yet?”

“I do.”

Good, Sespian didn’t state numbers. A handful of outlaws, and the two soldiers Amaranthe had schmoozed into joining their side, wouldn’t impress a general.

“Why didn’t you join Ravido?” Sespian asked. “He seems to have the most forces on hand, along with his wealthy female allies. If you seek to stave off bloodshed, wouldn’t you find it propitious to ally with him? And have the deed, as it were, done the quickest?”

“I haven’t said no to him,” Ridgecrest said.

“Oh.” Apparently that wasn’t the answer Sespian had hoped for.

“I’m waiting to hear from the Company of Lords,” Ridgecrest said. “And… an old colleague.”

“Is there anything I can do that will change your mind and convince you to join me?”

“No.”

This time Sespian didn’t say the, “Oh,” but it was on his lips. He met Sicarius’s eyes. Sicarius tried to read the thoughts behind the gaze. Did he want suggestions for other arguments to use on Ridgecrest? Or did he want Sicarius to apply force?

“What old colleague?” Sicarius asked, wondering if anything had come of the letter he’d posted weeks earlier.

The hallway stairs creaked.

Ridgecrest rose from his chair. “Friend of yours?” he asked Sespian.

“I don’t…” Sespian looked at Sicarius.

“Maldynado and the girl.”

“The girl?” Ridgecrest strode to the door.

“Sir, uhm, you’re naked,” Sespian reminded him.

Ridgecrest had already flung open the door. The young woman from the porch stood there, her wavy black hair framing a face dominated by puffy red eyes and pouting lips. The expression changed to one of surprise at the sight of her father standing in the doorway.

Maldynado ambled into view, holding a lantern. “Oh, hullo, Lord Ridgecrest. Haven’t seen you for some time. Doing well?”

“What’s going on?” Ridgecrest growled.

“Daddy, you’re naked,” the daughter said, raising a hand to shield her eyes.

She was younger than Sicarius had first guessed. Fifteen, perhaps. Sespian frowned fiercely at Maldynado, though Maldynado probably didn’t see it. Ridgecrest filled the doorway.

“Where have you been with my daughter?” Ridgecrest’s hand dropped to his waist, as if to grab a pistol. The only thing down there within reach wasn’t going to be much use against Maldynado.

“In the kitchen. Consoling her,” Maldynado said. “Platonically, I assure you. I’m involved now, you know. But that fellow who brought her home wanted to send his snake into her garden, if you catch my meaning, and she wasn’t ready for all that. Apparently he tried to pressure her and stormed away when she refused to give in to his charms. Charms probably not being the right word. What’re they teaching in officer training school these days anyway?”

Maldynado’s babble was doing nothing to placate Ridgecrest; the general’s fingers had curled into fists, and the veins on his arms stood out. Since Sespian wasn’t the target of his ire, Sicarius simply folded his arms across his chest and waited. Maldynado could handle himself if the conversation devolved into pugilism.

“Snake?” Ridgecrest’s voice had increased in volume. “Garden!”

Doors creaked open in the hallway. “Daddy?” came an uncertain inquiry from another young female.

“Joth?” an older woman-the wife-asked. “What’s going on?”

“Bloody beheaded ancestors, I don’t know.” Ridgecrest lifted a fist and shook it at Maldynado, though he didn’t cock it back for a punch. “How did all you miscreants get into my fort to start with?”

“Over the wall, naturally,” Maldynado said.

Had Amaranthe truly sent him along to help? Maybe she simply hadn’t wanted to take him on her team.

“Daddy, you need to demote Lieutenant Mosscrest tomorrow. He is not a gentleman.”

Sicarius headed to the window to check on Basilard. He doubted Sespian was going to get anything more out of Ridgecrest, and it seemed like a good time to leave. Surprisingly, he caught amusement on Sespian’s face.

At his look, Sespian shrugged and signed, It must be quite the experience to be the only man in a house full of women.

“Ouch,” Maldynado blurted from the hallway. “Why-I didn’t do anything.”

This is irrelevant to our mission, Sicarius signed back. We should go.

The amusement on Sespian’s face disappeared. He seemed stung by the brusque dismissal, and Sicarius regretted it. He should have tried to respond lightly in kind. But this blowup could bring soldiers to check on the house. He and the others needed to leave before-

A flash of orange brightened the horizon. A boom echoed in its aftermath, and a tremor ran through the house, rattling windows and a glass chandelier downstairs.

The shouts halted.

“What now?” Ridgecrest stomped to the window.

“Artillery fire,” Sicarius said.

“I know that, but whose?”

Sicarius didn’t have the answer to that. It had come from beyond the walls of Fort Urgot.

A chorus of deep bongs arose from outside, someone sounding the alarm. Booming knocks reverberated from the general’s front door.

Ridgecrest strode for the stairs.

“Clothes, dear,” his wife said from the other direction.

Ridgecrest bellowed a, “Coming,” to whoever was pounding at the front door and stomped back up the hall toward his forgotten trousers. “Stay in your rooms,” he told his daughters.

Maldynado took the opportunity to sidle into the office. “Time for us to go?”

Sicarius was inclined to say yes, but Sespian shook his head. “Let’s see what’s going on. Maybe we can help Ridgecrest in a way that would endear me to him.”

Maldynado shrugged and followed Sespian into the hallway. Sicarius wondered when his son had started thinking like Amaranthe.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Sespian looked like he meant to stride out the front door. That’d be a good way to get shot, especially since the general hadn’t answered it yet.

“Out the back,” Sicarius said, diverting him into the kitchen.

He passed the other two and reached the door first. Basilard was waiting on the steps.

Trouble, he signed.

“We gathered that,” Maldynado said.

Squads of armed soldiers, their gear clattering with each step, were jogging toward the various sets of stairs leading to the parapet on the wall. All of the guard towers were lit now, and lamps were coming on in buildings all over the fort. Shouted orders echoed through the streets, with the words “attack” and “siege” repeated over and over, amidst commands for soldiers to join their units and find their battle posts.

“We’re not going to get near those walls without someone seeing us,” Sespian said. “I’m joining Ridgecrest.”

“Sespian.” Sicarius gripped his arm.

“You heard him. He hasn’t committed to anything yet. Regardless, nobody here is going to shoot me. I agree that you may want to stay in hiding, but I’m going to see what’s happening.”

Sespian pulled away. Sicarius could have kept him from going-indeed, he wasn’t entirely sure soldiers wouldn’t shoot Sespian if word was getting out about his true parentage-but he’d probably be safe tonight. The soldiers would have other things to worry about. They might put aside their other concerns if they saw Sicarius, though, so he searched the buildings in the fort for a less populated place that would afford him a view. A clock tower rose from the square near the front gate. That would have to do.

“Want me to go with him?” Maldynado asked. “I think Ridgecrest is past wanting to hit me. Much.”

“No,” Sicarius reluctantly said. “Our team is too notorious. The soldiers would capture-” or kill, “-us if they got the chance. Among them, Sespian should be safer without us.” Though Sicarius resolved to acquire a rifle on the way to the clock tower in case anyone standing near his son did make a hostile move. He ought to be able to hit most targets from that vantage point.

Basilard signed, Where to?

“Follow me,” Sicarius said.

He jogged through the alleys, taking to the rooftops to avoid troops jogging for the walls. At one point, running along the gutters of a barracks building, he spotted a straggler coming out of the front door. The soldier paused, leaning his rifle against the wall to tug on his helmet and fasten a chinstrap. By the time he turned around to retrieve his weapon, it was gone.

With the rifle and an ammo pouch in hand, Sicarius skimmed behind evergreen hedges fronting the building until he reached the corner. From the alley, he climbed a downspout, regaining the roof again before the private asked, “Did anyone see my gun?”

Maldynado was waiting with Basilard, sharing hand signs and snickers. More booms reverberated through the night, and something slammed into one of the fort walls. Their faces sobered. Sicarius sped past them, across two more rooftops, and down into the square with the clock tower in the center.

By this time, most of the troops had reached the walls and were lining the parapets, several teams manning weapons. In front of the massive double doors leading out of the fort, two infantry companies formed precise squads, rifles in hand, swords hanging from their belts. Nobody had opened those doors, but if someone gave the order, the soldiers would storm out.

With their faces forward, none of the men saw Sicarius, Maldynado, and Basilard running through the shadows behind them. The clock tower was unguarded, so they slipped through the door and jogged up the spiral staircase unopposed. Chains and gears filled the empty air to their right, but Sicarius’s only interest was in the view from above. He outpaced the others and reached the wooden platform several stories above the square. After ensuring no enemies occupied the space, he ran to a window facing west, the direction from which that first round had been fired.

The snow had picked up, but it didn’t hide the sea of lanterns burning a half mile from the walls. Not just to the west, but to the east and north as well. The cold, dark lake lay to the south, making it difficult to move companies of men into position in front of the fort’s double doors, but lanterns meandered through the trees along the jogging path there as well. There were thousands of soldiers out there, maybe tens of thousands. And they’d brought weapons. The lights revealed the hulking shapes of steam trampers, armored lorries, and all manner of mobile projectile launchers. It was Turgonian technology, not that there’d been much doubt. There was no way a foreign invasion force of this size could have come up the river, along the roads, or over the mountains without being spotted. This was another warrior-caste competitor for the throne, someone doing a much better job of rounding up troops than Sespian.

“Oh, that cannot be good,” Maldynado said, coming up beside Sicarius.

We’re surrounded, Basilard signed. We can’t even go back to the city.

“Not easily,” Sicarius agreed.

He suspected he could make it-he thought of his promise to return to Amaranthe and “stand guard”-but he wouldn’t go without Sespian, and Sespian… Sicarius pulled out his spyglass and searched along the wall until he found General Ridgecrest, gesticulating and barking orders. Yes, there was Sespian at his side, his hood pulled up to hide his face as he gazed thoughtfully out at the massed troops. He didn’t look like a man thinking of fleeing; he looked like an opportunist seeking an opportunity.

A faint howl floated across the fields. It was distant, originating somewhere beyond the sea of troops, and someone unfamiliar with it might have mistaken it for a wolf. Sicarius did not.

Basilard didn’t either. The soul construct?

“Is it with them?” Maldynado pointed toward the besieging army. “Because they don’t look like they need magic and monsters in addition to all those people and artillery.”

“Unknown,” Sicarius said. What he did know was that he wouldn’t be returning to the city that night, perhaps not for some time.