Forged in Blood II

Chapter 15

Sicarius glided through the streets, scouting ahead for Amaranthe and the others, avoiding the pockets of fighting. Night had come a couple of hours earlier, so most of the skirmishes had broken off, but a few continued. The gangs were about, too, looting, or trying to. Many shopkeepers remained in their stores, fighting off would-be intruders with crossbows and swords. Sicarius stuck to residential areas, picking a winding route toward the Emperor’s Preserve and the secret entrances to the Imperial Barracks.

They reached the park’s boundaries without incident, and Basilard came up to scout the woods with him. He took point, ahead and to the right of the party, while Sicarius took the left. Footprints and lorry tracks crisscrossed the slushy snow blanketing the ground between the trees. The warming front from the south had come in, and icy clumps melted from bare branches, spattering on their heads and shoulders. Shots fired from time to time in the city, but the Preserve remained quiet.

That quietness ended abruptly when the team was halfway to the underground tunnel Sicarius sought. A woman’s shriek arose from the west. He paused, turning his head to catch the remains of the cry, pinpointing the direction. He couldn’t see the city from there, but given their position in the woods, he was certain it had originated on Mokath Ridge. He would have thought that area, where the wealthy lived, would be neglected by the soldiers, as there was little up there worth acquiring in terms of military maneuvering, though perhaps the gangs had taken their looting to those lavishly adorned homes. The only reason he’d paused was the sheer terror and pain the shriek had carried. Would someone cry out so at a bunch of teenaged Akstyr-like thugs? If one’s life were in danger, he supposed so. Whatever it was, it was unlikely it had anything to do with their mission.

A shadow trotted in from the northeast. Basilard. He carried a lantern, though he had it shuttered. He set it on the ground and released a sliver of light in such a manner as it wouldn’t shine into their eyes-he only needed enough illumination for his hand signs to be seen.

I caught the scent of blood, he signed and pointed toward the northeast.

Human blood?

I believe so.

There may have been fighting out here earlier in the day. Flintcrest’s camp is nearby. Though Flintcrest’s camp should have been more to their east by now.

There was something else… something familiar.

Yes?

When he wasn’t signing, Basilard was plucking at the seam of his trousers and glancing over his shoulder. I’m uncertain. I would like your opinion. They shouldn’t be down here.

They?

But Basilard had already picked up the lantern. He jogged in the direction from which he had come.

Sicarius thought of returning to the team to warn Amaranthe-and let her know they were going to investigate something suspicious-but the others were a half a mile back yet. Traveling with the aid of lanterns, they were picking their way more cautiously across the forest floor, and Maldynado and Books carried a heavy burden, a four-foot-tall canister Starcrest had devised to hold his daughter’s concoction. Amaranthe had more details as to what it was and where they’d use it. First they had to reach the Imperial Barracks. Sicarius wondered if they should be wasting time, following the scents of blood, instead of heading directly to the passage. Nonetheless, he trailed Basilard, pausing only once, when he crossed the trail the others would come up. He broke a couple of sticks to form an arrow on the snow, indicating their northeasterly direction.

As he loped after Basilard, he tested the air again, as he’d been doing throughout the evening. He detected the scents of the forest, of coal smoke, of military rations, and… He sniffed again. Yes, the smell of blood tainted the air.

Freshly spilled blood, a lot of it.

The air held another odor as well, one that was earthy and musky. And familiar. One he hadn’t smelled since last spring, since they’d been in that dam up in the mountains. Makarovi? Down here? Basilard was right. They were a hundred miles from that dam and hundreds of miles from what remained of makarovi territory. It was possible that one of the ones he, Amaranthe, and Maldynado had hurled downstream had found its way to shore and migrated in this direction, finding food to sustain it as it went, but such beasts did not tread lightly upon the earth. Someone would have reported the deaths, and the story should have made its way into the newspaper.

His nose, however, did not make mistakes, not like this.

His first urge was to find Amaranthe, remembering that makarovi chose female targets when possible, preferring the taste of their reproductive organs. His fear for her rose in his chest, so intense that he almost spun about and ran to her. But that would leave Basilard to possibly face one alone. Amaranthe had several men around her, enough to slow an attack should it come, and Sicarius would hear the sounds of melee. He could run back in time. She was competent enough to deal with a fight as well-if nothing else, she couldn’t do worse than his example with the soul construct: fleeing up a tree.

Hoping he wouldn’t regret the decision, Sicarius increased his speed until he caught up with Basilard.

“Slow down,” he whispered. “We should approach with caution.”

Basilard started to unshutter the lantern, but Sicarius stopped him, guessing at his question.

“Yes, I smell it too.”

Moving more slowly now, they circled a copse of evergreens so they could approach from downwind. In this part of the park, boulders mingled with the trees, and some of the outcroppings towered above a man’s head. Though hunters and the creep of civilization had long ago driven large game out of the valley, it was the sort of area where an animal might make its den.

He and Basilard picked a careful route, listening and smelling as they went. To Sicarius, the faintness of the makarovi odor implied the creature wasn’t still about-their pungent, earth scent was overpowering in close proximity-but makarovi could move quickly on land, and just because it wasn’t in the area didn’t mean it couldn’t choose any moment to return.

Sicarius spotted the body first, a dark form crumpled against the trunk of a tree. The paleness of the snow made the blood spatters stand out. Clawed plantigrade footprints surrounded the area. Basilard stopped and pointed at the body. He raised the lantern questioningly.

Sicarius nodded. “Take a look. I’ll stand watch.”

As Basilard peeled back the shade on his lantern for a close look at the corpse, Sicarius listened for the approach of the others-or for anything else that might be about. Plops sounded as melting snow continued to fall from the branches, but little else disturbed the night. Above the skeletal trees, clouds blotted out the stars and moon. A dark shape in a hollow between two boulders caught his roaming gaze.

Sicarius headed toward it. The number of clawed footprints in the snow increased. With several meters between Sicarius and the lantern, he couldn’t be certain of the indentions, but he thought them varied in size. More than one makarovi?

He knelt, spreading his fingers wide to measure one of the prints. Not surprisingly, it dwarfed the width of his hand. He touched another one. It was bigger. He checked a third. Smaller than the first.

Sicarius struggled for his usual calm detachment, but another urge flowed through his veins, an urgent desire to race back and warn Amaranthe. He made himself stay, probing the edges of the prints, trying to decide how fresh they were from the amount of erosion-the warmer weather was melting snow at a regular rate, but those edges were sharp. Recent. Two hours? An hour?

He rose to check on the dark hollow. More than a hollow, he discovered as he drew closer. A tunnel, freshly scraped from the earth, one large enough for three men to stride through, shoulder to shoulder. Large enough, too, for a makarovi to traverse.

Sicarius sniffed the air. It did smell of the makarovi, but not so pungently as one would expect from a den. The walls were even and tidy, too, more like something dug with machinery than claws. He peered behind him, half-expecting Heroncrest’s tunnel-boring machine to be sitting under the trees somewhere, beside piles of moved earth. When he didn’t spot anything in the trees behind him, he skirted the edge of the boulder formation. He’d only taken a couple of steps before he rounded a bend and found his moved earth. Great piles of dirt had been dumped behind the boulders. Snow blanketed some of them, but other piles had been recently dumped, the dark earth standing bare to the night.

The location behind the boulders would hide the evidence of extraction from the trail Amaranthe and the others were on. The hint of a large, dark form, too bulky and square to be a pile of earth-or belong to a lurking makarovi-hunkered beside one of the piles of fresh earth.

Sicarius jogged toward it. Another dark shape in the snow to the side made him hesitate. Another body. The light would help with investigating those, so he’d leave it for Basilard.

A few more steps, and he was close enough to make out more details. It was a vehicle. It lacked the conical front of the tunnel-boring machine, possessing instead the stub nose of a lorry with a large cargo bed ideal for moving earth. Two more battered bodies awaited in the snow, their arms akimbo. One’s neck had broken upon landing. It was as if he’d been torn from the cab of the vehicle and hurled at a huge velocity. Sicarius checked the lorry’s furnace. Heat radiated from the metal, and red embers burned inside. The gauge had fallen below ready, so some time had passed, but the vehicle had been in operation earlier that evening.

Lights came into view, lanterns bobbing and weaving with the steps of men. Basilard stood and waved.

Relieved nothing untoward had happened to the group, Sicarius jogged in that direction.

“Are we there yet?” came Maldynado’s moan from the trees. “This canister is heavy. Does anybody else think we should have been given an armored attack vehicle for carrying our equipment and for infiltrating a highly secured imperial building?”

“Are you whining again?” Yara asked.

When Sicarius joined the group, his silent appearance cut off whatever response Maldynado might have made. Good.

“It would be unwise to linger in the area,” he said without preamble. “Makarovi have been about, no more than two hours ago.”

One hour, Basilard signed, joining them. That soldier’s body is fresh.

“Bodies? Makarovi?” Amaranthe spoke with admirable calm, but Sicarius didn’t miss her darting glances toward the trees and the boulders. After nearly dying to makarovi claws last spring, she had more reason than any of them to fear the creatures. And he had more reason than ever to keep her from coming up with schemes to thwart them.

“The tunnel-boring team is dead,” Sicarius said. “Four men. At least.”

Basilard glanced at him. Tunnel boring?

“Their earth hauler is behind those rocks.”

“So… the makarovi came out of the mountains and rushed into the tunnel, mauling everyone on the way?” Amaranthe asked. “That could work to our advantage, if we can avoid them. I wouldn’t wish that pain-and death-on anyone, but if fate has delivered it… we were looking for a good distraction.”

“The type of distraction where my older brother gets skewered by claws and turned into a makarovi appetizer?” Maldynado dropped his end of the canister, causing Books, who had been walking backward, carrying the opposite side to jerk in surprise and lose his grip. He glowered at Maldynado.

“Eww,” Akstyr said. “I hate those things. Aren’t they the ones that eat women’s… lady parts?”

“Yes,” Amaranthe said.

Yara, who’d been trailing the party with Sespian, grimaced. “I hate those things too.”

“If they’ve found a way into the Barracks,” Sespian said, “and the building and courtyard gates are locked down, whoever’s in there will be trapped.”

“They didn’t go inside the tunnel,” Sicarius said.

Silence fell as the team considered his words. He took advantage, listening to the night forest around them. More plops of snow fell, but he didn’t hear anything else, no further screams, nor the moist snuffles of those creatures advancing through the trees.

“They killed the tunnel team and moved on?” Amaranthe asked.

“No,” Sicarius said. “They came out of the tunnel and moved on.”

Basilard shook his head. That doesn’t make sense. You must have read the tracks incorrectly.

“I did not,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe patted Basilard on the arm. “Now, now, you know you insult him when you say things like that.”

She kept her teasing tone light, though Sicarius sensed that her jocularity was not sincere. As she so often did, she was trying to remain strong, insouciant even, so the others would not worry. Indeed, Yara had turned to face the shadowy trees to the rear, the rifle in her hands clenched tightly, her shoulders tense. Working as an enforcer sergeant, she too had been up near that dam, and she too had seen what the makarovi could do.

Perhaps the creatures traveled into it, used it as a den, and came back out again, Basilard signed.

“Makarovi came out,” Sicarius said. “They did not enter.”

I do not wish to belittle your tracking skills, Basilard signed, but… He faced the others. Sicarius did not see the tracks by the light of a lantern.

“He’s right,” Sespian said. “It must be a mistake. Having makarovi come from inside the Barracks doesn’t make any sense. We don’t grow them in the garden.”

Sicarius said nothing, though having his skills doubted by his son stung slightly. Sespian was right to question, he told himself. It didn’t make sense.

“Here’s an idea,” Maldynado said. “Why don’t we take the lights over there and all have a looksie?”

“Would you be comfortable dying if those were your last words?” Yara asked.

“I can’t imagine any circumstance where I’d be comfortable dying, unless it were in bed, after being heart-stoppingly overworked by a lush, beautiful, and terribly athletic woman.”

“More likely you’d be killed in bed, by a dagger from the woman’s husband,” Yara said.

Maldynado removed his hat and crushed it to his chest, a forlorn expression on his face. “I meant you, my lady.”

Yara blinked. “Oh.”

“Let’s take a look at these makarovi prints,” Amaranthe said before the conversation could veer farther off track.

“This way.” Pointedly not taking one of the lanterns, Sicarius led the way to the tunnel mouth.

“Nice… body,” Akstyr said. “At least it’s not a girl. It’s only deheaded, not de…organed.”

“Decapitated,” Books corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Is there a better word for de-organed?” Amaranthe asked bleakly, her voice devoid of the humor that might have accompanied her words under other circumstances.

“Not that references the specific organs those creatures target,” Books said.

“Pity,” Yara muttered, still eyeing the forest warily. “I’d hate for there not to be a word for how we’ll be killed.”

“I’m sure Books can make one up for you,” Maldynado said.

Sicarius waited while Basilard investigated the tracks with the help of his lantern. Amaranthe stepped into the tunnel, holding her own light aloft. The flame did little to push back the darkness, illuminating only a few feet into the earthen passage. It was enough, however, to see the round walls and regular cuts made by a boring machine.

“Do you think they made it through to the Barracks?” she asked.

“It’s over a mile from here to there,” Sicarius said, “via a linear route. This is farther out than the secret entrance to which I intended to lead the group.”

“The one labeled sewer access point?” Amaranthe asked. “I’ve visited that one before.”

“Yes.” Reminded of their first couple of meetings, Sicarius remembered how callously he’d sent her to see Hollowcrest and how unmoved he’d been when he found her dying on that park bench. It chilled him now to think of how close he’d come to losing her before he understood her worth to him. “It’s approximately one fourth of a mile away.”

“With a shaman booby trap at the end.”

“Ward,” Akstyr said.

“We don’t know what will be there,” Books said. “After you fiddled with the last one, that shaman may have tinkered around and improved the security.”

“That’s… actually a good point,” Akstyr said.

“I make them occasionally.”

Basilard stood, a displeased wrinkle creasing his forehead. Sicarius waited for him to pronounce the correctness of his findings.

“Basilard?” Sespian asked. He’d been watching the investigation, puzzled, no doubt, as to how makarovi might have originated inside the Barracks.

It does appear that they came out this way. There are no tracks leading inside the tunnel. Basilard tugged off his cap to scratch his scarred pate. There could be an intersecting tunnel ahead somewhere, allowing entrance from another outside point.

Sicarius did not disagree with this supposition.

“Shall we check?” Amaranthe pointed into the tunnel. “If the boring team did breach the Barracks grounds before this happened-” she tilted her head toward the corpse in view, “-it may be an unguarded way in. I’d prefer not to alert the shaman of our entrance, and if I’m understanding the wards correctly, that could happen even if we find a way to bypass the alarm.”

“It could,” Akstyr admitted.

“What if this entrance is guarded by makarovi?” Yara asked. “That’s worse than a shaman.”

“First Marblecrest’s troops and now makarovi.” Sespian sighed. “My poor cat hasn’t got a chance.”

Amaranthe looked around at everyone, holding Sicarius’s gaze a little longer. He nodded. Neither option was amazingly better than the other, and they needed to get on with their mission. The only unfortunate bit would be if this involved walking a mile to a dead end and having to backtrack, but it was worth the risk if it offered them a chance to learn more of the makarovi-such as if these beasts wore shamanic control collars like the ones in the dam had. If one of the contenders for the throne controlled such creatures, Starcrest would want that information. Sicarius had picked up five distinctly different prints from five different creatures before he’d stopped counting. As powerful as the makarovi were, even a force that small could have an impact in a wartime situation.

“We’ll try it.” Amaranthe took a step to lead the way into the tunnel.

Sicarius cut her off, gliding into the point position. Under many circumstances, he’d accept her going first, but not when dealing with monsters that preferred the taste of human women. She didn’t object to his usurpation of the lead spot, and he trotted ahead, wanting to feel and smell the tunnel with senses that were superior to sight in such poor lighting. If makarovi raced down the passage toward him, he’d be the first to know it.

• • •

Amaranthe judged they’d walked about a half mile when she caught up to Sicarius. He’d stopped in the middle of the passage, his back rigid, his eyes forward, as if he were a statue. The rest of the team had been walking behind her, their lights bobbing on the dirt-and-rock walls, and they too halted.

“What is it?” she whispered, though she knew there was no point. He’d tell her when he’d fully processed whatever he’d heard or smelled.

“Nothing new,” Sicarius said without turning around, “but the scent is growing alarmingly strong.”

Basilard stepped up to Amaranthe’s shoulder. I concur. We may run into their den before we reach the end of the tunnel. Perhaps discovering it is what caused the excavation to stop.

Amaranthe detected the musky scent now, too, and memories shivered through her, excruciating memories. We beat them last time, she reminded herself. Of course the layout of the dam had given them time to enact a plan. Meeting them head on in the tunnel would not offer that same time.

“I will continue,” Sicarius said. “Wait here.”

“Sicarius, wait-” she started, but he was already jogging away. Running away.

Amaranthe was tempted to run after him. To lose him now, when they were so close to… having a full-on, grownup real people’s relationship… She sighed.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Sespian said, stepping up to her other side. “I’ve seen him run. He’s quite the sprinter. He should have been an athlete in the Imperial Games instead of an assassin.”

We already have a competition-winning athlete in the group, Basilard signed.

“Yes, we do.” Amaranthe patted him on the shoulder, though she didn’t take her gaze from the tunnel ahead. “Let’s keep going. We’ll walk while he runs. He’ll still see whatever there is to see first.”

“As if there were… another option… than walking,” Maldynado grunted. “Anyone else want to take a turn at carrying this thing?”

“Sorry,” Amaranthe said, “but I couldn’t lift it when I tried. Alas, I’m not as brawny as you and Books.”

Books looked mollified at being called “brawny,” though his face had an unhealthy turnip-like hue. Amaranthe was glad when Sespian said, “I’ll take a turn.”

Maldynado smiled brightly, though it faded when Sespian replaced Books instead of himself. “Hmmph,” he announced loudly.

“What are we going to do with this big can anyway?” Maldynado added a few steps later.

“It’s full of… I don’t remember what exactly Mahliki called it,” Amaranthe said, “but it’s a liquid compound she derived from the venom sacs of… I forget that too. Some kind of spider. I remember that she was relieved that the city’s main bug farmer had the correct specimens in suitable numbers, due to most bugs dying or hibernating in the winter.” Amaranthe was lucky to remember that much of the explanation she’d received, as the young woman had spoken rapidly, sometimes slipping into Kyattese and sometimes into technical bug-babble that Amaranthe had followed even less than the foreign language. “The venom sacs contain a poison that paralyzes insects, so the spider can easily snack on them.”

“I hope the plan isn’t for us to go around shooting my brother’s men full of poison and then eating them, because I had some of Basilard’s chicken dumplings before we left, and I’m not in the mood to snack.”

Amaranthe met Yara’s eyes. “Did you want to smack him, or should I?”

“That’s most likely my duty,” Yara said, “though I wouldn’t want him to drop that barrel, especially now that I know it’s full of paralyzing poison.”

“Actually, that’s not quite it,” Amaranthe said. “Mahliki and her cousin performed some fancy alchemy to turn it into an anesthesia of sorts. We’re to pour it onto the coals in the basement furnace that warms the air that flows into the ducts of the building. It’ll waft out of the vents as a colorless gas, supposedly without much of an odor either. We’ll wait a few minutes, and when we come up, most of the resistance should be groggy or outright unconscious. Those on the inside of the building anyway. We’ll still have to deal with the guards in the courtyard and on the walls.”

“She made an anesthesia from spiders innards?” Akstyr asked. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen, I believe,” Amaranthe said.

“That makes me feel less… special about my ability to use the Science to pull down people’s trousers.”

Amaranthe couldn’t remember ever hearing Akstyr sound impressed by anyone, not out loud anyway. He usually rolled his eyes or curled his lips at the admirable feats Sicarius and his teammates could accomplish. Perhaps it was Mahliki’s age. Or the fact that she was beautiful. Amaranthe decided not to mention that she’d caught Mahliki glancing Sespian’s way a few times during the team meeting. “Don’t belittle your skills,” she said. “They’ve saved our lives a few times now.”

“Wait,” Maldynado said. “Akstyr’s running around, forcing people to model their undergarments? When did he learn this new talent?”

“Don’t ask,” Books said, “or he may try it on you.”

“I’d rather we head to the dance halls together, so he can demonstrate that skill on the pretty-ouch.”

“Thank you, Yara,” Amaranthe said without looking back.

“You’re welcome.”

Basilard jogged in front of Amaranthe and dropped to one knee, examining the dirt. The ursine makarovi prints weren’t as perfectly defined as they had been in the snow, but one could make out partial tracks in the soft earth, not to mention the finger-thick punctures that marked the spots their long claws had set down.

“Same number of them as we saw at the entrance?” Amaranthe asked, though logic suggested the answer had to be yes. They hadn’t passed any side tunnels or exits.

Basilard nodded. The smell is getting stronger.

Amaranthe hoped she wasn’t directing the team into the heart of a makarovi den. Maybe they should have chanced dealing with shamanic alarms and booby traps instead. She peered into the darkness ahead. Sicarius hadn’t returned.

“I thought that was Maldynado and Books smelling that bad,” Akstyr said, “on account of working so hard to tote that big can.”

“Ha ha,” Maldynado said, “your sharp quip has skewered me like a venison kebob for a grill.”

“How come he didn’t include Sespian in his witty lambast?” Books pointed to the rear, where Sespian trudged along, now carrying the back half of the canister.

“He doesn’t seem to sweat much,” Akstyr said. “Even when he’s not doing bookly things.”

Sespian shook his head.

Basilard stood, pointing ahead. A moment later, Sicarius jogged out of the darkness. Yes, jogged, Amaranthe noted; he wasn’t sprinting as if a herd of… makarovi were after him. Good.

“Come,” he said, turning as soon as they saw him.

“No, no,” Amaranthe said. “No need to tell us what you saw. We’re not the curious sorts.”

He’d already disappeared into the tunnel depths.

Amaranthe grumbled, but strode after him anyway. The others followed, this time without the banter. Sicarius hadn’t appeared any grimmer than usual, but there’d been an urgency about his terse command and quick retreat.

A breeze drifted down the tunnel, bringing with it the scent of earth and snow, though the makarovi musk nearly smothered those more delicate odors. Amaranthe noticed her hand pressed against her belly, against the scars she’d forever have, a tangible memory of her last encounter. We’re not heading into a den, she told herself. If she smelled snow, there was another exit to the tunnel.

Soon sounds as well as smells came from ahead. A din that Amaranthe couldn’t place: bangs and clangs and shouts. They ought to be close to the Barracks; could they be hearing sounds of an attack? Starcrest wouldn’t have sent men to charge the gates, would he? As a diversion? No, he didn’t have many men, and certainly none to spare for something foolhardy. Maybe Flintcrest or Heroncrest were attacking. Except that her team had already stumbled across Heroncrest’s men. He’d been the general with the tunnel-boring machinery. His original plan of attack had to be on hold now.

Metal glinted ahead, not in the center of the passage, but off to the side in a hollow. Thus far, the tunnel had been straight without so much as a wall niche for holding the canteens and lunch boxes of the workers.

Sicarius stepped out of the hollow at the same moment as Amaranthe drew close enough to identify the metal object. The conical head of the tunnel borer stuck a few inches into the tunnel, with the rest of the vehicle backed into the nook.

When she took a step toward it, thinking to peek inside the cab, Sicarius lifted a restraining hand.

“There is nothing to see except mauled corpses. They were trying to turn around, to escape. Presumably the machine’s forward speed is greater than its reverse speed. Either way, it wouldn’t have mattered. Makarovi can cover ground quickly.”

“I see.”

“There are two exits ahead. One where the borer came up in the root cellar, and another in the courtyard where the ceiling caved in-or was pulled in-” Sicarius made an upward grasping motion with his hand, and Amaranthe imagined makarovi claws tearing into the earth. “That’s where the tracks diverge.”

“Root cellar?” Sespian asked. “Was the food destroyed? That’s where most of the stores to feed the compound are kept. If Marblecrest was depending on those rations for his men…”

“I’m more concerned about what he means about tracks diverging,” Amaranthe said. “Are we dealing with more than five makarovi?”

“At least twelve,” Sicarius said. “More than half of them went up into the courtyard instead of down the tunnel.”

“Twelve?” Maldynado groaned. “And us without a dam to hurl them off?”

“Maybe we can lead them to the lake,” Books said. “The ice will be weakened with the warmer weather, and their corpulent frames ought to break through a couple of inches regardless.”

“Lead them with what bait?” Yara frowned.

Sicarius gave Amaranthe a quelling expression. She hadn’t planned to volunteer for that job again anyway.

Sespian raised a finger. “Just to be clear, you’re saying they originated in the root cellar? How would that be possible?”

“An empty portion was sectioned off and turned into a cage, a cage secured with thick steel bars. The tunnel borer came up underneath it.”

“That must have surprised the piss out of the operator,” Maldynado said.

“Heroncrest’s people must have thought the root cellar would be the ideal place to bring up the borer.” Sespian touched the cone, its metal blades scraped and pitted after so much use. “It’s underground, of course, and out in the courtyard, not attached to the main building. Unless a few servants were out collecting supplies for breakfast, who would hear the rumbling of the machinery underfoot?”

“Yes, good plan from Heroncrest,” Yara said, “but is anybody else wondering how a bunch of makarovi got into the root cellar to start with and why they were brought here?”

“Maybe…” Amaranthe withdrew a kerchief and wiped earth off the borer’s grimy blades. “Maybe Ravido wasn’t planning on being a figurehead for Forge after all.”

“You think my brother caught twelve makarovi?” Maldynado blinked. “He shot one of our cousins when he was out on a stag hunt with Father. After that, he was encouraged to abandon the hobby.”

“With the money your family has, I imagine he could have hired someone to do the capturing for him,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe he learned about our shaman friend from the mountains. Maybe he even excavated that cave we collapsed and found some of those collars…”

“You believe Ravido Marblecrest brought the makarovi here and imprisoned them to be unleashed on the Forge people?” Books asked. “Once they’d secured his place on the throne?”

Basilard nodded in grim agreement. He must have been imagining the scenario too.

“Forge is comprised mostly of women.” Amaranthe’s hand strayed toward her scars again before she caught herself. She returned to cleaning the blades. “Makarovi like women.”

“Like,” Yara choked. “That’s not the way I’d put it.”

Gunshots erupted in the distance, drowning out the muffled shouts and general din drifting down the tunnel from the courtyard ahead.

“That’s a despicable plan,” Sespian said and frowned at Maldynado. “Your brother is a monster.”

Maldynado touched his hand to his chest. “Do you hear me disagreeing? I wouldn’t be surprised if Father had a hand in this as well. Anything to assure the family’s place in imperial history.”

Sicarius caught Amaranthe’s hand before she could stand on tiptoes to clean the top part of the drill head. She didn’t plan to fall into it, but supposed she was leaning precariously close to the sharp blades. There was no point in cleaning the machine; she just hated to leave those crusty edges alone. She gave him a sheepish shrug.

“Let someone else deal with eradicating the makarovi,” Sicarius said. “There are soldiers all over the place, and the creatures can be killed by attrition-enough bullets to the head will stop one of them.”

“What about twelve?” Sespian murmured.

“Now would be the time to enact our original plan,” Sicarius said.

“Put people to sleep while they’re defending themselves from man-slaying monsters?” Books balked.

“I climbed out of the hole in the courtyard long enough to assess the situation,” Sicarius said. “The Barracks doors have been barricaded, the shutters on the first floor closed and barred. Many people are inside, and more are on the ramparts, trying to kill the makarovi and keep them from climbing up or escaping into the city. I do not believe any made it into the building.”

“You don’t believe?” Sespian asked. “What if you’re wrong? How many did you see in the courtyard?”

“Two, but I didn’t explore. I had to warn you.” Sicarius met Amaranthe’s eyes. “Currently, there are no barriers between us and the makarovi running around the courtyard. It is only their distraction that has kept them up there, but it’s unlikely there are women on the walls amongst the defenders.”

“No, but there’ll be women inside,” Amaranthe said. “Maids and kitchen helpers if no one else.”

“Yes, one of the makarovi was clawing at the front doors, trying to get inside.”

“Dear ancestors.” Yara started pacing.

Amaranthe would have lifted a fingernail to her lips for thoughtful nibbling, but Sicarius hadn’t released her hand. Given that it was the first time she remembered him holding it with others around, she wasn’t about to yank it away. Alas, it probably represented a concern that she might race off and, at the urging of some foolhardy scheme, put herself into a makarovi’s path, rather than a sudden interest in public displays of familiarity. She squeezed his hand, letting him know she’d had enough of risking herself stupidly, thank you very much. And after the debacle with the Behemoth, she wasn’t in a hurry to risk anyone else either, not without agreement from the rest of her team.

“Any chance our anesthesia will put makarovi to sleep as well as people?” Amaranthe glanced from Sicarius to Books, guessing they’d be the most likely to know, though she was starting to wish Starcrest had sent his daughter along after all. Mahliki had been more than willing to come.

“Unknown,” Sicarius said.

“Entomology is outside my area of expertise,” Books admitted, “though it’s possible. Mammals share some of the same aversions to venoms-a rattlesnake bite will kill a dog as surely as a man. It would, however, take a much larger dose to affect such a substantial creature. If it affected it at all.”

“I think… we need to get inside the building before we decide,” Amaranthe said. “Let the guards on the walls handle the ones outside. They have far greater firepower than we do, and-”

A scrape, then a pattering of earth sounded in the tunnel ahead of them.

As one, everyone stared in that direction. Something knocking dirt loose? Something jumped down into the tunnel? Amaranthe swallowed. A makarovi? More than one?

She pulled her hand from Sicarius’s grasp and signed, How far are we from the courtyard entrance?

Not far.

Any chance, Books signed, that was nothing more than loose earth falling free? Because of all the activity above us?

A heavy thud sounded, followed by more dirt pattering to the ground.

No.