Forged in Blood II

Chapter 19

Sicarius reached the basement door as Amaranthe and Sespian were jogging out, with Maldynado trailing behind, forcing Ravido Marblecrest to walk ahead of him. The general’s wrists were still bound, though his legs had been untied for the forced march. Maldynado had a pistol jammed into his back.

“Looks like we have another problem,” Sespian told Sicarius.

Amaranthe’s gaze grew bleak as it fell to the bundle of blasting sticks. “We’ll have to split up. Somebody has to warn Starcrest and his family about the makarovi, if it isn’t already too late, but somebody’s going to have to lead the search and evacuation of the Barracks. Without-” she lowered her voice as Maldynado and Ravido strode past, “-letting the possibly nettlesome prisoners out.”

Sicarius kept his mouth shut on the logical approach to dealing with “nettlesome” prisoners. “Why would the makarovi be a threat to Starcrest?” he asked instead.

Another shade of bleakness darkened Amaranthe’s face. “Suan. Ravido and his shaman friend decided they weren’t going to put up with Forge. The collars are instructing them to go after the heads of the organization.”

“I’ll stay here.” Sespian smoothed a hand down the front of his dress uniform. “I’m the logical choice and the most likely to be obeyed by the average soldier. I’d appreciate it if you leave me a couple of burly fighters though, in case it’s necessary to deal with miscreants.”

Amaranthe looked to Sicarius, a question in her eyes.

“You are not going makarovi hunting without me,” he stated.

Yara and Basilard jogged up to them, both frowning at the blasting sticks.

“That’s what we’re looking for?” Yara asked Sespian.

“Yes, they might be attached to a cube of ice and a lantern. Check for booby traps around the bomb-this one would have killed us all if Sicarius hadn’t been more thorough an investigator than I.”

Basilard and Yara nodded, then ran inside.

During the exchange, Sicarius hadn’t stopped staring Amaranthe in the eyes, as if he could will her to choose the safe route for once. “You should be among those who stay here.”

“Except there have been makarovi around here too,” she said.

“If you must go, I will go with you,” Sicarius said, though the idea of leaving Sespian here, especially with Ravido still alive, distressed him.

“I’ll be fine.” Sespian must have sensed Sicarius’s concern. “Amaranthe, leave me Basilard and Maldynado, please. Maybe Yara too. You don’t want more women than necessary down there, do you?”

Amaranthe sighed. “No. All right, take those three. Sicarius, do you want to see if there’s an idling lorry or carriage anywhere that we can confiscate? Even better if it’s armored, filled with guns, and features anti-makarovi heavy artillery weapons mounted on the roof.”

“I do not believe such a conveyance will be idling anywhere,” Sicarius said.

“Do the best you can. I don’t want to jog the five miles to the waterfront, not when there’s fighting in the streets.” She waved for him to go. “I’ll round up Books and Akstyr.”

Sicarius paused before he rounded a corner on his way to the vehicle garage, giving a last long look toward Sespian. He hoped he wouldn’t regret leaving his son here. But the makarovi were more dangerous than men, and he had to trust that Sespian could take care of himself. Indeed, he was already hustling off, giving orders and directing troops. He didn’t send a long look in Sicarius’s direction.

Because he was taking care of business and not worrying needlessly. Sicarius jogged off.

Though the skirmishes had subsided, he stuck to the shadows as he trotted around the back corner of the building toward the garden sheds and vehicle house near the side wall. A woman’s body, crumpled and eviscerated in the snow, made him pause. It was an older, well-dressed woman, her hair still neat in its bun despite the claw marks slashed across her face. Her velvet slippers were inappropriate for the slush-filled courtyard, and she had come outside without a jacket or weapons with which to defend herself.

Sicarius glanced up, and understanding dawned. Of course. A second-story window yawned open. If the makarovi had been hunting Forge founders, and one had been in the Barracks, someone must have decided to rid the building of the bait luring the beasts to attack. That explained the quietness that had come over the courtyard, though sounds of fighting rang out in the city below Arakan Hill.

Soldiers remained at their stations on the parapets, but the makarovi that had lingered at the Barracks must have been killed. Or-he paused near a stairway, noting a mauled body lying athwart several steps-with their mission complete here, the beasts had gone over the walls and escaped into the city.

Sicarius regretted hurling his knife into the shaman’s back. Had they taken her prisoner, she might have been coerced into deactivating those collars. But seeing her charge into the room where Amaranthe was trapped, the woman’s hands raised to attack… He’d thrown that knife without thought. He should have trusted that Amaranthe had a plan and could take care of herself.

It cannot be changed now, he thought, slipping into the back door of the vehicle house. However tough they were, makarovi were not soul constructs; enough bullets-and cannonballs-would bring them down.

A couple of lamps burned in the front of the carriage house, and the soft hisses and groans of steam machinery greeted him. Two armored lorries idled before the wooden double doors in the front wall, and a pair of firemen were shoveling coal in the cab of a third vehicle still in its parking stall.

Convenient. He could take one before the two men had time to react.

He climbed to the top of a small lorry in front of him and jumped from the top of one vehicle to the next to avoid walking down the wide center aisle where he might be spotted. A few seconds before he reached the end of the row, the front doors swung inward. A row of armed soldiers trotted inside, rifles in hands, swords at their belts. The squad split into groups, jogging for the cabins of the waiting vehicles. They didn’t look like men trying to escape, but they also didn’t look like men obeying the orders Sespian would be giving to search the Barracks for bombs. Maybe they’d come down from the battlements and didn’t yet know Sespian was around.

Sicarius hopped down from the parked vehicle, landing in front of a soldier who’d been angling for one of the cabs. The man blurted a surprised curse and swung his rifle around.

Sicarius could have flattened him, if he’d been willing to kill, but instead he hefted the bundle of blasting sticks. Until that moment, he hadn’t been certain why he’d still been carrying the bomb, other than a notion that it ought not be left lying around where someone could stumble across it, but the soldier’s eyes widened when he saw it.

“Shooting me wouldn’t be wise at the moment,” Sicarius said. “This bomb might go off. The blasting sticks are old and unstable. Why are you men not among those searching the Barracks for more booby traps?”

Several other soldiers had come around the front of the lorry, forming a semicircle. Sicarius listened for sounds of people coming up behind him. No one had yet, but there were three other men on the other side of the vehicle, and the two firemen readying the third.

“Booby traps?” a private blurted. “We have to go after the makarovi. They’ve escaped into the city.”

A sergeant jammed an elbow into his ribs. “That’s that assassin, Sicarius. Don’t talk to him.” The sergeant fingered the trigger of his rifle, though he also eyed the blasting sticks and didn’t raise the weapon.

“My team is prepared to deal with the makarovi,” Sicarius said, “and I am taking this vehicle so that we can do so. You people should report to Sespian.”

“Sespian!” The private glanced to the sergeant. The rest of the men did too.

“Sespian is dead,” the sergeant said.

“Sespian has returned to reclaim the throne.” Without drawing attention to his hand, Sicarius loosened the wires around the bundle of blasting sticks. “Ravido Marblecrest is his prisoner. If you don’t want to be punished or discharged for serving a false master, you should report to him now. He’s at the back of the building. Get his orders.” And get out of my way, so I can get this lorry for Amaranthe, he thought. He was wasting his time; these men wouldn’t believe him. But the alternative was to take action that would harm-or kill-them.

“Shoot him, sergeant,” another private whispered. “You’ve seen the papers, seen what he’s been doing. And we all know how many of our brothers he’s killed in the past. It’s worth dying here if he’ll die too.”

Sicarius thought about saying he’d been working for Sespian in killing the Forge people, but that might cause backlash for his son. The sergeant’s eyes hardened, his chin firming with resolve, and the time to talk was over anyway.

Sicarius pulled out one of the blasting sticks he’d loosened from the bundle and lobbed it toward the sergeant. He sprinted for the rear of the lorry.

“Look out!”

“Catch it-don’t let it-”

Their focus on the stick kept them from shooting at him. Sicarius ran to the far side of the second lorry, intending to leap in and drive it away before the soldiers could coordinate an attack… so long as the blasting stick didn’t explode, blowing up the vehicles and bringing the roof down.

A hint of movement came from his left, from down the center aisle. With the blasting stick bundle still tucked under one arm, he hurled a throwing knife. He could have taken the fireman in the throat-the man had stepped around a vehicle with a pistol in hand-but the blade bit into the flesh of his hand instead. The pistol dropped to the floor, and its owner leaped back behind the lorry, cursing.

“Got it,” one of the privates yelled.

The remaining three soldiers were standing near the cab of the vehicle Sicarius intended to take. One was glancing around the front, toward his clamoring comrades, but the other two were facing the rear, right where Sicarius came out.

He sprinted at them without hesitating, watching the fingers on their rifles. When the weapons came up, aimed at his chest, Sicarius zigged to the side. Figuring one might anticipate an attempt to dodge, he leaped in the less obvious direction: toward the vehicle.

The rifles fired, but the shots didn’t come close. Sicarius ran up the side of the cargo bed three steps, jumping before his momentum broke, and launched himself at the pair. He twisted in the air and kicked out with both legs. The soldier on the right caught a booted heel in the face and flew backward. The man on the left reacted more quickly, and almost evaded the kick, but, in midair, Sicarius hooked his leg and clobbered him in the side of the head.

By then, the third was spinning toward the fight, but Sicarius landed too close for him to fire. Instead of reverting to hand-to-hand, the soldier tried to leap back so he had room to use his rifle. Sicarius caught the barrel and yanked, pulling his foe off balance. Knowing he had no time for finesse, he grabbed the back of the man’s neck and slammed his face into the front of the lorry.

The other two men were trying to rise. On his way into the cab, Sicarius stomped on one’s hand and kicked the other’s knee out from under him. He lunged inside, gripping the controls without bothering to sit. He did take a second to gently rest the remaining blasting sticks on the passenger seat, then he thrust the vehicle into forward. Startled shouts came from the front-the men he’d diverted with the blasting stick racing over to join the fight. Too late.

Sicarius barreled past them, ducking low in anticipation of shooting. It came, but not until he’d rolled past their positions. A bullet entered the cab from the side and erupted through the windshield.

Others ricocheted off the side of the lorry, but that first shot was the only one to come close. Still, the men chased after him. As soon as Sicarius cleared the vehicle house, he turned a hard right, the wheels throwing up slush, pelting the fastest soldiers. Not much of an attack, but their curses elicited a modicum of satisfaction within him.

“Throw the blasting stick,” someone yelled.

“It’s a dud.”

“No, you have to light it. Here.”

Sicarius pressed the lorry to greater speed. His diversion might backfire on him if they ending up using the stick to blow him up.

As soon as the vehicle reached the end of the Barracks, he turned a hard left to bring it parallel with the back of the building. More slush sprayed, this time striking men who were standing in an orderly queue guarding other men. The prisoners, Sicarius realized. Sespian must have ordered them brought up from the dungeon for the evacuation.

He spotted Sespian’s tidy black uniform with its gold piping, and Maldynado and Basilard at his side. Amaranthe was coming up the basement stairs, Akstyr and Books trailing.

A harsh squeal rent the air as Sicarius threw on the brakes. Dozens of surprised faces turned in his direction. Fortunately, Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr hustled toward him without hesitation, each carrying a rifle or pistol, swords, and bulging ammo pouches.

“Get in,” Sicarius barked, leaning out to check on his pursuers.

The fastest of the soldiers rounded the corner of the building. The rearmost man gripped the blasting stick in one hand and a lantern in the other, both raised, as if he meant to light the fuse at any second.

“Halt,” Sespian called, stepping forward and lifting a palm. Perhaps more influentially, Maldynado and Basilard raised rifles at the oncoming men. Two soldiers, men he must have already recruited, stepped in front of Sespian, also with firearms at the ready.

“Put down your weapons,” one of them, a man with lieutenant’s rank pins, called.

“But, sir,” one of the lorry’s pursuers protested. “That’s Sicarius. The assassin.”

While this exchange was going on, Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr piled into the cab behind Sicarius.

“We’re ready,” Amaranthe urged.

Sicarius waited, though, wanting to make certain his son had everything under control. With the prisoners nearby and men who’d been working for Ravido not fifteen minutes before now supposedly on his side, the situation could quickly devolve into chaos.

“Where’s Ravido?” Sicarius asked. “Being kept with the general prisoners?”

“No,” Books said. “Someone-” he gave Amaranthe a long look, “-decided he should be involved in the search for more incendiary devices.”

Akstyr snickered, as if unaware of the tension outside. “Yara is bossing him around the way she does Maldynado. He’ll probably end up stepping on a mine just to get away from her nagging.”

“I am aware of that,” Sespian said, responding to the man with the blasting stick. “The others are outlaws. I’m giving them a chance to redeem themselves by defeating the makarovi.”

“But we were going to chase after the makarovi. Sir. Sire. Uhm.” The confused soldiers looked at each other. The one holding the blasting stick and lantern lowered the items.

“There is a situation here that requires attention. Fill them in, Lieutenant.” Sespian didn’t take his eyes from the men, but he did wave at the lorry. Get out of here, that gesture said. Do your mission. I’m fine.

Yes, Sicarius decided, it seemed he could. Pleased that his son had brought the situation under control, he nudged the lorry forward. With so many people now gathered behind the Barracks, he steered through the courtyard at a less frenetic pace, but as soon as they passed through the gates-someone had instructed the soldiers to open them-he pushed the vehicle to a greater speed. In the city, fires burned up and down the hills sloping down toward the lake; there was more trouble about than the makarovi could account for.

• • •

Amaranthe gripped the back of the seat beside Sicarius and stared out at the dark, slushy streets. They’d already started passing mauled bodies. Not many-the collars had sent the makarovi on a mission, after all, and they were taking the most direct path toward it-but enough. Shouts came from the rooftops of buildings, and lights burned behind shuttered windows and locked doors. The entire city seemed to be awake.

Aside from the bodies, the streets were empty, at least around the base of Arakan Hill. Torches moved in the distance, down by the waterfront. Her chest tightened, and a slight tremble shook her belly, one that had nothing to do with the vibrations of the lorry. She hadn’t wanted to be right about Suan and the makarovi, but Ravido had confirmed it. How much time had passed since those first creatures had left the tunnel? Hours, she feared. Even if they’d paused to… hunt along the way, they were sure to have reached the factory by now. Amaranthe had barely gotten to know Tikaya and Mahliki, but she nonetheless dreaded the thought of losing them.

“Since nobody else is asking,” Akstyr said from his spot behind Sicarius, “why are there blasting sticks in the other seat?”

Sicarius, his face intent as he concentrated on the slippery roads-and perhaps he was watching those torches, too, thinking similar thoughts as Amaranthe-did not reply.

“I assumed that Sicarius, aware of Amaranthe’s tendency for causing explosions, thought to facilitate her ability to induce them by giving those as… a gift,” Books said. “Blasting sticks get more reliable and, ah, speedier results than setting up catastrophic boiler failures in steam vehicles.”

Books was standing in the middle, gripping the ceiling to keep from flying out when they turned corners. Nobody had dared pick up those sticks and slide into the seat next to Sicarius.

“Aw,” Amaranthe said, “did you bring these along for me, Sicarius? That is quite thoughtful.” She almost added a comment about appreciating them as much as her pastry from Curi’s, but didn’t know if he’d want her letting others know he’d done something so domestic as bringing her sweets. Besides, the shock might cause Books to lose his grip on that ceiling bar and fall out of lorry.

Sicarius’s cool sidelong glance convinced her that the thought had been correct. He wasn’t in the mood to be playful. Understandable, since they’d left Sespian with a mess and were heading into another one.

“Look at that fire.” Akstyr thrust a finger toward a two-story brick building on a corner ahead. Flames leapt from the broken front windows, shards of glass gleaming orange on the cleared sidewalk below. The door had been busted in as well.

“That’s Curi’s,” Amaranthe blurted, reflexively stepping toward the exit, an image of leaping out and running for buckets of water flashing through her mind. But… Curi was allied with Forge, or had been. No matter how tasty her pastries were, maybe she deserved this end. Besides, with the way those flames were jumping, taming the chaos would take the Imperial Fire Brigade, not a couple of people with buckets.

“Looting,” Books said with disgust. “Hoodlums.”

As the lorry neared the intersection, two youths in oversized clothing slouched out of the shop, carrying bulging bags of stolen goods. One held a display platter full of sweets tucked under one arm. Again, Amaranthe was tempted to order Sicarius to stop, so they could jump out and deal with the thieves. Even if Curi deserved a bad turn for her alliance to Forge, criminals shouldn’t get away with pillaging and vandalism. The team couldn’t delay though, not when they were already hours behind those monsters.

Akstyr shrank away from the side of the cab. The pastries stuffed into the youths’ mouths didn’t hinder their ability to make crude gestures. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if they were aimed at the lorry in general or at Akstyr. The backs of those hands were branded, though she couldn’t tell with which marks.

Sicarius turned the corner, and the gang members disappeared from view. More buildings burned on either side of the wide street ahead, though there were fewer people out than she would have expected. Looting could grow widespread quickly. Where were the enforcers? Chasing makarovi?

The canal and a bridge came into view. Not much farther to the waterfront. Ah, there were the enforcers-a steam wagon rolled over the bridge at the same time as Sicarius crossed from the other side. Both vehicles scooted to the far sides, allowing room for the other to pass.

An enforcer leaned out of the back of the wagon with a megaphone. “Makarovi are loose in the city. Return to your homes. Do not take up arms. We will handle it.” It sounded like a litany he had repeated many times that night.

“How do they propose to handle it while they’re driving in the other direction?” Books asked.

“I’m sure there are numerous vehicles patrolling and looking for them. Or maybe enough are already at the factory to handle things.”

As they drove closer to the waterfront, they passed army vehicles as well with men on the roofs manning search lights, probing the alleys on either side of the streets.

“This way,” Amaranthe wanted to yell, “we know where they are.”

In truth, she didn’t know that. The makarovi might have already dealt with Suan and moved on to harassing the city at large.

Sicarius took them down the final long hill that led to Waterfront Street. More bodies littered the route, some on the sides, some out in the middle. More than once, he had to steer the lorry around one to avoid crushing it.

A block up from the waterfront, Sicarius turned onto the street that held the factory, but he had to brake immediately. A barricade had been erected from sidewalk to sidewalk, and two parked enforcer wagons further blocked access.

At first, Amaranthe thought that help must have arrived in time and maybe the law had been able to thwart the makarovi, but the silence of the street instilled a sense of eeriness. Wind gusted through, and clothing flapped somewhere. Amaranthe leaned out of the cab to see around the wagon-and wished she hadn’t. Two enforcers lay on their backs in slush turned red with their blood. One’s uniform jacket had been torn half off of him, and it flapped forlornly, as if it could fly away and escape the fate its owner had suffered.

Amaranthe listened for the roars of the makarovi, figuring that if they remained in the area it would imply they still sought their prey, but that flapping jacket was all she heard.

“We’ll try Waterfront Street,” Sicarius said. “If that’s blocked, we’ll proceed on foot.”

Amaranthe nodded. It was only three blocks to the factory-they would walk from here-but she remembered the effectiveness of that tunnel borer and was reluctant to leave the lorry behind. Even if it didn’t possess a giant drill bit, it might be able to pin beasts against the walls so the men could attack them.

Waterfront Street had been similarly blocked. If barricades alone had spanned the route, Amaranthe would have urged Sicarius to drive through them, but she doubted he’d be able to roll over the enforcer wagons once again parked inside the barrier.

“Should we try circling all the way around?” Amaranthe asked.

“We can come back for the lorry if we need it.” Sicarius parked the vehicle.

Something in his word choice made Amaranthe think they wouldn’t, that they were already too late.

Sicarius rose from the seat and grabbed the shovel in the rear. “I’ll stoke the firebox so it’s ready.”

Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr climbed out. There weren’t any boats out on the lake tonight. The ice that had been forming earlier in the week had receded, though it still edged the shoreline and cupped the pilings of docks. She listened again, hoping to hear the sounds of the makarovi, or at least of living beings, but it was as if the city’s entire population of one million had disappeared. Except for the looters. Fires continued to burn on the inland hills.

Amaranthe and the others did quick checks of their gear-weapons, yes, ammunition, yes, but would there be an opportunity to use them? She cringed at the idea of finding Starcrest and his family slaughtered in their blankets.

Sicarius hopped down from the cab, and the team squeezed past the barrier and strode up the street. He was carrying the blasting sticks under one arm.

When he noticed her eyeing them, he said, “You forgot your gift.”

“Ah, silly me. It’s kind of you to tote it along for me.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Those sticks look… volatile. I suppose it’d be impolite of me to ask you to walk on the other side of the street while you carry my gift.”

“Yes.”

Books lifted a finger. “What if I make the request?”

The look Sicarius gave him lacked amusement.

As they strode through the next two blocks, they passed more enforcer bodies. Even at night, nobody had to stop for a close look to see how they’d died; the gouges left by the long makarovi claws were distinct.

They rounded a corner, and Sicarius pointed. At the intersection next to the factory, a massive furry heap lay in the street. Two more human bodies had fallen in the vicinity, but at least one makarovi had been killed. Amaranthe tried to guess how many remained. Six? Seven?

A shot rang out to the southeast-a block up and a block inland. That ought to be the factory.

“Someone’s still alive.” She surged forward, but Sicarius caught her by the elbow, his grip implacable.

She expected an order to stay behind, lest her scent drive all of the makarovi toward her, but he merely pointed to the rooftop of the nearest warehouse. “The shot was fired from an elevated position. We may find greater safety in a similar approach.”

That warehouse took up the whole block and, standing on opposing corners from the factory, would let them have a view of most of the area. “Let’s do it,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius led the way, choosing a sturdy drainpipe. He shimmied up, using his boots and one hand to grip it, since he still held the blasting sticks in the other. Amaranthe couldn’t imagine a scenario where they’d lob explosives at the factory-especially if they believed people were still alive in there-but so long as he continued to carry her gift instead of asking the chore of her, she didn’t care. One-handed drainpipe climbing wasn’t in her repertoire of skills yet.

“Never have I wished more for his safety,” Books said, watching Sicarius climb, or perhaps watching the cylinder of sticks under his arm.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “I wouldn’t care to have him drop those, given our positions directly under him.”

She waited until Sicarius reached the roof, then hustled up after him. Books and Akstyr followed, though Akstyr whispered, “Blasted drainpipes. I looked this factory over when I was standing watch on the roof over there, and I distinctly remember a fire escape around the corner.”

“If makarovi can climb fire escapes, that’ll be the first thing I target with my gift.” Amaranthe reached the top and scrambled onto the roof. It was a flat one with low walls around the top. A small water tower perched in the center next to a couple of chimneys. A lone door allowed access to the interior.

Not surprisingly, Sicarius was checking the shadows for danger rather than rushing to the corner for a look at the factory. Amaranthe took that job for herself.

Almost sprinting, she bounded across the rooftop, reaching the corner in a few seconds. This building was taller than the factory, so she had to look down to spot the… what was that?

She’d stood a guard watch or two on that roof, too, so she knew what was and what wasn’t up there. Aside from the smokestacks there wasn’t a lot. Usually. Now some towering rectangular assembly of bars-or were those pipes? — had arisen. Lanterns dotted the rooftop, so she could see the stocky silver-haired man kneeling at one of the corners with a wrench. She didn’t know what he was doing, but seeing him filled her with relief.

“Admiral Starcrest is alive,” she called back to her team. Sicarius, Akstyr, and Books were all approaching. “And there’s…” The shadows were thicker away from the contraption, but she made out the figure kneeling at the edge of the roof with the rifle. “Deret.” A shot was fired from the far side of the factory roof, the flash of black powder briefly illuminating two more figures over there. Soldiers, she guessed from the fatigue uniforms. A few more knelt around the perimeter of the building, all with rifles and ammunition.

“His wife and daughter?” Books asked, coming up beside Amaranthe.

She swallowed. Where indeed were the women? The makarovi hadn’t caught them, had they?

Glass littered the street below. More than half of the windows had been destroyed, and the door visible from their warehouse lay uselessly across the threshold, torn from the hinges.

“There.” Books gripped Amaranthe’s shoulder with one hand, the other thrust toward the twin smokestacks.

Three women-Suan, Tikaya, and Mahliki-knelt between the chimneys, assembling something. Parts for Starcrest’s… project? It didn’t matter. They were alive. And well enough to scheme up-she’d have to ask and find out what that was. Some sort of makarovi trap, she guessed.

“Is that Amaranthe Lokdon over there?” came a call from the edge of the roof. “Or am I hearing voices?” Deret had lowered his rife and was squinting in her direction. “It must be her, because no other female would be reckless enough to come toward a makarovi hive.”

“You say you have an infestation of some sort?” Amaranthe called back. “Maybe we can help you come up with a suitable pesticide.” If the makarovi were roaming around inside the building, she envisioned lobbing burning blasting sticks through those broken windows. Then she envisioned one landing too close to a support post and the entire structure coming down. It was possible her idea needed refinement.

“That’s good,” Deret said, “because-”

A rifle cracked behind Starcrest’s project. There were two more soldiers in the center of the roof that Amaranthe hadn’t seen. One rushed to push a crate back atop the trapdoor that led to the interior.

“-the pests are particularly problematic this time of year,” Deret finished, his voice grim.

By now, Starcrest and the others had heard the exchange and noticed their company too. The admiral lifted a hand, but otherwise continued to work. Tikaya responded similarly. Suan wore a someone-get-me-off-this-roof-now-please expression. Did she have any idea that the makarovi were there for her?

Mahliki abandoned her project and raced to the edge of the roof. “My gas. Did it knock them out?”

Akstyr snickered. “Not all women can say things like that, but she’s pretty enough that I wouldn’t mock her for it.”

Amaranthe swatted him on the chest. “It did,” she called to Mahliki. “But we ran into trouble. The makarovi came from the Imperial Barracks.”

“What? How?” Deret called.

Starcrest lifted his head for more than a second this time.

“It seems Ravido Marblecrest wasn’t planning to be Forge’s spineless figurehead after all. He schemed this up with a shaman comrade. Those collars control them. They’re being sent to kill the remaining Forge founders. And I think they’ve accomplished their mission, save one.”

Suan lifted a hand to her lips. Yes, it’s you, Amaranthe thought.

“That explains their uncharacteristic tenacity,” Starcrest said.

“You might be able to shoot off their collars,” Amaranthe called. “We were able to break one that way last year.”

Deret cursed. “I didn’t even see any collars with those shaggy necks.”

“The fur makes them difficult to see, but they’re there. Of course, it’s not all that much better when they’re free of control.”

“Understood,” Starcrest said. “We’d have a hard time getting at them anyway, as they’re all downstairs right now, tearing up the inside of the building, but I’d rather they stay here in one place than wander into the city and kill people wantonly.”

“Trust me,” Amaranthe said, “they did plenty of that on their way down here.”

Starcrest and Deret both grimaced.

“They’re… dead because of me?” Suan asked. “I haven’t even… I mean…” She stared down at her hands.

Tikaya gripped her shoulder and said something Amaranthe couldn’t hear.

“What are you building, sir?” Books pointed to the pipe rectangle-it had to stand more than fifteen feet high.

“A very large mousetrap,” Starcrest said. “With bait, I thought we might lure the makarovi outside to one spot.” He waved toward the street below the roof. “And drop it over them. It’s very heavy-they shouldn’t be able to lift it without a combined effort, and I don’t believe they have that much intelligence.” He pointed to the smokestacks. “We’re making a winch, to lower it down.”

“Now they know who would work as bait,” Akstyr said.

“I’m just happy it’s not me this time,” Amaranthe muttered.

Another shot fired from the center of the roof. This time, she saw the trapdoor and the crate atop it jump several inches. After the soldiers stationed there had shoved their obstruction back into place, Starcrest asked them a question. They returned affirmative waves, if shaky ones.

“How many are down there?” Amaranthe asked.

“Six.”

Amaranthe wished her people could see the makarovi through the factory’s broken windows, thus to pepper them with rifle fire and whatever else they could come up with, but she hadn’t glimpsed so much as a shadow moving. The beasts must all be up on the catwalks, jumping for that trapdoor.

“Scoot back.” Sicarius touched her arm.

Amaranthe allowed herself to be guided back from the edge. “What is it?”

“There are vehicles driving down the street from the canal, and I spotted a boy observing us from the shadows up there.” He pointed up the street their warehouse and the factory shared, the one running perpendicular to the waterfront.

“Observing us specifically? Or the intersection in general?” Amaranthe waved to include the factory rooftop.

“Our group,” Sicarius said. “He ran back into an alley when he noticed me watching him back.”

“Gangs?” Akstyr took a big step away from the edge of the roof.

“He was scruffy, with ill-fitting clothing.”

Akstyr had once again dressed in his collection of ill-fitting clothing when the team had returned to the capital, and he scowled at this description.

“Why would they come here?” Books asked. “Are they unaware of the makarovi? They’re out in the streets; they must have seen the ravaged bodies.”

“What they saw,” Amaranthe said, “was a whole lot of chaos and a prime opportunity for looting.”

“Two of them also saw us drive by,” Sicarius said. “We were not making an effort to disguise ourselves.”

Akstyr stomped his foot. “Curse those frosting-sucking brats at the bakery. Don’t I have enough to worry about right now?”

“Your bounty is meager in comparison to Sicarius’s,” Books pointed out. “They may target him instead.”

“Thanks, Books,” Amaranthe said drily, because she knew Sicarius wouldn’t.

“They’ll go after me,” Akstyr grumbled. “I don’t have that deadly reputation. And they’ll be mad because of the way I embarrassed some of them at the docks last week.”

“We have the high ground,” Sicarius said, “and are well armed.”

“Let’s not worry yet. We’ll keep an eye on them-” Amaranthe nodded to Sicarius, silently assigning him the task, “-but let’s see what we can do to move this makarovi trap along.” She faced the factory again. “Admiral, we may have unpleasant visitors coming. Is there anything we can do to help you?”

“What kind of visitors?” Starcrest asked.

Amaranthe hated shouting everything for the whole neighborhood to hear, but doubted Tikaya would be able to read hand signs from that distance. She was busy with the winch anyway.

“Gangs,” Amaranthe said.

“Do they fancy themselves makarovi hunters?”

“Unlikely. They’re extremely superstitious when it comes to magic, and they know Akstyr’s a wizard. Also, three out of the four people on this roof have bounties on their heads.” Amaranthe lowered her voice to add an aside to Sicarius, who had returned from a check of the corners and the door leading into the warehouse below. “By the way, you really should spank Sespian someday for putting that bounty on your head.”

Akstyr made a choking sound at this image.

Sicarius grunted. Wistfully? Amaranthe wasn’t sure.

“At the least, he could have removed it before he asked us to kidnap him,” she said.

“He hasn’t removed your bounty either, has he?” Books asked her.

“No. Shortsighted of him. We should have made that a condition of our rescue.”

“Perhaps you should be spanking him too.” Akstyr grinned. At least the conversation seemed to have brightened his glower a touch.

“I don’t think I have that right as a non-parent,” Amaranthe said.

“If you and Sicarius were to marry, you’d be his stepmother,” Books pointed out.

“Alas, there’s probably an age when one can’t get away with spanking a young man anymore.”

“Well,” Books said, “there’s an age where being spanked by a woman becomes less disciplinary and more… titillating.”

“Really, Books, the shocking things you say at times.”

“There are lights moving around over there.” Sicarius pointed to the street on the other side of the factory. “I’m going to make another round. Keep an eye on that building up the hill-it’s higher than ours and they might have projectile weapons.”

“Understood,” Amaranthe said.

He hadn’t said they were foolish to be bantering, but it was implied, and he was right. Someone was coordinating things to surround them.

“You might want to leave,” Starcrest called. Though he was still working on his trap, one of the soldiers had come to his shoulder for an extended talk-probably reporting the same findings as Sicarius. “If they surround your building, you’ll be stuck. And you can’t do anything to help us from over there.”

“We have blasting sticks,” Amaranthe called back. “Even a makarovi shouldn’t be able to shake off one stuck down its gullet.”

“Uh, and who’s going to do the sticking?” Akstyr asked.

“Maybe you could use the Science to float them in, light the fuse, and insert them in the appropriate mouths.” Amaranthe supposed the notion was wistful.

Starcrest digested her blasting-sticks comment for a moment. “Are you proposing we climb down, run into the factory, and attack them?”

“If we can end this with a short skirmish, we can all get out of here,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t have any particular love for that building.”

Tikaya lifted her head and said something to Starcrest. Her words didn’t carry, but her tone was sharp, and Amaranthe could guess the gist: You’re not young enough anymore to leap off buildings and lead foolhardy charges against man-eating monsters.

Judging by the way Starcrest’s head came up, he took affront to being called “not young enough” or whatever she’d truly said. He met his daughter’s concerned eyes, though, and sent a finger waggle toward the women. It might have meant I concede, or I’ll consider your argument.

“I might be able to float the sticks and ignite the fuses.” Akstyr had been staring at his feet since she made the comment, and he lifted his head now. “But I need to see where I’m aiming. I couldn’t will them to stick themselves into makarovi mouths. If I were in there though, I’d need a real good bodyguard so I could concentrate…”

He wanted Sicarius. Yes, understandable, but…

“Even he can’t keep six of them off your back,” Amaranthe said. “Though I suppose he could be running around and lobbing blasting sticks too… Books or I could be your bodyguard.”

“No.” Books pointed a finger at her nose. “You’re not putting yourself in their path again.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“Not you.”

“Why? Because they want to eat my organs? They kill everyone they see. What does it matter if they eat part of me after the fact?”

“You know there’s more to it than that,” Books said. “They go crazy when they lock onto the scent of a female.”

Sicarius ran over and joined them.

Amaranthe was about to ask him his thoughts on streaking into that building and hurling blasting sticks, but he spoke first.

“We need to get off this roof.”

“What happened to having the high ground?” Amaranthe asked.

“There are far more than I realized.” He waved her back toward the edge, though he made a “down” gesture.

She approached in a crouch, sticking only her head over the low wall.

“There.” Sicarius pointed down the street paralleling the waterfront.

When she leaned out, she could pick out the barricade and abandoned enforcer vehicles and-she gulped-a mass of people with torches, muskets, crossbows, and swords, some of the weapons far too nice-too expensive-for the grimy hands and patched clothing of their wielders.

“Any chance those are angry citizens, come down to take revenge on the makarovi?” she asked.

“They have gang brands on their hands.” Akstyr knelt beside her.

She couldn’t see that from this distance, but maybe he had other ways of detecting such things.

“They’re coming down the other streets as well,” Sicarius said. “There are hundreds of them.”

Books gaped. “How did they gather so many so quickly?”

“They must have organized earlier tonight for the looting, and it was luck that they saw us going by,” Amaranthe said.

“Luck?” Akstyr groaned. “Bad luck. Unless you mean it’s lucky that the makarovi might smell them and come out and eat them.”

“A plan is needed,” Sicarius said. “Do we run before they get here or stay and attack?” He pointed to the factory.

“Where would we run if we’re surrounded?” Books asked.

Sicarius waved toward the waterfront, perhaps suggesting a swim, but his focus was on the factory. He didn’t want to leave Starcrest and the others. Neither did Amaranthe.

“Any chance we can find some rope?” she asked. “And invite Starcrest’s party to come visit our rooftop? We’ll be stronger together, and maybe we can use the blasting sticks to drop that building on the makarovi heads before they sense that Suan has left.”

Sicarius considered the distance between the buildings-since the molasses factory was set back from the corner, with a parking area, loading docks, and tanks between the walls and the street, it wouldn’t be a short stretch of tightrope walking. Some fifty meters at least. “I’ll look for rope in the warehouse,” he said. “Watch for attacks from the streets. You’ll have to convince Starcrest to leave his trap.”

“He likes to give me the fun jobs,” Amaranthe said.

“I wouldn’t want to go down in the warehouse,” Akstyr grumbled. “I bet the gangs will try to find a way in down there and come up that way.”

“You better think of a distraction to keep them away then, eh?” Amaranthe scooted closer to the edge again. “Admiral, we’re searching for rope and a way to launch it over there.” She lowered her voice to mutter to Books, “Whose idea was it to come up here without a harpoon launcher?”

“Perhaps you should have requested a different gift from your devoted paramour,” Books said.

She shot him a dirty look, mostly because Sicarius hadn’t paramoured anything with her yet.

“You’re inviting us to the rooftop populated with the people the gangs are after?” Deret hollered.

“Given that we’re planning ways to collapse your rooftop onto the makarovi milling in the factory, we thought you’d find it a more appealing perch.”

Starcrest left his project and walked to the wall. The approaching crowds were only a block away and coming down three of the four streets leading to the intersection. Voices drifted in from the direction of the docks too. It’d only be a matter of time before people headed in from the waterfront as well.

“Books,” Amaranthe said, “grab a rifle and see if you can convince the gang leaders to take cover. Slow their approach. Akstyr-” She stopped. He was kneeling a few paces back, his eyes closed in concentration. She hoped he had something large and spectacular in mind.

“If we crossed that way,” Starcrest called, “we’d be vulnerable to anyone with a bow or firearm. It’d take some time for all of us to make it over there, if everyone is able.” He glanced at the women. Tikaya propped a hand on her hip. Suan appeared more concerned than affronted.

“We’re going to distract the gangs,” Amaranthe called.

Books fired his first shot. It took one of the leaders in the thigh. The young man tumbled to the ground, but the others around him weren’t as scared as Amaranthe had hoped. A few of the ones in front, who realized what had happened, darted toward the sides of the street, seeking shelter in the shadow of buildings, but other people simply surged into the lead, some stepping on their own downed comrade.

“Sicarius is up there,” came a distant shout. “A million ranmyas for his head. We’ll all be rich men!”

A cheer went up. A million ranmyas split hundreds of ways would still be decent booty for those people.

“It’ll take more of a distraction than that,” Starcrest called, but he’d come up to Deret’s side and gave an order, then circled the rooftop to speak with his soldiers. Soon, they were shooting at the ringleaders down there too.

“We’re working on it,” Amaranthe responded.

Akstyr lifted a hand in the air and clenched a fist. The cries of “Sicarius” and “reward” halted, at least from the street directly in front of their building.

“Oh, that might work. Good, Akstyr, good,” Books crooned.

Amaranthe started to ask, “What?” then spotted what was alarming the crowd. Four makarovi had run out from behind the factory’s massive tanks. Two charged up the hill and two more ran below Amaranthe, barreling toward the front of the mob. They paused and reared up, thumping their chests like gorillas.

“Don’t make them dance this time,” Books said.

“Those are… Akstyr’s invention?” Amaranthe asked. “Are we sure?” The saliva gleaming on those fangs and the fur rippling on the stout limbs appeared realistic to her.

They must have appeared realistic to the gang leaders, too, for they skittered backward insomuch as they could on a street packed sidewalk to sidewalk with people.

“Amaranthe,” came Sicarius’s voice from behind her.

He nodded for her to step away from the corner. He’d found a coil of lightweight rope and a crossbow. Er, no, he hadn’t “found” the crossbow. Blood spattered the weapon and the back of one of his hands. He’d taken it from someone.

“Are the gangs in the warehouse?” she asked.

“A few scouts. I took care of them, but there’ll be more. I put a bar through the handle on the door leading up here, but there’s no way to lock it from this side. We’ll need to watch it.” Sicarius leaned over the edge of the roof, eyeing the rampaging makarovi. “That won’t fool them for long.”

He knelt to tie the rope to one of the crossbow quarrels.

“Best we can do.” Amaranthe had the blasting sticks in mind for a further distraction, if they needed them, though she’d prefer to save them for the makarovi-the real ones.

“Incoming,” Sicarius yelled, then fired the crossbow.

The quarrel arced high into the dark night sky. Normally it might have traveled a hundred meters or more, but the weight of the rope shortened its trajectory. It was enough. The bolt skipped down onto the roof and skidded toward Starcrest’s cage, wrapping around one of the pipes.

“Good choice,” Amaranthe said. “That thing looks heavy enough to hold the weight of a tightrope-walking makarovi.”

As Starcrest and Deret knelt to secure the rope, another blow to their trapdoor sent the crate skidding off the top. A gap appeared, and a long makarovi arm lashed out. The nearest soldier fired, but he was standing too close, and the claws hooked his ankle. He crashed to his back, the weapon flying free.

The second man had been leaping for the crate to shove it back over the trapdoor, but he forgot it, lunging to help his comrade. That makarovi paw pulled its victim closer. The soldier twisted onto his belly, clawing at the roof, trying to find a handhold.

Helpless from her spot, Amaranthe cringed, not wanting to see the man hauled through the trapdoor to certain death. His comrade caught his arm and threw his weight back, pulling in the opposite direction. The soldier hollered, his body stretching as claws ripped into his leg.

Starcrest and the others on the roof were charging toward the scene, but they wouldn’t be fast enough. The trapdoor was flung all the way open. A makarovi head rose, filling the entire space. Maybe its shoulders and torso would be too big for it to get out. The creature was still pulling its captive-pulling both men now. The standing soldier’s feet were slipping. In a second, he’d be on his backside too.

Though the soldiers were younger, Starcrest, with his long legs, was the one to reach the trapdoor first. He kicked the makarovi in the face and jammed downward with a dagger, sinking the blade into that rubbery flesh. The weapon didn’t pierce far-Amaranthe could tell even at that distance-but it surprised the creature enough that its grip loosened. The entrapped soldier was able to yank his leg free, and his comrade nearly tumbled over in his haste to pull him back from the trapdoor.

The rest of the soldiers came within range and fired at the black furred head. It ducked out of sight.

Starcrest thrust his hand toward the crate, saying, “Get something heavier to block that door,” then knelt to speak with the injured man, his words too soft to carry.

“He still moves fast for a gray-haired fellow,” Amaranthe said.

“Secure the rope,” Sicarius yelled. He’d tied his own end to a sturdy vent pipe and sounded slightly annoyed that everyone over there had turned toward the trapdoor instead of finishing his task. “Mancrest, you do it.”

Deret had limped a few paces toward the fight, but stopped when he saw the others had control of the situation. He waved an affirmative and soon had the rope tied off. Suan had run over to him. Was she volunteering to go first? Amaranthe couldn’t blame her for wanting to get off that cursed roof, but wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to climb fifty meters hanging from a rope.

“She needs to go last,” Sicarius told them. “The makarovi will sense it when she leaves the building.”

Footsteps pounded on the roof behind Amaranthe. “We have a problem,” Books announced.

“A new one?” She eyed the illusory makarovi in the streets. They’d stopped at the end of the building, a dozen meters from the crowd. The gangs had scooted back at the monsters’ appearance, but they hadn’t fled. Men were firing. Trust Turgonian men not to flee in the face of a battle, even grubby street thugs. It was only the darkness of the night that had kept them from noticing that their musket balls and crossbow quarrels were going through the makarovi instead of embedding in flesh.

“Not that.” Books pointed toward a corner of their building, one facing the waterfront. “Some of them have ropes and grapples and they’re trying to get up here, to get us. I shot one, but with the makarovi down there, they have a lot of incentive to want to get off the ground. More than simply money.”

“See them across,” Sicarius told Amaranthe. “I’ll take care of the climbers.” He took her rifle as well as his own and ran for the corner.

Two of Starcrest’s soldiers were starting across the rope. Amaranthe worried that it would give under their combined weight, but between the gangs and the makarovi, she doubted they had time for a safer, more leisurely crossing. As soon as the thugs below figured out they were facing illusions, their attention would return to the roofs. The gangs might attack the people on the rope, thinking they could also be outlaws with bounties on their heads. Amaranthe thought about announcing that one of the men on that roof was Fleet Admiral Starcrest, but didn’t know if his name would raise the same adoration in a mob of illiterate street roughs as it did amongst soldiers and more educated men. Those men down there might shoot him simply for being a Crest and for having been born with comforts and privileges they’d never known.

With Books and Sicarius running along the perimeter, targeting anyone who attempted to climb up, and Akstyr busy maintaining his illusions, Amaranthe felt she should do something more helpful than cheering for the men crossing the rope. She rummaged in one of the rucksacks and found a lantern and matches. If they needed the blasting sticks, they might need them in a hurry.

By the time she’d lit the lantern, the first two soldiers reached her corner. She helped them off the rope.

“Not a much better view over here,” one observed.

“It stinks less.”

“I don’t know. I smell urine. Why do people always piss on roofs? Or is it just that they do it in the alley and the smell wafts up?”

“That’s probably it.”

Lovely, Starcrest had sent his comedians first. “Could you two help those two?” Amaranthe pointed at Books and Sicarius. “We have gang members trying to-”

“It’s fake!” someone shouted in the street below. “All the makarovi are.”

“Wizard,” another shouted. “That’s Akstyr, he’s the wizard.”

“Kill the wizard, kill the wizard!” Men ran through the makarovi illusions, their chants rising in volume as they grew more sure of themselves.

Amaranthe grabbed one of the blasting sticks. A part of her wanted to let the gangs surge closer, in the hopes that they’d draw the real makarovi out of the factory, but it’d be a massacre, especially after Akstyr’s illusion. The youths wouldn’t know to be afraid of the flesh-and-blood creatures until it was too late.

Out on the rope, Tikaya and Mahliki were making their way across. A nightgown peeped out from Mahliki’s jacket, and she wore nothing but socks on her feet. Tikaya wore a dress and boots but no parka or gloves. As Amaranthe had feared, the factory had been caught unsuspecting-and asleep-when the makarovi showed up at the door.

While the women advanced, Starcrest stood on the rim of the roof, his feet planted on either side of the rope, a rifle raised to the hollow of his shoulder. Face set in stone, he was prepared to fire at anyone who threatened his family. Amaranthe didn’t think the mob had noticed the rope or the people crawling along its length overhead, and she’d keep it that way if she could.

“Distraction coming,” she called to warn the women-the last thing she wanted to do was startle them into losing their grips-then lobbed the first blasting stick.

It sailed toward the center of the street, a few meters ahead of the crowd. The stick landed on the worn cobblestones and lay there. The flame danced along the fuse, then went out. Amaranthe groaned. And here they’d been worried about the sticks being so volatile. So much for her distraction, and so much for demolishing that building over there. They’d have to-

An explosion roared in the street. Three stories up, the force of it was diminished, but a gust of wind still sent Amaranthe stumbling away from the edge.

She scrambled back, afraid bloody chunks of human beings would litter the street and splatter the walls. When she’d timed her throw, she’d thought the weapon would go off sooner, that it’d be a scare tactic, not a true attack.

The brick building walls weren’t awash in blood, but there were many injured people near the front. Limping, or clutching arms or torsos, they staggered to the sides, trying to find an escape route past their own men.

“We have more blasting sticks up here,” Amaranthe yelled. “Back off or we’ll throw them.”

“Wait until the women are across to use more,” Starcrest ordered.

Amaranthe winced, wishing he hadn’t yelled that-there were gang people close enough to notice him, maybe even decipher the words. On the rope, Tikaya and Mahliki had paused and curled in upon themselves, like turtles ducking into their shells. Starcrest’s face was grim, as if he was thinking about raising his rifle in Amaranthe’s direction. She gave a wave of acknowledgment.

Books jogged over to grab more ammunition. “Where are the blasted enforcers?”

Akstyr, still kneeling, wiped his brow. “Does anyone else think it’s strange that we’re trying to save those idiots when they’re here to collect on our bounties?”

Amaranthe shook her head, not having a good answer to either of their questions. “The enforcers are-”

A distant boom came from the depths of the city, and it took Amaranthe a surprised moment before she realized what it must have been. “Not the city,” she whispered. “The Imperial Barracks.”

From their rooftop perch, they could see past the miles of intervening buildings and to the top of Arakan Hill, to the great fiery blaze erupting from the center of the walled courtyard at its crown. Flames leaped into the black sky. Amaranthe couldn’t see the building or how much of it had been damaged, but one thing was clear: Sespian and the rest of the team hadn’t found one of the bombs.