“Fourteen?” Yara asked. “Just the two of you?”
Though he knew Basilard possessed a great deal of competence, not to mention the stealthy feet of a cat, even Maldynado found the number surprising.
The emperor is a capable fighter, Basilard signed.
Sespian watched his fingers, trying to learn the hand code perhaps.
“He says you’re a capable fighter,” Maldynado said when Sespian looked to him for a translation. “That’s moderate to high praise from Basilard. If Sicarius ever says that, it’ll mean you can thump ninety-nine out of a hundred men. Possibly all at the same time.”
Yara snorted.
Sespian seemed less amused by the attempt at humor. “We must find a way to retrieve your comrades. The men who originally attempted to ensnare us in the mill are… gone- dead. ” Sespian winced, apparently not pleased that he’d been forced to such action. “But it’s possible they have allies around, allies who might have been alerted when the device went off. Practitioners can do things with their minds and create links to objects they made that are beyond our ken.”
So, the emperor knew a thing or two about magic. That was good since their expert, insomuch as Akstyr could be considered one, was unconscious. Or worse.
“Any idea how to get them without passing out? I’ll go in and do whatever needs to be done.” Given how suspicious everyone was of him lately, Maldynado figured he’d better volunteer for heroics at every chance.
“I’ve been musing over that.” Sespian squatted down, draping his elbows over his knees. “You’ve noticed how getting closer to the light causes pain behind your eyes?”
“Looking in the window made my head feel like someone had chained me down and forced me to listen to Books’s lectures all day.” Maldynado glanced about, expecting Books to glare at him or come up with a vocabulary-heavy rejoinder, before remembering that Books was in trouble. “Yes, I noticed,” he said more seriously. “I didn’t know if it was the light or something else.”
It’s the light, Basilard signed. The pain intensifies when you look at it.
“So, we ought to be able to close our eyes, stroll in, and collect our people?” Maldynado asked.
“You can still feel it through your lids.” Yara had closed her eyes and turned toward the beam slanting through the open door. Her brow wrinkled. “Pain.” She turned her back on the mill. “No pain.”
Maldynado lifted a finger, then trotted back to the riverbank. He grabbed one of the discarded hoods the men had been wearing. He’d assumed his attackers were trying not to be identified, but maybe they had another reason for donning the headwear. After a quick poke around the interior, he found a band that could be pulled down over the eye slits.
“Maybe this’ll do it,” Maldynado said when he rejoined the others.
Sespian, Yara, and Basilard were facing the park entrance, and nobody responded.
“What is it?” Maldynado asked.
Machinery, Basilard signed and touched his ear.
A faint rumble floated across the park from the street leading toward the entrance.
“Steam carriages or lorries,” Yara said.
“More than one,” Sespian said.
“They might not have anything to do with us,” Maldynado said.
The others looked at him as if he’d told them Sicarius’s next training session would be easy.
“Where’s the optimism?” Maldynado waved the hood. “I’ll get our lads. Someone yell at me if I’m about to trip or crash into the wall.”
“Wait.” Yara touched his arm. “We don’t know if… ” She nodded toward the mill. “There’s no way to know if they’re still alive, is there?”
Basilard and Sespian exchanged looks.
“We couldn’t tell without going inside,” Sespian said. “They haven’t moved.”
“I’m sure they’re alive,” Maldynado said. “Captured prisoners are more useful than dead ones, right?”
“I… am not certain I’d risk my life on that assumption,” Sespian said.
“That’s what I’m here for.” Maldynado flung an arm around Yara’s shoulders. “Don’t look so concerned, my lady. I’ll not die before I’ve fulfilled your most concupiscent fantasies.”
Yara shoved his arm away. “We’ve discussed you not touching me numerous times now.”
“Does this mean no good-luck kiss?”
The rumbling machinery grew louder, and lights brightened the street leading to the park entrance. Enough trading endearments with Yara. Maldynado had best get going.
Before he could think wiser of it, he tugged on the hood and, arms outstretched, headed for the mill. The soft, black fabric had multiple layers and blocked out the green glow, but he clamped his eyelids shut anyway.
Probing the ground with his toes as he went, Maldynado reached the building without mishap. He mashed his knuckles against the door, but at least his head didn’t hurt.
The noise from the vehicles drifted across the park. They sounded like they’d pulled to a stop. He hoped they were in a spot where they couldn’t see him.
A thud sounded-someone getting out and a door being shut?
“Hurry, Maldynado,” came Yara’s whisper.
Maldynado slipped through the front door of the mill and felt his way inside. He slid his boots along the floorboards, hoping he wouldn’t get turned around and crash into some ancient piece of machinery with sharp protuberances. His foot came down on a bump, and it took him a second to realize it was someone’s hand.
“Oops. Sorry, fellows.”
He bent, found the hand, and used it to hoist the prone person over his shoulder. Akstyr, he guessed, as Books was taller and heavier. He didn’t take the time to check for a pulse, but the skin felt warm to the touch.
Maldynado patted around with his feet, trying to find Books. In picking up Akstyr, he’d lost his sense of direction. When he thought he must be close to the second body, he clunked into the magical device instead. With his knee. He cursed and thought about trying to kick the thing over, but it might have defensive capabilities.
A soft bang came from outside. It didn’t sound like a musket or pistol, but Maldynado had a feeling he shouldn’t linger.
He probed about, faster now, not worrying if he kicked Books. He could apologize later. His toe caught on clothing. There.
Balancing Akstyr on his shoulder, Maldynado grabbed Books by the arm. He debated trying to hoist him over his other shoulder versus dragging him out.
A clack sounded at one of the windows. Someone throwing a rock in warning?
A long squeal came from the park entrance.
“Time to go,” Maldynado muttered.
He dragged Books toward the exit as fast as he could. He smacked face-first into the wall and loosed another string of curses before managing to find the door. He kicked it open, no longer worrying about being seen.
He’d gone no more than two steps when something slammed into the mill behind him. Wood cracked and the ground shuddered.
If Maldynado had a hand free, he would have yanked the hood off, but he couldn’t let go of his comrades. Still dragging Books, he staggered in the direction he thought he’d left the others. Another crack sounded inside the mill, followed by the patters of dozens of objects hitting the walls and the ceiling. Shrapnel? From an exploding cannon ball or something similar?
Maldynado had no sooner had the thought when an explosion roared behind him. The force hurled him to his stomach. Instead of turning the fall into an efficient roll that would prevent injuries, he grew tangled with Books and Akstyr and sprawled flat. He lost the grip on one man-Akstyr? — and the other landed on top of him. Still unconscious, they were dead weight.
Maldynado pushed them away long enough to tear off his hood.
Half of the mill had collapsed, the roof and two walls tumbling inward, and flames leapt from the remains. The orange glow of the fire brightened the sky in every direction. The green glow had been dulled-beams falling on the device perhaps-but it still leaked into the night, and Maldynado’s headache returned. But not enough to slow him down. He leaped to his feet.