“Want me to go with him?” Maldynado asked. “I think Ridgecrest is past wanting to hit me. Much.”
“No,” Sicarius reluctantly said. “Our team is too notorious. The soldiers would capture-” or kill, “-us if they got the chance. Among them, Sespian should be safer without us.” Though Sicarius resolved to acquire a rifle on the way to the clock tower in case anyone standing near his son did make a hostile move. He ought to be able to hit most targets from that vantage point.
Basilard signed, Where to?
“Follow me,” Sicarius said.
He jogged through the alleys, taking to the rooftops to avoid troops jogging for the walls. At one point, running along the gutters of a barracks building, he spotted a straggler coming out of the front door. The soldier paused, leaning his rifle against the wall to tug on his helmet and fasten a chinstrap. By the time he turned around to retrieve his weapon, it was gone.
With the rifle and an ammo pouch in hand, Sicarius skimmed behind evergreen hedges fronting the building until he reached the corner. From the alley, he climbed a downspout, regaining the roof again before the private asked, “Did anyone see my gun?”
Maldynado was waiting with Basilard, sharing hand signs and snickers. More booms reverberated through the night, and something slammed into one of the fort walls. Their faces sobered. Sicarius sped past them, across two more rooftops, and down into the square with the clock tower in the center.
By this time, most of the troops had reached the walls and were lining the parapets, several teams manning weapons. In front of the massive double doors leading out of the fort, two infantry companies formed precise squads, rifles in hand, swords hanging from their belts. Nobody had opened those doors, but if someone gave the order, the soldiers would storm out.
With their faces forward, none of the men saw Sicarius, Maldynado, and Basilard running through the shadows behind them. The clock tower was unguarded, so they slipped through the door and jogged up the spiral staircase unopposed. Chains and gears filled the empty air to their right, but Sicarius’s only interest was in the view from above. He outpaced the others and reached the wooden platform several stories above the square. After ensuring no enemies occupied the space, he ran to a window facing west, the direction from which that first round had been fired.
The snow had picked up, but it didn’t hide the sea of lanterns burning a half mile from the walls. Not just to the west, but to the east and north as well. The cold, dark lake lay to the south, making it difficult to move companies of men into position in front of the fort’s double doors, but lanterns meandered through the trees along the jogging path there as well. There were thousands of soldiers out there, maybe tens of thousands. And they’d brought weapons. The lights revealed the hulking shapes of steam trampers, armored lorries, and all manner of mobile projectile launchers. It was Turgonian technology, not that there’d been much doubt. There was no way a foreign invasion force of this size could have come up the river, along the roads, or over the mountains without being spotted. This was another warrior-caste competitor for the throne, someone doing a much better job of rounding up troops than Sespian.
“Oh, that cannot be good,” Maldynado said, coming up beside Sicarius.
We’re surrounded, Basilard signed. We can’t even go back to the city.
“Not easily,” Sicarius agreed.
He suspected he could make it-he thought of his promise to return to Amaranthe and “stand guard”-but he wouldn’t go without Sespian, and Sespian… Sicarius pulled out his spyglass and searched along the wall until he found General Ridgecrest, gesticulating and barking orders. Yes, there was Sespian at his side, his hood pulled up to hide his face as he gazed thoughtfully out at the massed troops. He didn’t look like a man thinking of fleeing; he looked like an opportunist seeking an opportunity.
A faint howl floated across the fields. It was distant, originating somewhere beyond the sea of troops, and someone unfamiliar with it might have mistaken it for a wolf. Sicarius did not.
Basilard didn’t either. The soul construct?
“Is it with them?” Maldynado pointed toward the besieging army. “Because they don’t look like they need magic and monsters in addition to all those people and artillery.”
“Unknown,” Sicarius said. What he did know was that he wouldn’t be returning to the city that night, perhaps not for some time.
Chapter 10
“Halt, and identify yourself,” came a voice from a nook beside the back door to the molasses factory. At first, Amaranthe didn’t recognize it, but then she remembered. It was one of her new “recruits.” Private Rudev. Not only had the two soldiers not wandered off, but they were standing watch. Huh.
The sun had long since set, and she supposed he couldn’t identify them in the darkness. “Amaranthe and Sergeant Yara,” she said.
“You may enter, Sergeant and, er, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
Amaranthe shifted the book she was carrying under one arm and opened the heavy metal door. Inside, a single lantern burned beside the entrance. The only other light came from the offices on the landing. The dusty machinery and empty vats lay dormant and dark. Amaranthe lamented that she hadn’t had time to tidy the place up much yet.
“I’m going to find something to eat,” Yara said and headed for the cafeteria.
Amaranthe waved. “I may join you later.” Her stomach protested at the delay of food, but she wanted to check on the others and examine her pillaged book.
Coldness hugged the inside of the factory, so she hustled for the steps. Snow had started falling outside. If the temperature dropped much more, they’d have to start one of the furnaces to heat the building. Or start sharing bedrolls. Her lips twitched into a private smile.
The light was coming from the office next to hers. Inside, Books and Akstyr sat on opposite sides of a desk. Stacks of papers and tomes in foreign languages, along with a pile of gnawed pork ribs, covered the surface, no plates in sight. The scent of a honey-apple glaze lingered in the air. Amaranthe’s stomach issued a pitiful whine.
“You missed dinner,” Akstyr said. “Basilard made some tasty sauce.”
Her stomach’s whines grew more plaintive.
“You’ve been gone a long time.” Books sat at the desk, his hands folded over a stack of papers, a bright and alert expression on his face. He’d combed his hair and shaven, something he hadn’t bothered with the last few weeks. “Were you at your old business school the whole time? Did you run into trouble?”
“No. A delay or two, but we got past them.” Amaranthe chose not to go into the details of how easily she was gaining access to locked buildings these days-Books always pursed his lips in disapproval at the development of her thief-appropriate skill set. “I didn’t find the records I sought, but this was written by Suan, so it may prove enlightening.” She tapped the leather-bound book. “I was hoping someone would save me dinner.”
Akstyr picked up a rib with most of the meat gnawed off. “There’s a little left on some of these bones. If you don’t mind Books’s slobber.”
Books’s lips flattened. “Are you ever going to start acting like an adult?”
“What do you mean? I was real mature about a certain assassin hacking off all of my hair and burning it like some funeral pyre offering.” This time Akstyr’s lips flattened, the expression oddly similar to Books’s. “I could have spent the day plotting revenge, but I’ve been studying instead.”