Sespian did indeed fall silent, though when the first crumbled stone ruin came into site, a remain of the original brick water tower, he grunted a soft, “Huh,” at this proof of Sicarius’s honed sense of direction.
Sicarius held up a hand, silently instructing him to wait in the shadow of the half wall, then skirted the ruins, seeking signs of soldiers. Or other entities. Memories of climbing the tower with Amaranthe to escape the first soul construct came to mind. He hadn’t heard any howls yet that evening and hoped the new creature had simply been passing through the night before. It was possible it had nothing to do with Heroncrest’s army.
With the snowfall making visibility so poor, Sicarius lifted his nose at times, testing the wind like a hound. It’d be easy for a couple of soldiers to be stationed in a niche in the ruins, hidden by the shadows. He sensed nothing, though, except for the rumble of ambulatory vehicles patrolling the enemy’s perimeter and the occasional plops of snow growing too heavy for its perch and falling to the ground in clumps. The water tower had been abandoned, neither side willing to risk the lives of a team to guard it.
“We’re the only ones on the hill,” Sicarius whispered to Sespian when he returned, his words causing another twitch of surprise since he’d approached from behind. He recalled Sespian’s interest in learning from him in regard to stealth. Presumably that included defending against being caught unaware. “Keep your back to a wall when you’re waiting, so you can’t be approached from behind. Also, when visibility is low, it’s imperative to focus more on one’s other senses. Hearing is obvious, but you might also smell another’s approach.”
Sicarius pointed toward the water tower. It was time to see if his plan worked.
“Smell?” Sespian followed him to the metal beams supporting the steel tank above.
“Many people have distinctive scents. With soldiers, you can often detect a hint of black powder or weapons cleaning oil.” Sicarius stopped in the shadow of the tank, placing a hand on one of the icy support posts. He had not yet donned gloves, not deeming the night that cold. Besides, he’d need finger dexterity for the next few moments. “Can you climb up without a rope?”
“I think so.” Sespian tightened the straps on his pack. “I’ve never noticed anyone’s scent unless they’re wearing perfume or haven’t bathed in a while. Is there some trick for more fully developing one’s sense of smell?” He sounded genuinely interested.
“It can be trained, much like skills relying on muscle and agility can be improved, by practicing identifying scents. Punishment for failures cements the lesson in the mind more firmly.” Sicarius hesitated, realizing Sespian wouldn’t likely place himself in a situation where someone stood behind him with a whip, prepared to administer a correction should he fail to identify a tree species when blindfolded. “Rewards would work, too, likely.”
Sespian opened his mouth, as if he might say something, but decided against it. He pointed at the I-shaped support beam, its rivets the only things offering handholds. “Do you want me to go first, so you can catch me if I fall?”
“You may go first.”
“No promise of catching me, eh?”
“I will strive not to allow you to become damaged tonight,” Sicarius said.
“An interesting way to put it.”
Sespian wrapped his fingers around the post up high, then jumped, his feet slipping several times before he figured out a way to grip it with his legs. Lifting one hand at a time, he picked his way up, his speed increasing as he grew more familiar with the climb. Clumps of snow fell from above as he reached the top and slid out onto the narrow ledge. Sicarius touched his harpoon launcher, ensuring it was firmly secured, then climbed to the top in a couple of seconds. A ladder led up the side of the tank, and he skimmed up that as well. Wind, more pronounced so high above the ground, swirled the snow about and threatened to tear his fur cap from his head. He stopped at an edge overlooking the white expanse below that led, he remembered in his mind’s eye, to evergreen trees edging the parade field. He couldn’t see them through the snow, but he’d observed the area with a spyglass during the day, so he knew they were there and that there were tents in front of them. The trees rose a few meters behind the front edge of the camp. The roving guards would be marching past on snowshoes perhaps twenty meters out into the field.
Sicarius prepared the harpoon for flight by attaching the thin, strong cable to it. Before they’d left, he’d wrapped it carefully so it would unspool without a hitch.
“Uhm,” Sespian said, “I can’t see anything to shoot at over there. Are you going to tell me your eyes were enhanced by training as well?”
“I have had vision training,” Sicarius said, “but I also cannot see the trees or the camp right now.”
“Are you waiting for the snow to clear to shoot then?”
“No. Our approach depends on the heavy snow to mask us.”
Sespian waved at the harpoon launcher. “How’re you going to hit your target then? Even with a clear sky, it’d be almost impossible. Those trees are what, a hundred meters away?”
“Slightly more.”
“You’ll be lucky if the harpoon even reaches that far. I hope you don’t hit anyone. This isn’t how you’re planning to get rid of Heroncrest, is it?”
“It’s unlikely he’ll be near the perimeter.”
“That was a joke.”
Sicarius tied the end of his cable to an eyelet and lifted the harpoon launcher to his shoulder. He closed his eyes, seeing the topography in his mind, conjuring up a picture of the tower, the field, and the trees. He’d been past the area often enough to be able to do so. Of late, his mind had been occasionally wandering on missions-a worrying sign of the distractions caused by this new fostering of interpersonal relationships-but he’d once been trained to notice everything, to analyze distance, patterns in nature, lifeforms, species of foliage, and every detail of the world around him as a way to remain focused and aware of his surroundings. Hollowcrest had often demanded he verbally relate those details or draw accurate to-scale representations of them.
From his mental image of the trees, he selected an old, thick pine on the edge of the field. The softer wood would allow the harpoon to sink in deeply. The strong but fine cable he’d chosen didn’t weigh much, but he and Sespian were another matter.
When he was certain of his aim, Sicarius pulled the trigger. The harpoon sped away, the cable trailing behind it. Though he’d shown only confidence to Sespian, he waited, doubting, in the long seconds that followed. The heavy snowfall continued to hide the trees, and it was only the fact that the cable stopped speeding past that he knew the harpoon had struck something. Judging by the few meters of tail left, it had struck at the right distance. The angle suggested an elevated height too. In truth, he wouldn’t know if he’d pegged his chosen pine until he reached the harpoon.
Sicarius tested the strength of the anchor, then retied the cable, pulling it taut. He fastened a couple of screw pin shackles he’d dug out of one of the mechanic’s shops inside the fort. Lastly, he attached short ropes for handholds. He’d been listening as he worked and hadn’t heard any shouts drift across the snow to suggest someone had noticed the harpoon thunking into camp-or the cable stretching overhead. The falling flakes must be providing adequate camouflage, for the moment.
“Give me a minute to get down there and, if necessary, subdue nearby guards.” Sicarius pushed one of the screws toward the end of the cable and nodded for Sespian to grip it. “There’s no way to brake with your hands, so we’ll use our boots. Don’t let yourself get going too fast, or it’ll be difficult to slow down in time. Remember there’s a tree at the other end.”