Sespian gulped, but, dangling like a pig on a spit, he began his journey, inching up the cable and away from the tree.
“Over here!” a soldier yelled nearby.
“Don’t get close. It eviscerated Yankowic and Drakar. Wait for the engineers to get the vehicles running. We’ll crush the slagging bastard.”
Unlikely, Sicarius thought, his gaze locked on Sespian. The soul construct was too fast to be pinned by lorries. It’d take something more akin to Amaranthe’s old plan to destroy it-or at least render it immobile. He should have been creating a trap for it instead of planning a spy mission.
The pine tree shivered, shedding more snow from its branches. More gnashing came from below. Sicarius tried to guess how long his perch would remain upright-and holding the cable aloft-then estimated how long it would take him to make the climb to the water tower. The night carried sounds of vehicles clanking into motion and hisses of escaping steam. The soldiers might distract the creature, adding time to the tree’s life.
Sespian had disappeared into the curtain of snow. Sicarius wrapped a hand around the cable, trying to judge how far up the line he had gone. He couldn’t tell, but quivers traveled through the braided steel. Sespian was still on it.
Another shudder, this one the biggest yet, coursed through the tree. Wood snapped somewhere within the trunk. Sicarius eyed the harpoon. It was already quivering from Sespian’s movements farther up the cable. He didn’t think it’d support both of their body weights for long. The chewing sounds from below continued, though, and he didn’t have another choice.
Eschewing mittens, he gripped the cable in both hands, preferring the naked feel of it against his calloused palms. He swung his legs over it and climbed, head twisted to watch the ground as he skimmed up the line.
A steam ram and tramper came into view, angling toward the tree. He envisioned inept soldiers missing the soul construct and knocking over the tree. In spots near the tower, the fall was close to a hundred feet. Six inches of powder wasn’t that insulating.
The snow was lessening, and even from twenty feet away, Sicarius saw the construct back away from the tree, a dark shape against the white ground. It turned toward the approaching vehicles. Good, it would take a couple moments for it to deal with them. But then the misshapen hound head swiveled toward the field, its fat snout testing the air. A pair of crimson eyes focused on Sicarius, then shifted a couple of degrees higher. Toward Sespian.
Sicarius forced himself to keep climbing, to remain calm, though concern thrummed through his limbs. For so much of his life, he’d had little difficulty turning off his emotions-he’d never cared that much whether he lived or died, beyond a vague desire to complete missions and survive challenging circumstances. But Sespian had been safe within the walls of the Barracks then.
“It’s coming,” Sicarius called when the construct leaped away from the tree, its paws churning snow as it raced across the field. Rifle shots pelted the snow as well, and he acknowledged the vulnerability of his position. He was more than fifty feet above the ground at that point.
“Let it go,” someone in the camp barked. “It looks like it wants to be Ridgecrest’s problem now.”
Not Ridgecrest, Sicarius thought as the creature slowed to a stop below him. Almost like a real dog, it sat on its haunches and tilted its head. Without warning it sprang, trying to reach him with that maw full of daggers. It didn’t come close before dropping back to the ground. Maybe it’d thought it could startle him into letting go. Not likely.
The beast sniffed the air a couple more times, then trotted toward the water tower. And Sespian. If Sespian had truly doubted whether he and Sicarius shared blood, the construct’s confusion between the two of them ought to prove the link. The hound could smell their blood. It knew.
Sicarius continued up the cable at a steady pace. The upward angle added to the challenge, but his hardened muscles and palms had no trouble with the climb-he’d trained his whole life doing similar maneuvers. He noticed an increased tremor in the cable, though, and caught the sounds of panting coming from ahead. Sespian was young and lean, but he hadn’t trained for this sort of event. Sicarius picked out his dark form and the outline of the water tower beyond.
One of Sespian’s boots slipped, and Sicarius froze, hands clenched around the cable. If Sespian fell… he was too far away to do a cursed thing about it. The feeling of helplessness that weakened his limbs was unfamiliar. And unpleasant.
Analyze later, he told himself and returned to climbing. If he could get close enough, he could catch Sespian if he slipped.
Sespian had stopped. Resting and gathering himself? Or was he too tired to continue? Even without the upward slope, holding one’s weight from a cable became a challenging task after a time.
“We’re close,” Sicarius called, intending to sound encouraging, but his voice came out hoarse, and he didn’t know if Sespian heard it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Keep going. You can rest on top of the tower.”
“Thanks,” Sespian called back. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It is difficult for me to know when you’re being sarcastic.” Sicarius climbed closer. A few more meters, and he’d be close enough to grab Sespian if he fell.
“Maybe you’re not as experienced as you thought.”
The light tone didn’t hide that his forearms were quivering. Sicarius could feel the vibrations through the cable. A tremor ran through it next, and he thought Sespian’s legs might have slipped off. But they were still hooked over the cable. No, that tremor had come up from below. From the harpoon.
Sicarius glanced over his shoulder at the eighty-foot drop and the soul construct waiting below. If the harpoon gave way now…
“Is that what I think it is?” Sespian whispered.
“No.”
Sicarius drew close enough to touch Sespian, though he chose not to, not wanting to startle him. It was enough that he could grab his son if the situation demanded it. Except, the back of his mind said, if the cable fell, their proximity to each other wouldn’t matter.…
“Continue up,” he ordered, then, realizing the order came out harshly, tried to soften his voice when he added, “I’ll catch you if you slip.”
“This climb is a little longer and harder than I realized,” Sespian admitted, though he started moving again as he spoke, forcing one trembling arm then the other to pull his body weight up the slope. His leg slipped again, and Sicarius’s hand twitched toward it. Sespian growled and flung the deadened limb back up. The cable trembled in the aftermath of the move, and Sicarius glanced back toward the harpoon. The snow had dwindled further, and he could see the outline of the trees and tents now, along with the lights of the encampment. They were too far away to see the harpoon though.
“Is this not tiring you out at all?” Sespian asked as he inched closer to the tower.
“It is moderately wearying.”
“What’s that mean? You could only hold yourself up here for twelve hours instead of your usual twenty-four?”
This time Sicarius was certain of the sarcasm and attempted to reply in a humorous manner. “No more than five or six, I should think.” Perhaps talking would distract Sespian from the ache in his forearms and the deadness in his legs.
Sespian grunted.
Down below, the construct snarled and paced. They’d come to the base of the hill. Another twenty meters, and they’d reach the top of the tower.
Sespian paused again, grimacing as he lifted one hand, then the other to flex his fingers. He glowered up at the edge of the water tank. “Almost there,” he muttered. “You can do this.”
The construct jogged up to the crown of the hill. It was closer to them there than it had been at any spot during the journey, and Sicarius watched it intently. It paced back and forth, trying to find the closest possible point. The muscles in its haunches bunched, but it didn’t yet leap. It must know it’d only get one chance before Sespian climbed out of range again.