Amaranthe shook her head slowly, not believing, not wanting to believe. Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined the massive craft would crash into-onto-Fort Urgot. It had annihilated the walls, the building, everything. The people, she admitted though her mind shied away from the awfulness of that thought.
“How could we have…” Books whispered. “How could it have possibly landed in that one spot? The odds…”
Amaranthe thumped her forehead against the slats. The odds didn’t matter. What mattered were the thousands of people that had been in that fort. They couldn’t have seen it coming, not in time. They couldn’t have escaped. And if Sicarius, Sespian, Maldynado, and Basilard had still been within those walls…
Where else would they have been? She’d sent them there.
Amaranthe climbed-fell-off the crate and shambled to-she didn’t know where. A corner, she had in mind, but didn’t make it. She dropped to her knees and vomited.
Chapter 3
Amaranthe didn’t notice anything about the rest of the train ride or the trip back to the factory. If a bounty hunter had stepped out of the shadows and raised a crossbow at her, she wouldn’t have ducked. She probably wouldn’t have even flinched, not until the quarrel burrowed into her chest.
Thousands dead. Her team. Her… Sicarius. Because of her. Because she’d presumed to try and control that… that… monster craft. It was a force of nature, not a machine. She might as well have tried to direct a tornado or an avalanche.
“This is it.” Books pointed past the large four-story molasses tanks dominating the front of the lot and toward the entrance to the factory.
He’d taken charge when Amaranthe hadn’t, offering their hideout for Starcrest and the train full of soldiers until they figured out somewhere more amenable. Starcrest had been heading toward Fort Urgot. Not now.
Night had come by the time they breached the city boundaries, and nobody stepped out to harass the squads of soldiers marching along the waterfront. The usual patrols weren’t about. Everyone was probably too stunned by what had happened to think about fighting, at least this day.
“Did you see how many people are out there staring at that thing?” Akstyr had asked, pointing out the crowds as the train chugged past the fort’s remains. “Half the city is out there gawking. It’s sure not going to be a secret any more.”
Nobody had answered him. Starcrest and Tikaya were as grim as everybody else, maybe grimmer, their easy banter of before wiped from memory, their faces older and more lined without the humor to brighten them.
Amaranthe supposed she should be relieved that Books wasn’t among the stunned or gawking, unlike her. But then, he hadn’t directed the mission. Those people weren’t dead because of him.
On the trek from the train station to the factory, Books had looked at her often, touching her arm a couple of times in silent questions. They might have been, “Do you want to take over?” or “Are you all right?” Amaranthe didn’t know. She couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t lift her gaze from her boots.
Nobody had pointed at her or spoken a word of condemnation, but she hadn’t confessed either. Akstyr and Books were the only ones who knew she was guilty of… dear ancestors, manslaughter. On a massive scale. Had Admiral Starcrest himself been responsible for as many deaths in his entire twenty-year military career? If he had, those had been the enemies, not his own people.
“Halt,” called out a guard beside the door, the suborned Private Rudev, “and identify, er…”
The sheer number of men marching out of the darkness must have intimidated him. Perfectly understandable. They were five-hundred strong, not a huge number in comparison to all the troops in the city, but enough people to make a young private quake, especially one who’d defected from his unit to join with mercenaries. For all Rudev knew, these were some of Ravido’s men, coming to fetch him.
“Is that an example of the kind of security your outfit runs?” Colonel Fencrest asked.
When Amaranthe didn’t answer, Books spoke. “He’s a new recruit. We actually lifted him from the army. Sicarius’s men are trained better, even the least robust among them.”
“I saw you glance at me,” Akstyr whispered. “You’re no born athlete either.”
“So are we going to get shot if we go in, or what?” Fencrest asked. He waved to one of his captains, and the man ordered the sergeants to bring the troops to a halt, forming them up into companies and platoons, then picking a few scouts to keep an eye out at the closest intersections.
“No,” Books said, after glancing at Amaranthe again, no doubt wondering if she’d speak first, “but I better go in and brief everyone.”
“Whoever’s left alive in there,” Amaranthe muttered.
Books paused, maybe thinking she’d take over-it was the first thing she’d said in hours-but she shook her head mutely. Didn’t he understand? She couldn’t lead anyone now, maybe not ever again. Not after that. Her orders were death.
“Go with him, Lieutenant,” Fencrest said, waving to another of his men. “We don’t want any surprises.”
Right, the soldiers had no reason to trust Amaranthe and her team. Quite the opposite. If it weren’t for Starcrest, who’d liked the idea of a waterfront location since it meant they wouldn’t have to march their troops through the city, they wouldn’t have come at all. But where else might they have gone? Ravido wouldn’t be inviting unknown soldiers into the Barracks, and Fort Urgot was certainly no longer an option. Amaranthe knew they’d brought supplies on that train, food and ammunition at least, but didn’t know if they had gear for setting up a camp in sub-freezing temperatures.
She waited, numb and cold, while Books and the lieutenant went inside. She should go in, too, and disappear into her office, locking the door, and hiding in there until… Until what? Someone needed her for a mission? She didn’t know. Would anyone need her at all? With Starcrest and trained military men here, who would want the advice of an outlaw?
Starcrest was standing to the side, conferring with his wife. Their voices were soft, and they’d switched to Kyattese.
The door banged open, and someone hustled outside, someone with a limp and a cane. Deret Mancrest gaped at the troops, his gaze raking over them, looking for someone. Several people fingered weapons, but nobody drew. They wouldn’t unless the sergeants standing at the heads of the companies ordered them to.
Deret’s search halted when he spotted Amaranthe. He walked over briskly, though not so briskly that it might alarm anyone with a gun. One hand gripped his swordstick, but he kept his other arm out, his palm open so people would see he didn’t have a weapon.
“Amaranthe,” he whispered, “I need to talk to you.”
She was tempted to direct him to Books, but maybe he’d already talked to Books. “Yes?”
“In private.”
The colonel was watching them from a few paces away.
“I’m not certain I’m allowed to wander off,” Amaranthe said. “We were prisoners at one point. Now we’re…”
“Hosts is what Books said.”
“That’s so, but it may not preclude the prisoner status.”
Deret’s mouth formed a silent, “Oh.” After a thoughtful moment, he turned slightly so his back was to the colonel. He shifted his weight onto his good leg, letting the swordstick lean against his side, and used both hands to sign. Yara and I kidnapped the sister. She’s tied up inside. That might not look good if hundreds of soldiers are suddenly roaming around.
Amaranthe closed her eyes. The last person she wanted to see was Suan Curlev. She’d have to explain… or choose not to explain… how she’d caused Retta’s death. No, Suan was a Forge founder, an enemy. She didn’t have to explain anything to her. Except somehow she didn’t think her guilt would allow her to treat the woman poorly.