“He explains that a Nurian practitioner named Kor Nas has captured him,” Tikaya said.
Starcrest’s gaze shifted upward thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the name. He’s one of their more powerful battle mages and Makers.”
“A telepath?” Tikaya waved the letter.
“Meaning does he know that was written?” Starcrest asked. “Probably. We’d better hurry.”
“He says he was injured when trapping the soul construct and searching for Corporal Lokdon after the Behemoth crashed. He saw where the ship landed and knows who and how many died.”
Amaranthe cringed. He’d think Sespian was dead. And Maldynado and Basilard as well. She had.
“And he saw Lokdon’s body,” Tikaya said.
“Pardon?” Amaranthe asked.
Tikaya’s finger ran across the line of gibberish, rechecking the translation. “That’s what it says. Kor Nas embedded some device in his head to control him, and he’s been working as the man’s assassin. He can’t disobey. Kor Nas has learned-” Tikaya swallowed and gripped her husband’s arm. “He’s learned you’re in the city. He doesn’t know where yet, but he intends to send Sicarius to kill you, a tactical move for Flintcrest’s army, but more importantly it’d be an honor for this Kor Nas to dump your head at his Great Chief’s feet.”
Starcrest ran a hand over his hair. “It seems the years and the gray haven’t diminished my head’s value.”
“Sicarius writes to expect him soon.” Tikaya jerked her hand downward, the paper crinkling in her fingers. “I knew you couldn’t trust-Akahe spit on that blond monster.”
“It’s not his fault,” Amaranthe said. “He’s warning you, so you can do something. Sir, my lord,” she said, fumbling the honorifics but not caring, “you have to know he idolized you growing up. His life was hard and he had no freedoms, but I know he read your work and wished…”
Starcrest lifted a hand. “I understand. And he’s done me a service in warning me, though he may have given away my position as well. If Kor Nas has been in his thoughts, or in the thoughts of the one who arranged to have this delivered, he’ll know about this factory. He could come tonight. I wonder who it was that helped him deliver this, and why. Maybe it’s a trap. Or even a trap within a trap.”
“What’s the line in Nurian say?” Amaranthe asked.
“I have noticed that Kor Nas grows intensely inwardly focused when his pet makes his kills. He enjoys the show.”
His pet? “Sicarius knows Nurian, but that’s nothing he would have written,” Amaranthe said.
“No, it must have been an addition from the messenger. It’d be helpful to be able to trust it, but-”
“Wait.” Tikaya’s grip tightened on his arm. “We saw Prince Zirabo. He’s there in Flintcrest’s camp.”
“Ah? That explains much.”
“Not to me,” Amaranthe said.
“That’s one of the Nurian Great Chief’s younger children, isn’t it?” Books asked from the doorway.
“Yes, it is.” Sespian scratched his head.
Good, Amaranthe wasn’t the only one perplexed by receiving assistance from the son of the enemy ruler.
“We saved each other’s lives once,” Starcrest said. “Long ago. I’m certain he wouldn’t betray his father or his people on my behalf, but this small favor?” Starcrest took the letter from his wife’s hand and smoothed it onto the table. “This makes sense. I don’t think it’s a trap.”
“Trap or not, love, that assassin is coming to kill you.”
Chapter 12
From a rooftop a block away, Sicarius stared at the familiar outline of the molasses factory, its high brick walls and flat roof, the pair of massive cylindrical holding tanks occupying a third of the lot. Had he known this was Starcrest’s hideout, he could have sent a note days ago. How had he found it? If Sespian, Maldynado, and Basilard had died at Fort Urgot, and Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr had been killed in the fighting within the Behemoth, that didn’t leave any of the original team members who might have acted as a guide. Yara? Had she somehow chanced upon Starcrest? Sicarius reminded himself that he’d only seen Amaranthe’s body. Perhaps Books and Akstyr had escaped the crash and met up with Starcrest when the admiral was coming to investigate it. Yes, that made sense. Countless people, some curious and some opportunistic, would have visited that site, however gory it’d been. And Starcrest would have been troubled by, if not outright horrified at, the reappearance of that alien technology.
“We may be too late,” Kor Nas said from a meter away. They stood, their backs to the smokestacks of their own building, a refinery still filled with busy employees, as they studied the molasses factory. “It’s empty.”
“You can sense this?” Sicarius lowered a spyglass. Though there wasn’t any smoke coming from the factory’s stacks, that might be intentional. When Amaranthe had been leading, the team hadn’t laid fires in any of the furnaces for warmth and had used only personal lanterns for lighting. They had set a guard though, and Sicarius would have expected Starcrest to do the same. He didn’t spot anyone standing on the roof. Copious footprints trampled the snow on the sidewalks around the factory, and drifts had been cleared from the doors, but that might have happened at any point in the last few days.
“I do. There is no one inside.” Ice frosted the practitioner’s voice. “Starcrest and his men must have received your warning and moved on.”
Before Sicarius could decide if he wanted to respond to the statement, a blast of pain dropped him to his knees. It was as if a cannonball had struck the side of his head, blowing half of it away. Unprepared, it took him a moment to erect his mental barriers, to push aside the pain and bring his rational mind back to bear before his attack-or-flee instincts could take over. Teeth gritted, he staggered back to his feet. The pain hadn’t lessened, but he dealt with it. He forced his breathing to return to normal, his heartbeat to slow, and he faced his attacker.
Though he had one hand stretched out toward Sicarius, Kor Nas was barely paying attention to him. His gaze remained on the factory.
He’s distracted, Sicarius thought. Attack now!
He bunched his muscles to spring, but Kor Nas dropped his arm, and the pain vanished so quickly it startled Sicarius.
“Wait,” Kor Nas said, “there’s one person in there.”
“Starcrest?” Sicarius was still of a mind to spring, to attack, but when Kor Nas turned his gaze toward him, he felt the subtle presence of the opal again, soothing his muscles, not allowing him to prepare an attack, not at his good master.
Sicarius wanted to let his lips peel back in a snarl of rage-even that seemed too unsuitable a reaction to that much pain-but he found his mask again. Interesting, a detached part of his mind decided, that when the stone had been inflicting pain upon him, some of that control it had over his physical body had faded. Could he use that somehow?
“I cannot tell,” Kor Nas finally said. “Seeing was not my field of study. Is it possible he’s already laid a trap?”
Yes, Sicarius thought. “We’ll find out.”
Kor Nas considered him for a long moment. “You go find out.”
“You’re staying here?” Sicarius waved at the paraphernalia on the practitioner’s belt. “Didn’t you come for a fight?”
“I came to see Starcrest killed and his head removed. As a practitioner who has survived three wars, I’ve learned to use tools to handle such things whenever possible.” He extended a hand toward Sicarius.
“I cannot act as your bodyguard if we are separated,” Sicarius said and tried to keep himself from thinking the follow-up, and you cannot fall into Starcrest’s trap if you’re not there with me when he springs it.
“A risk I’m prepared to take.” The slight smile that curved Kor Nas’s lips said all too much, that he knew Sicarius’s thoughts.
Sicarius gazed again toward the dark factory. He’d hoped his scheme might result in the practitioner’s death as well as his own, thus insuring Starcrest’s safety, at least from the Nurians who so dearly wanted him dead, but his own death would have to be reward enough. A release from a captor who enjoyed living vicariously through his assassinations. He’d worked among those types of men for too long. He didn’t know when he’d gone from feeling apathy toward the duties they demanded of him to developing a distaste, but sometime in his last year, walking at Amaranthe’s side, it had happened. He wished they’d both lived long enough for him to tell her that.