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“Actually, that’s not quite it,” Amaranthe said. “Mahliki and her cousin performed some fancy alchemy to turn it into an anesthesia of sorts. We’re to pour it onto the coals in the basement furnace that warms the air that flows into the ducts of the building. It’ll waft out of the vents as a colorless gas, supposedly without much of an odor either. We’ll wait a few minutes, and when we come up, most of the resistance should be groggy or outright unconscious. Those on the inside of the building anyway. We’ll still have to deal with the guards in the courtyard and on the walls.”

“She made an anesthesia from spiders innards?” Akstyr asked. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen, I believe,” Amaranthe said.

“That makes me feel less… special about my ability to use the Science to pull down people’s trousers.”

Amaranthe couldn’t remember ever hearing Akstyr sound impressed by anyone, not out loud anyway. He usually rolled his eyes or curled his lips at the admirable feats Sicarius and his teammates could accomplish. Perhaps it was Mahliki’s age. Or the fact that she was beautiful. Amaranthe decided not to mention that she’d caught Mahliki glancing Sespian’s way a few times during the team meeting. “Don’t belittle your skills,” she said. “They’ve saved our lives a few times now.”

“Wait,” Maldynado said. “Akstyr’s running around, forcing people to model their undergarments? When did he learn this new talent?”

“Don’t ask,” Books said, “or he may try it on you.”

“I’d rather we head to the dance halls together, so he can demonstrate that skill on the pretty-ouch.”

“Thank you, Yara,” Amaranthe said without looking back.

“You’re welcome.”

Basilard jogged in front of Amaranthe and dropped to one knee, examining the dirt. The ursine makarovi prints weren’t as perfectly defined as they had been in the snow, but one could make out partial tracks in the soft earth, not to mention the finger-thick punctures that marked the spots their long claws had set down.

“Same number of them as we saw at the entrance?” Amaranthe asked, though logic suggested the answer had to be yes. They hadn’t passed any side tunnels or exits.

Basilard nodded. The smell is getting stronger.

Amaranthe hoped she wasn’t directing the team into the heart of a makarovi den. Maybe they should have chanced dealing with shamanic alarms and booby traps instead. She peered into the darkness ahead. Sicarius hadn’t returned.

“I thought that was Maldynado and Books smelling that bad,” Akstyr said, “on account of working so hard to tote that big can.”

“Ha ha,” Maldynado said, “your sharp quip has skewered me like a venison kebob for a grill.”

“How come he didn’t include Sespian in his witty lambast?” Books pointed to the rear, where Sespian trudged along, now carrying the back half of the canister.

“He doesn’t seem to sweat much,” Akstyr said. “Even when he’s not doing bookly things.”

Sespian shook his head.

Basilard stood, pointing ahead. A moment later, Sicarius jogged out of the darkness. Yes, jogged, Amaranthe noted; he wasn’t sprinting as if a herd of… makarovi were after him. Good.

“Come,” he said, turning as soon as they saw him.

“No, no,” Amaranthe said. “No need to tell us what you saw. We’re not the curious sorts.”

He’d already disappeared into the tunnel depths.

Amaranthe grumbled, but strode after him anyway. The others followed, this time without the banter. Sicarius hadn’t appeared any grimmer than usual, but there’d been an urgency about his terse command and quick retreat.

A breeze drifted down the tunnel, bringing with it the scent of earth and snow, though the makarovi musk nearly smothered those more delicate odors. Amaranthe noticed her hand pressed against her belly, against the scars she’d forever have, a tangible memory of her last encounter. We’re not heading into a den, she told herself. If she smelled snow, there was another exit to the tunnel.

Soon sounds as well as smells came from ahead. A din that Amaranthe couldn’t place: bangs and clangs and shouts. They ought to be close to the Barracks; could they be hearing sounds of an attack? Starcrest wouldn’t have sent men to charge the gates, would he? As a diversion? No, he didn’t have many men, and certainly none to spare for something foolhardy. Maybe Flintcrest or Heroncrest were attacking. Except that her team had already stumbled across Heroncrest’s men. He’d been the general with the tunnel-boring machinery. His original plan of attack had to be on hold now.

Metal glinted ahead, not in the center of the passage, but off to the side in a hollow. Thus far, the tunnel had been straight without so much as a wall niche for holding the canteens and lunch boxes of the workers.

Sicarius stepped out of the hollow at the same moment as Amaranthe drew close enough to identify the metal object. The conical head of the tunnel borer stuck a few inches into the tunnel, with the rest of the vehicle backed into the nook.

When she took a step toward it, thinking to peek inside the cab, Sicarius lifted a restraining hand.

“There is nothing to see except mauled corpses. They were trying to turn around, to escape. Presumably the machine’s forward speed is greater than its reverse speed. Either way, it wouldn’t have mattered. Makarovi can cover ground quickly.”

“I see.”

“There are two exits ahead. One where the borer came up in the root cellar, and another in the courtyard where the ceiling caved in-or was pulled in-” Sicarius made an upward grasping motion with his hand, and Amaranthe imagined makarovi claws tearing into the earth. “That’s where the tracks diverge.”

“Root cellar?” Sespian asked. “Was the food destroyed? That’s where most of the stores to feed the compound are kept. If Marblecrest was depending on those rations for his men…”

“I’m more concerned about what he means about tracks diverging,” Amaranthe said. “Are we dealing with more than five makarovi?”

“At least twelve,” Sicarius said. “More than half of them went up into the courtyard instead of down the tunnel.”

Twelve?” Maldynado groaned. “And us without a dam to hurl them off?”

“Maybe we can lead them to the lake,” Books said. “The ice will be weakened with the warmer weather, and their corpulent frames ought to break through a couple of inches regardless.”

“Lead them with what bait?” Yara frowned.

Sicarius gave Amaranthe a quelling expression. She hadn’t planned to volunteer for that job again anyway.

Sespian raised a finger. “Just to be clear, you’re saying they originated in the root cellar? How would that be possible?”

“An empty portion was sectioned off and turned into a cage, a cage secured with thick steel bars. The tunnel borer came up underneath it.”

“That must have surprised the piss out of the operator,” Maldynado said.

“Heroncrest’s people must have thought the root cellar would be the ideal place to bring up the borer.” Sespian touched the cone, its metal blades scraped and pitted after so much use. “It’s underground, of course, and out in the courtyard, not attached to the main building. Unless a few servants were out collecting supplies for breakfast, who would hear the rumbling of the machinery underfoot?”

“Yes, good plan from Heroncrest,” Yara said, “but is anybody else wondering how a bunch of makarovi got into the root cellar to start with and why they were brought here?”

“Maybe…” Amaranthe withdrew a kerchief and wiped earth off the borer’s grimy blades. “Maybe Ravido wasn’t planning on being a figurehead for Forge after all.”

“You think my brother caught twelve makarovi?” Maldynado blinked. “He shot one of our cousins when he was out on a stag hunt with Father. After that, he was encouraged to abandon the hobby.”

“With the money your family has, I imagine he could have hired someone to do the capturing for him,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe he learned about our shaman friend from the mountains. Maybe he even excavated that cave we collapsed and found some of those collars…”