Forward and reverse were easy enough-the lever was labeled-but how did one operate the drill? And where were the gauges to signal the boiler’s readiness? And-she grimaced-why did that man’s horribly mauled body have to be right there in the middle of the workspace?
Sicarius would have pushed it out of the cab, but she couldn’t bring herself to be so callous. She tried not to look as she studied the controls.
“Look out, Amaranthe!” came Books’s bellow from outside.
She lifted her head at the same time as a hulking figure leaped around the razored cone and toward her, a mass of shaggy black fur and fangs. It landed on top of the drill head, inches from the windshield. Claws like knives gleamed as it lifted a paw.
Amaranthe ducked behind the seat. “Down, Yara,” she almost had time to shout. In the middle of her words that paw smashed through the glass.
Claws slashed, tearing through the air, groping for Amaranthe. She was aware of bullets firing, but more aware that they weren’t effective. The paw tore off the head of the dead man and the back of the chair as well. Both items flew out the door, slamming into the wall of the hollow.
Yara cursed and yanked out her pistol. Amaranthe, flat on her back now, trying to avoid that swiping claw, did the same, though she feared the weapons would be useless. She fired anyway, trying to hit the beast in the eye. The top of the cab blocked the target, though, and her round disappeared into the fur of its shoulder. If it hurt the creature at all, she couldn’t tell.
Then it grunted, moist saliva flying from its mouth, as its head was thrown forward. It cracked against the roof of the cab, and hot droplets of spittle flew through the broken window, spattering Amaranthe and Yara.
A black knife snaked around the creature’s neck, and she realized the reason for its grunt. Sicarius had climbed onto his back. His blade plunged into fur, seeking a vital vein.
Amaranthe thought that might be the end, but the makarovi reared up, gyrating in the air, and did a clumsy but effective somersault. It landed beside the drill head and charged back into the tunnel, batting aside rifles shooting in its direction. The wild move had flung Sicarius free, but he dropped feet-first to the earth and raced back into the fray.
“Even these fancy new Forge cartridges don’t do a cursed thing,” Yara snarled, checking the rounds, as if they’d betrayed her somehow.
“No, we need a bigger weapon.” Amaranthe found the control she’d been looking for and shouted, “Watch out for the drill,” over the chaos.
“Don’t skewer our own people.”
“No, it’ll have to be just right…” But Amaranthe couldn’t see much of what was in front of her with the massive cone in the way. This vehicle must typically employ ground guides to drill. She leaned out of the cab. “Trap it in the tunnel, right in front of us!”
Only gunshots answered her.
“Yara, would you risk…?” Amaranthe jerked her chin toward the space between the machine and the wall.
“Oh, sure, I’d love to. Never mind that there’s a dead man’s head right down there.” Her voice had grown squeaky and loud, but she clamped down on her terror and gave a quick enforcer’s salute before jumping to the ground.
“Get it,” Sespian cried. “Yes, the eye, the eye!”
Amaranthe couldn’t tell if they were working to follow her order or not. Maybe they hadn’t heard her over the screeches of the beast and their own gunshots. She was about to lean out of the cab and see for herself, but Yara shouted at her.
“Now, Amaranthe, now!”
Trusting her, Amaranthe shoved the accelerator to maximum. The vehicle lurched forward with a surge of power. She gritted her teeth, tenser than a bowstring. If one of the men got in the way…
With an even greater lurch, the borer slammed to a halt. For a second, she could hear the sheering of flesh and the grinding of bone as the drill spun, but a high-pitched squeal drowned it out.
“Hold,” Sicarius shouted. “I’ll finish it.”
The gunshots Amaranthe had been aware of halted. Unwilling to remain blind, she jumped out of the cab on the opposite side from Yara so she could see. She wished she hadn’t. The drill was still going-worried more about ramming the creature, she’d forgotten about it-and blood and fur spattered the walls and continued to fly through the air. Sicarius, his dagger sunken hilt-deep in that rubbery sheath of flesh, finally found the jugular. More blood spurted, and Amaranthe shrank back from the macabre sight.
“Uh, I think you can turn it off now,” Akstyr said.
Glad for the excuse to climb back into the cab, where she couldn’t see the pulverized beast, Amaranthe cut off the drill and backed the vehicle into the hollow again.
“Yup,” Akstyr said a moment later. “It’s dead. Real dead.”
Someone vomited.
Amaranthe supposed she couldn’t escape the tunnel without walking past that mess again. She wondered how long she could delay the unpleasantness. No, she needed to check and see if anyone was wounded.
Before she summoned the fortitude to walk back into the carnage, Sicarius hopped up beside her.
“You’ll note,” Amaranthe said, “that I did obey your order to stay in the cabin.” Actually, Maldynado had barked that blunt, “Stay,” but she was certain Sicarius would have agreed with it.
“So you did.” He gripped her arm gently. “Good work.”
“Thank you.”
He was contemplating her with… admiration? Satisfaction? As usual, he was hard to read, but enough warmth seeped through the expression to please her.
“Just so you know,” Amaranthe said, “I’d be happy to kiss you at a moment like this, but you have makarovi guts in your hair and a tuft of fur stuck to your jaw.”
“This is a problem for you?”
“I prefer my lovers to be clean and gore-free. It puts one in the proper mood to express physical endearments.”
“I shall remember your preferences.” Sicarius lifted a finger and scraped ichor off her jaw. Right, she must look as bad as he. And he didn’t care. He sounded… disappointed.
You almost died, girl, she thought, again. And the night was young. They could both end up dead. So why was she making jokes? Idiot.
“I changed my mind.” Amaranthe placed a hand on either of his shoulders, rose on tiptoes, and pressed her mouth to his. She had a sense that an I’m-glad-we-didn’t-die-and-there’s-still-work-to-do kiss shouldn’t be overly passionate or involved, but she found herself breathless when someone spoke in the tunnel, and they drew apart. Sicarius’s hand, she noted, had found its way to her back, and she fancied she felt the warmth of his flesh even through her jacket.
“One down, eleven to go,” Maldynado was saying.
It didn’t sound like anyone had noticed their leaders smooching in the cabin. A good thing, most likely.
Sicarius drew back, though he let his hand linger on the small of her back. Yes, she preferred that faintly pleased expression on his face to the disappointed one, even if, she was certain, nobody else could tell the difference.
He hopped out of the vehicle and offered her a hand, as if they were disembarking from a steam carriage or trolley and heading in for a night of fine dining. Amused, she accepted the help down.
Up front, Akstyr was kneeling by the creature’s head. He lifted a tuft of fur, revealing a silver chain around its neck.
Amaranthe groaned. “Sometimes I hate it when I’m right; I’m guessing those are similar to the ones the makarovi at the dam were wearing?”
“Not similar, the same,” Akstyr said. “If not the same pieces, they were made by the same Maker.”
“These aren’t the same makarovi, are they?” Books asked. “Could someone have found them wandering around the mountains at some point this last year and recaptured them?”
“I know a way to tell,” Maldynado said. “Lift up his leg and see if he has a big old scar in his nether regions. That’s how we hooked them and slung them off the dam.”