Arbitan’s lips were moving, repeating something. Amaranthe edged closer and knelt to listen before he finally stopped breathing.
“What does armon atask ku mean?” she asked.
“Return to me,” Books and Sicarius said together.
Akstyr cursed. “The soul construct. He called it back. It’s going to-”
A familiar shrieking howl came from the street. Amaranthe’s stomach descended into her boots. She had assumed killing the wizard would destroy the creature as well.
“Avenge its master’s death,” Akstyr finished.
Amaranthe looked at each of her men, who in turn stared back at her, as if brilliant solutions would soon flow from her lips. Only Sicarius’s gaze rested elsewhere. His expressionless mask back in place, he stared at the door, calm, accepting.
He’s already given up. She clenched her jaw. Well, I’m not going to.
“How do we kill it?” Amaranthe demanded.
“Impossible,” Sicarius said. “They’re impervious to blades and firearms. My old dagger might have cut it.” He opened his hand, palm up.
The dagger she lost. Of course.
“Go,” Sicarius said. “It’ll be after me, not you.”
“Bye.” Maldynado headed for the door.
“Stop,” Amaranthe said.
He surprised her by obeying.
She stepped over the fallen wizard and grabbed Sicarius’s arm. “You’re coming with us.”
“I cannot. It will know whose hand slew its master. It will follow me. There’s no escape.” He retracted his arm. “Go.”
Maldynado, Akstyr, Basilard, and Books looked askance at Amaranthe. She could not tell them to sacrifice themselves to a hopeless fate. Besides, their mission was not over yet. Arbitan said the emperor’s assassination had already been arranged, and Larocka was still alive somewhere.
Amaranthe turned back to Sicarius. “What happens after it kills you?”
“It continues doing what its master created it for,” he said.
The howl came again, this time from the yard directly below. She looked outside and reeled back at the blood, dismembered bodies, and entrails spattering the snow.
“Terrorizing the empire?” she asked.
“Apparently.”
“Unacceptable,” Amaranthe said. “We have to stop it.”
“We can’t,” Sicarius said quietly.
A loud splintering echoed through the house. The front door being broken down, Amaranthe guessed. Feminine shrieks traveled through the intervening floors. Apparently the servants were not exempt from the monster’s attentions.
“Amaranthe,” Books said, “we have to go.”
“No. Akstyr, there’s got to be a way to kill it. And don’t tell me about powerful magic being required, because we don’t have any!”
“Uh.” Akstyr shrugged helplessly.
“Maybe…” Books started.
Amaranthe whirled on him. “What?”
“It’s a physical creature living in our physical world, so even if it’s magic, surely it must obey laws of physics, right? Like if you dropped it to the bottom of the ocean or collapsed a mountain on it, the pressure would have to crush it, wouldn’t it?”
“Drop a mountain, brilliant.” Maldynado kicked the door to the hallway shut. “Why don’t we do that right now? Oh, wait-no mountains in the parlor. Drat!”
Claws scrabbled on the hardwood floor of the hallway. The door to the parlor shattered inward and threw Maldynado against a table. The soul construct loomed, its bulky dun-colored body crusted with snow and gore.
The beast blazed into the room, straight at Sicarius.
He shoved Amaranthe out of the way. The construct leapt at him. He ducked and rolled to the side, and it crashed through the glass window.
Startled, Amaranthe jumped to her feet and stuck her head out. The three-story fall did not faze the creature. It hit the snow on its feet and twisted back toward the front door, running through the torn bodies of soldiers it had slain.
“It’ll never stop,” Sicarius said.
“At least we know it’s not smart,” Amaranthe said.
And with that, an idea came. She grabbed Sicarius again.
“Distract it for fifteen minutes,” she said. “Lead it on a chase. Then bring it to the basement.”
“Lokdon…”
“Do it! That’s not a suggestion.” She released him and waved to the others. “Follow!”
Amaranthe grabbed a lamp from a table and dodged around the sofas to return to the secret passage.
“To do what?” Akstyr asked, but thankfully he and the others chased after her.
“Make a mountain fall.”
Chapter 20
T he basement had changed little since Amaranthe’s first visit. She had feared the remodeling project might be completed as she raced down flights of stairs, her men thundering behind. Thus she was relieved to see the mess: the freshly-dug pit, a tarp-draped pallet of bricks next to it, coils of rope, and, yes, the concrete mixer was still parked against the wall. The four-wheeled machine with its vertical boiler, cylindrical mixer, and driver’s cab looked to be operable-all she needed was time to start it up.
Amaranthe ran through the arena, lighting lanterns and barking orders. “Books, figure out a way to drop that pallet in the pit on command.”
Books gawked at the bricks. “They must weigh a ton. There’s no time.”
“You’ve got ten minutes. Akstyr and Basilard will help you. Maldynado, we need to get this engine started.”
She checked the level in the boiler, then added water from barrels standing by for that purpose. She threw open the grate to the engine’s firebox and shoveled coal in. The wood handle rubbed against her palm, which was raw from grabbing the burning brand, but she gritted her teeth against the pain.
“Uhm,” Maldynado said, “I think you need to start with kindling before-”
“Just jump into the cab and figure out how to drive this thing.”
Amaranthe lit a piece of cloth with her lamp, then shattered the kerosene oil cache on the coals. She dropped the burning cloth on top. Flames surged to life.
She bounced from foot to foot and watched the others while waiting for the fire to grow and produce enough heat to power the engine. Books and Akstyr took the tarp from the top of the stack of bricks and wrapped it around the side facing the pit. Basilard tied ropes from the corners to the overhead beam. Books found a jack and wedged it under the far side of the pallet after reinforcing the bottom with a sheet of metal. Laboriously, he cranked the lever up and down. Amaranthe ran over to help.
Despite the leverage the jack provided, sweat soon ran down both their faces. As one side of the pallet lifted higher than the other, the bricks shifted toward the pit. A few fell in, but the makeshift sling held the rest back. Basilard sat astride the beam, knife drawn, ready to cut the ropes restraining the bricks.
Amaranthe threw another rope up to him. “For Sicarius.”
Basilard tied one end around the beam and let the other dangle into the pit.
“I think it’s ready,” Maldynado called, voice vibrating along with the machine.
The mixer quivered under the pressure of pent up steam. Amaranthe called Books and Akstyr over to help. They lifted barrels containing dry aggregates and dumped them into the churning cylinder. A trough of water followed. With little construction experience, she could only guess at the ratio. There was no time to experiment.
With Amaranthe guiding him, Maldynado backed the concrete mixer to the pit opposite the bricks.
And then they waited.
The mixer rumbled, its cylinder spinning. Maldynado sat with his hand on the lever that would pour the wet concrete. Above, Basilard waited on the beam. The others stood on the far side of the pit, gazes transfixed on the stairs. Amaranthe chewed on her pinky nail-the only finger with more than a nub available.
“This is too obvious,” she said. “It’s not going to work.”
“The beast threw itself out a window,” Books said. “It’s not bright.”
“ I’ve thrown myself out a window recently,” Amaranthe said, remembering her fall from Hollowcrest’s office.