Forged in Blood I (3 page)

“If someone triggered the trap, so to speak,” Books said, “should we abandon this mission? At least for tonight?”

“Hoping to get back to your work?” Sespian murmured.

“Partially. Partially I’m concerned for our safety if someone was skilled enough to sneak past Sicarius without his noticing. Or any of us noticing,” he rushed to add, perhaps feeling he’d offered an insult.

Sicarius ignored the slight. He, too, would find cause for concern if someone had bypassed him without a whisper. Perhaps the person had been there first and had been waiting to deal with the ward until Sicarius left. That idea didn’t grate at him any less, for it would have meant he hadn’t been paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have been, but he’d find that more plausible than the notion that someone had sneaked past him in the dark.

“I found it,” Akstyr said. “The ward. It wasn’t tripped.”

“That’s a relief,” Books said.

Was it? What had happened then? Sicarius waited for a further explanation.

Akstyr tapped the stone wall. “It’s been disarmed.”

“Disarmed?” Sicarius asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended. Long ago, Hollowcrest and various tutors had drilled into him the importance of maintaining a neutral facade and giving away nothing through expression—or timbre of voice. He wondered, sometimes, if so much time spent amongst men—and women, he added to himself, thinking of Amaranthe—was affecting his ability to distance himself from humanity, from his own frail human side. “Disarmed how?” he asked, making his tone calm and emotionless again.

“It’s like… if this were a mine… someone had left the casing and detonator and stuff in place, but removed the charge,” Akstyr said. “It’s something only a practitioner would know how to do.”

“This could be done swiftly?” Sicarius was certain he’d been gone for no more than five minutes.

“If someone had practiced enough, I guess.”

“Are you telling me that a wizard sneaked into the Barracks just ahead of us?” Sespian whispered.

“Practitioner,” Akstyr corrected.

Ignoring him, Sespian focused on Sicarius. “To what end? Are they trying to beat us to your records? How would they even know we sought them?”

“I doubt this person’s presence has anything to do with me,” Sicarius said.

The others exchanged dubious looks.

Sicarius refused to doubt his statement. Until Amaranthe had voiced her new interest in digging into his past, nobody had been contemplating such matters. Nor had anybody been around spying on their conversation earlier in the day. “It is more likely that another assassin has entered the Barracks.”

Such an occupation would explain the person’s stealth.

“A wizard assassin?” Sespian asked. “Who’s the target?” He didn’t point to himself, but he didn’t need to. After being a target for so long, he must have learned to worry about his life. Good. Paranoia kept one alive.

“Perhaps Ravido or whomever has taken over the Barracks,” Sicarius said.

“Hm, yes.” Books stroked his jaw. “If the newspapers speak the truth, the competition is going to be noticeable—and bloody—over the next few weeks. There’s an entire empire at stake here.”

“We will enter and attempt to avoid the other intruder,” Sicarius said, though their errand to Hollowcrest’s office would take them to the same floor and hallway that housed the imperial suites. If Ravido had taken the Barracks for his own, he may have decided to set himself up in Raumesys’s old rooms, something an assassin clever enough to disarm magical traps would soon deduce.

“What if we’re not able to do that?” Books asked quietly. “An assassin with a practitioner’s skills sounds formidable.”

“We too are formidable.” Sicarius headed for the secret door, though a niggling thought followed him, one that suggested someone who had evaded his notice in the tunnel might be
more
than formidable.

Chapter 2

S
oldiers and enforcers patrolled the cobblestone streets on either side of the canal passing in front of the
Imperial Gazette
building. Amaranthe and Maldynado crouched in the shadows beneath the closest bridge, waiting for night to deepen and for the foot traffic to dwindle. Most of that foot traffic was uniformed. Though numerous eating and drinking houses dotted the waterfront, the sounds coming from within them were muted. Few civilians lingered in the streets. She doubted it had anything to do with the frosty evening air—winter would grow far colder in the coming months, and Turgonians were used to the chill. Those civilians who did brave the streets did so using quick, purposeful strides, their coats pulled tight, their eyes watching the troops.

“Those soldiers are taking the joy out of people’s evenings,” Maldynado said as a squad marched across the bridge above them, the synchronized thuds of their steps echoing from the raised walls on either side of the canal.

Amaranthe eyed the metal support beams overhead. She recalled hearing that soldiers were supposed to break into unsynchronized steps when crossing bridges, thus to keep the vibrations from collapsing the structure, but perhaps that was only for poorly constructed wooden bridges out in the countryside. Still, if the bridge toppled—preferably when she wasn’t under it—it’d provide a nice diversion for her and Maldynado to enter the
Gazette
building. She didn’t want to light any houseboats on fire this time.

“They’re just following orders,” Amaranthe said when the soldiers passed without bridge mishaps. “It’s their generals we need to worry about. Have you figured out the armband code yet?” They’d seen soldiers with blue, red, and white sashes tied about their right biceps. Not all the soldiers wore them, and Amaranthe assumed they had to do with identifying allegiance to certain would-be successors. The military fatigues were otherwise identical.

“Aside from the fact that those men have dreadful fashion sense?” Maldynado asked.

“Yes.”

“Then… no. Except there seem to be more white armbands than any other color.”

“I noticed that too. Ravido’s people, you think? With Forge at his back, he should have all the advantages, and he’s had more time to gather troops than Lord Heroncrest and Lord General Flintcrest,” Amaranthe said, citing two other contenders who’d been named in a newspaper a few days earlier. She had, however, seen men on all sides carrying new rifles and old flintlocks as well. Maybe there was some bartering going on between the armies. Or maybe Forge wanted to confuse outsiders by selling to everyone.

“Ravido
is
thoughtless enough to choose white.” Maldynado sniffed. “White, on a soldier. They’ll be smudged with dirt and spattered with blood by the end of the week.”

“Perhaps so.” As of yet, Amaranthe hadn’t heard any gunshots or seen signs of fights between the different factions, but she doubted that would last. Right now, the soldiers seemed to be more focused on instilling martial law. Once all the contenders for the throne were ready to make their moves, things would start happening quickly. And violently. “It looks like most of the newspaper employees have gone home for the night.” She nodded toward the front of the three-story building across the canal. Several minutes had passed since anyone exited the front door. She hoped to find Mancrest working late, as she had once before.

“I don’t suppose, with Sicarius being elsewhere, we could just walk in the front door?” Maldynado suggested.

“With all the soldiers roaming about, I think we should go the same way as last time.” Amaranthe waved at the storm grate on the opposite canal wall.

“Are you sure that’s necessary? If you’re worried we’re not being sneaky enough, we could turn sideways and hug the shadows as we go up the front steps.”

“Come, come, you don’t want me to tell Yara you were whining, do you?” After checking both sides of the canal, Amaranthe left the shadows and jumped, catching one of the iron bars beneath the bridge. The cold metal bit into her hands, but she wouldn’t have tried the maneuver with gloves on. She swung her legs for momentum and caught the next handhold, then the next, trusting Maldynado would follow her, despite his complaints. Her short sword hung on her waist, too short to bother her legs as she picked her route. Maldynado’s rapier might be more of a distraction, but she trusted he’d be fine.

“We’ve been comrades for almost a year now.” Maldynado grunted as he jumped up and caught the first bar, probably wincing at the icy touch as well. “Shouldn’t your allegiance be to me instead of our newest and most untried member?”

“I think she was suitably tried on the riverboat mission.” Amaranthe reached the last bar and swung onto the stone walkway, catching herself against the cement wall.

“That is true.” Maldynado chuckled.

Somehow Amaranthe doubted he was thinking of the same sort of
trying
as she was. When he dropped down beside her, they headed for the storm grate, passing several tethered houseboats along the way. She looked for the one she’d inadvertently set fire to the summer before, hoping she’d see it repaired and little worse for the experience, but it wasn’t there. In fact, none of the houseboats looked familiar. Perhaps the fire had sullied the homeowners’ perspectives of the neighborhood. She sighed, longing for a day when her face no longer graced wanted posters, and she could work freely within the bounds of the law again. A day, she thought grimly, that would only come if they succeeded in getting Sespian back on the throne.

“Is it just me,” Maldynado asked when they reached the round grate set into the canal wall, “or is that padlock much bigger and sturdier than it was last summer?”

“Possibly.” Amaranthe pulled out her lock-picking set, undaunted by the shiny steel.

“Someone must have heard about all the unsavory outlaws roaming the city’s sewers, pumping stations, and aqueduct tunnels.”

Amaranthe slid a tension wrench and ball pick into the slot and worked on the tumblers. “Did you just call yourself unsavory?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to frequent the public baths as much as I like of late.”

Voices drifted down from the street above. Just civilians passing by on their way home, Amaranthe hoped.

“Stand watch, please,” she murmured, aware of people walking by on the opposite side of the canal as well. This portion of the path wasn’t well lit, but she doubted the shadows were thick enough to hide her, should someone peer intently.

“Naturally.” Maldynado leaned against the wall.

The lock proved challenging, but Amaranthe thwarted it eventually. She opened the grate, frosty icicles snapping, iron squealing. Someone had supplied a fresh lock, but nobody had thought to oil the hinges? Or perhaps that had been intentional. Thus to alert nearby denizens—or warrior-caste journalists? As soon as Maldynado stepped inside, Amaranthe closed the grate and replaced the padlock on the bars, though she didn’t fasten it, in case they needed to exit that way in a hurry.

“You’re being paranoid, girl,” she muttered to herself.

Even if people on the other side knew her team had returned to the city, they wouldn’t know what they were
doing
in the city.

“What did you say?” Maldynado asked, as they strode up the slick tunnel.

“Nothing important.”

“Ah. I was hoping you’d been proclaiming that I was in fact quite savory, baths notwithstanding.”

“So long as Yara believes that, you’ll be fine.” Amaranthe turned into the passage that ran beneath the alley behind the
Gazette
building.

“How could she not?” Maldynado asked, a smile in his voice.

For a while during their travels, Maldynado had seemed glum, due to everyone being suspicious of his motives, but Yara had apparently relieved him of those dark feelings. Amaranthe wasn’t sure if that was entirely a good thing. He’d been… bubbly of late.

A scraping sound came from somewhere ahead of them. She halted, flinging her arm out to stop Maldynado as well. At first, she thought the noise had come from the tunnel, but a shadow moved, interrupting the flow of moonlight through drains in the alley above.

“Someone else may be visiting via the back door,” Maldynado murmured.

“We’ll see.” Amaranthe patted her way to a ladder leading to the manhole they’d used the last time they visited. She climbed it and tilted her ear toward the cover.

A rumble sounded above her. A steam vehicle driving down the alley? Amaranthe remembered a loading dock in the rear of the building, but would the
Gazette
be shipping newspapers or receiving supplies at night? She dropped back to the ground.

“Company, eh?” Maldynado asked.

“So it seems.” Using the wan light filtering through the drains as a guide, Amaranthe headed farther up the tunnel. Frozen runoff water made the ground slick, and she flailed several times, scraping her knuckles on the wall once and smacking Maldynado in the jaw another time.

“No need to take it out on me,” he said with a chuckle.

A minute later, he butt-planted on the ice behind her. After that, there were fewer chuckles.

Treacherous footing notwithstanding, they made it to the next ladder. Amaranthe climbed up, listened at the manhole, and didn’t hear anything. They ought to be in the same alley but several buildings down. She unfastened the lid and lifted it a couple of inches.

No less than four army lorries idled in front of the
Gazette’s
loading dock. Soldiers idled as well, smoking and talking as they leaned against the vehicles. A few more stood near the doors on the loading dock. The casual stances hinted of boredom rather than alertness, but numerous rifles leaned within easy reach, cartridge-based rifles loaded with multiple rounds. White armbands adorned the men’s arms. The drainpipe Amaranthe, Sicarius, and Maldynado had once climbed to gain access to an attic vent snaked up the side of the building in plain view.

She lowered the manhole cover and climbed down again. “I believe it’s time to enact Plan Two.”

“Go home and snuggle with an exciting and surprisingly randy woman?” Maldynado asked.

“That’s
your
Plan Two. Mine is to wait for Deret at his flat.”