Forged in Blood II (41 page)

She grabbed the end of the hose, unraveling it as she returned to the door. She slipped the tip into the crack beneath the boards. The clacking claws halted, and the loud, moist sniffs filled the hallway outside the door.

The door is not much of a barrier for the passage of air,
Books signed.
The gas may affect
us
too.

We can escape into the ducts if we start to feel groggy.
Amaranthe pointed at the handle on the canister.

I hope it’s that simple.
With obvious reluctance, Books turned the handle.

With the hose placed, Amaranthe backed away from the door.

She caught Maldynado signing,
What if the gas seeps through and knocks us out without hurting that beast at all?

Books shrugged bleakly.

A smash rattled the door. It might have been a paw or a shoulder. It hardly mattered. Under that first exploratory blow, the hinges groaned.

Sespian, Books, Yara, and Maldynado drew their weapons, but they also eased closer to the maintenance shaft into which Sicarius had disappeared. Basilard waited beside Amaranthe, a pistol in one hand, a dagger in the other.

When another blow battered the door, she took Books’s place at the canister and turned the handle up farther. A soft gurgle came from the hose. Right, she reminded herself, it was a liquid, not a gas. Not yet. It needed to be heated first.

“Akstyr,” she whispered.

He had moved close to the shaft, too, though he had his eyes closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration. She started to wave for someone to bump him, but he opened his eyes of his own volition. He shook his head at her.

“That collar isn’t just controlling it; it’s protecting it.”

Uh oh. Would it protect the creature from their concoction too? Or only Science-based attacks? There was no time to ask and debate about it.

“There should be a bunch of liquid on the floor out there,” Amaranthe said, her words punctuated by another blow. One of the old boards cracked under the force. “I need you to heat it up. I
know
you can do heat.”

“Oh, yes.” Akstyr brightened. “Even if I can’t attack the makarovi directly, I can make that hallway hotter than the sun’s armpit.” He rubbed his hands.

“Just make sure the liquid is heated,” Amaranthe said.

He waved and closed his eyes again.

Another blow hammered the door. This time a hinge popped, and the top half tilted inward a couple of inches.

“Now would be a good time,” Maldynado said. “Yara, get in the duct.”

“I’m not turning coward and fleeing,” Yara growled, though her tone lost some of its fierceness when long claws slipped over the top of the door.

The beast was probing, but in a second, it’d attack in full force.

“Akstyr,” Amaranthe urged. At the same time, she waved the others toward the vent. “Yara, go. We can come back later, when it wanders off.”
If
it wandered off. The beasts had cursed singular minds where female prey was concerned. She turned off the handle on the canister. If the liquid hadn’t worked by now, it probably wouldn’t.

Yara hesitated, but Maldynado hoisted her from her feet and shoved her into the shaft. Grim-faced, he stalked toward Amaranthe.

“You’re next.”

“Wait,” Akstyr blurted. “It’s burning. That gunk is all over its feet. I think—”

The deafening roar of startled distress almost had the power to blow the door down on its own. The claws flexed on the boards. A snap sounded, the final hinge breaking free.

Amaranthe ran to join the others at the vent, though she knew there’d be no time for everyone to climb in, not before the creature rushed inside.

Flames danced in the hallway, surrounding the makarovi. It reared and roared, smashing its head and shoulders against the ceiling, but didn’t come in. The heat poured through the doorway, competing with the furnace. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if the creature was being burned, but it was surely alarmed.

“Inside you go.” Maldynado snatched her around the waist and thrust her through the vent opening with the same maneuver he’d used on Yara. “Books, you next.”

Shots fired. Amaranthe didn’t want to hide—she wanted to see if the gas worked—but someone was pushing against her—or being
jammed
against her—and she had to crawl deeper into the shaft. She found the first bend—and Yara’s feet. Yara seemed as reluctant as she, and wasn’t moving quickly.

“More coming,” Amaranthe said.

On her knees and elbows, her head brushing the low ceiling, she sped along as quickly as she could. Behind them, more shots fired, and she tried not to feel like a coward for fleeing while her men were fighting.

“Books?” she asked over her shoulder. “Who’s still out there? With the door down, there won’t be any barrier. If they fall unconscious and the makarovi doesn’t…”

“I’m aware of that problem,” he bit out from a ways back. He’d stopped before the bend.

Amaranthe stopped too. She sniffed the air, trying to detect… whatever it was the gas would smell like. Mahliki hadn’t mentioned that.

The gunshots had stopped. Nobody had cried out or screamed. She hoped that meant something. Something good. Because if the men were unconscious, they might not wake as the makarovi claws tore into their chests.

Bile rose in her throat as the image of the mauled driver of the boring machine jumped into her mind.

“Books…” She didn’t know what she wanted to ask. “We should go back and check.”

“I don’t know how long it takes for the gas to dissipate. We might fall asleep in the ducts and drown in our own drool.”

“We’re a grim lot tonight, aren’t we? Who’s behind you? Did anyone else make it in?”

“I thought… I thought Sespian did, but… No, nobody’s behind me.”

In the utter darkness ahead, Yara cursed. Amaranthe wiped sweat from her brow. There might be snow on the ground outside, but it was hot and stuffy in the vent.

“Let’s go back,” Amaranthe said. “We have to know what’s happening. What happened.”

“I don’t hear a thing,” Yara said.

“Neither do I.” Amaranthe backed up. Without any room to turn around, she had to squirm—yes, there was no way anyone could navigate this tight shaft without squirming—her way around the bend again, feet first this time.

She caught up with Books before he escaped the shaft. “Sorry,” she said after sticking her boot in his hair for the third time.

“Never thought you were the type to kick a man when he was in a horizontal…” Books sniffed a few times. “Do you smell… I’m trying to decide if I feel groggy.”

“I see the light from the furnace, just past you. You’re almost there.”

“I’m not sure if that should encourage me to continue on or not,” Books said.

“It depends on whether you want my boots in your face again. I’m going through to check one way or another.”

“Pushy woman.” Books sniffed again.

Amaranthe could smell the odor, too, though the stink of the makarovi was stronger. The gas reminded her, of all the unlikely things, of lilacs. Maybe Mahliki had given it a fake scent to override something less pleasant, something that might make people flee to escape it.

“If you’re that worried about it, stop inhaling, she said. “Pull your shirt up and hold your breath.”

Amaranthe couldn’t decipher the grumbles that followed, but she did hear the deep inhalation, then scuffles as he moved again. She continued scooting back. The light brightened. Books had crawled out.

She hurried to join him, lest he was even now passing out and being eaten at the same time. She was in such a hurry that she fell out in an ungainly tumble. When she tried to roll to her feet and spin toward the door, she tripped over a body on the floor. Her heart jumped into her throat. Dear ancestors, if they were all dead…

But the makarovi hadn’t moved past the threshold. Akstyr’s flames had burned out, and the furry mass lay across the threshold, its bulk taking up two-thirds of the doorway. Not two feet from it, Basilard was sprawled on his side, his dagger stretched out toward the creature. Akstyr, Sespian, and Maldynado all lay flat on the floor around the maintenance shaft, their weapons also in their hands.

With relief, Amaranthe noted the rises and falls of their chests. Everyone was breathing. Unfortunately—she ventured closer to check—the makarovi was too.

She hadn’t taken a breath since she entered the room. She had no idea whether it was safe or not. Either way, they had better kill the makarovi before it woke up. Since Basilard’s dagger had a long, sharp serrated blade, she chose it instead of her own. It took a few seconds to pry it out of his hand. She approached the beast grimly, not certain she’d be strong enough to kill it even in this state.

Let me
, Books signed and waved for the knife. He’d pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth.
You hold the fur away, so I can…
He shrugged.

What a fun use for teamwork. Grimly, she obeyed, parting the thick fur and baring the black skin beneath it. Sawing a board wouldn’t have been any easier, but at least the anesthesia kept it asleep. Amaranthe watched tensely, expecting it to rise at any moment, to rise and
leap
at her, claws slashing.

As the moments passed and the blade sawed deeper, blood started to flow, then spurt.

“I think I got the jugular,” Books panted, “finally.” He blinked a few times and looked at Amaranthe in alarm. “Do you feel—I’m groggy. Tired. Sleepy.”

“I know, me too. Cut a little further, will you? Just to make sure.” She yawned, fighting off the effects of the lingering odor. Lilacs. Definitely lilacs.

“It’s dead,” came a new voice.

In her woozy state, it took a moment for Amaranthe to identify it and locate the source. Sicarius stood by the shaft entrance, gazing at her.

“Yes, good.” Amaranthe stood up. She had to brace herself on the wall. “We decided to test the concoction. Starcrest and his daughter do good work.”

“I see.”

“Anyone mind if I take a nap?” Books hadn’t bothered with standing; he’d simply flopped against the wall, his head lolling back.

“There are no makarovi in the building,” Sicarius said. “And I found Ravido’s location.”

“Good.” Amaranthe staggered toward him, having a notion that the air would be clearer farther from the hallway. She tripped on someone’s outstretched arm. Sicarius was thoughtful enough to catch her. She smiled up at him, fighting off another yawn.

“I heard a conversation that gave me information that one person in this party will deem important.” Sicarius studied Sespian’s inert form at his feet.

“What’s that?” Amaranthe asked.

“His cat is alive. And irritating Ravido.”

T
he stench of the dead makarovi made it difficult to smell anything else, but Sicarius stood beside the doorway, his back to the wall, his senses attuned to the hallway on the other side of the body. The scents of snow, blood, and black powder drifted down from the broken basement door, but the sounds of battle had faded. Nobody had entered via the basement stairs either. The soldiers on the wall and in the courtyard were probably relieved the makarovi had disappeared beneath the building and had no interest in following it. Sicarius remained alert regardless and kept an eye on the open vent as well while Books and Basilard moved the large metal canister closer to the furnace so he could redeploy the hose. Akstyr had lost a game of private-sergeant-captain and was shoveling coal into the firebox to increase the hot air available to flow through the system.

“Judging by how long it took everyone to wake up,” Amaranthe said, “we’ll have about fifteen minutes between the time the gas disperses and the time the people up there return to their senses. In theory, we could run back down here and send out another dose, but that might be difficult to coordinate, especially if one team runs into trouble. I’m also not sure what the effects of being dosed over and over might be.”

“I can tell you I have a blazing headache.” Maldynado pressed a palm to his skull.

Sicarius waited for Yara to accuse him of whining, but she was standing next to him, almost leaning against his shoulder, and gave him a concerned look. The battle must have been more harrowing than anyone had let on. Sicarius was relieved Amaranthe and the others had found a way to handle the makarovi without him; he’d been three stories above the furnace room and had rushed back as soon as he heard the roars of the beast, but traveling through the duct systems was tediously slow. He’d cracked his elbows and his head more than once in his haste to return to help. He resolved not to let Amaranthe send him away from her again, not while makarovi remained alive.

“Though I’m terribly grateful that you three came back to kill our new furry doorstop,” Maldynado added.

“Yup,” Akstyr said, “it would have chewed donkey testicles if the makarovi had woken up first.”

“That, and I’d hate to have been nominated as the one to finish it off.” Maldynado grinned. “Books did a decent butchering job there, didn’t he? All we need now are some steaks so Basilard can prove to us that makarovi actually
does
make a decent meal.”

“I’d rather eat one of Sicarius’s greasy bars,” Akstyr said.

Books had opened the furnace door and snaked the hose as close to the flames as he dared. “I’m prepared.”

“Go ahead and start.” Amaranthe stepped away from the furnace. “It’ll take a while to wind through all those ducts and affect people.”

“What’s the plan for dealing with those people once they’re out?” Sespian asked. “If we’re only going to have fifteen minutes, and there are thousands of men…”

Amaranthe nodded. “A difficulty. I propose that we split into three teams. Maldynado, Yara, and Akstyr on one team, and Sespian and Basilard on another. Books will remain here, ensuring that nobody disturbs the dispensary device while we’re up there.” The last thing they wanted was for somebody to figure out what was going on and turn it on while her team was roaming the halls. “You’ll race through the floors as quickly as possible, picking out high-ranking officers and carting them down to the dungeon and locking them in cells. Don’t bother with the staff. Sespian, before you and Basilard drag anyone out, I want you to run up to your rooms and find a dress uniform. Put it on with all the imperial accoutrements you have time to grab. When people start waking up and see you here while Ravido and their superiors are missing, I’m hoping they’ll be eager to switch sides, or at least won’t want to pick a fight.”