Forged in Blood II (42 page)

“You’re going for Ravido?” Sespian asked.

“Sicarius and I will fetch him for questioning. I want to know if we’ve guessed right about these makarovi or not. It’s possible the Forge people
aren’t
their target. I’ve been wondering why half of the pack stayed on the premises while half ran off into the Emperor’s Preserve.”

“Into the city,” Sicarius said. “I heard screams from Mokath Ridge, and the tracks we saw headed in that direction too.”

“Were those the well-mannered makarovi who did as their collars commanded, or were those the rogues?”

“Unknown,” Sicarius said, though he suspected her question had been rhetorical.

“We’ll focus on securing the building first,” Amaranthe said. “Anyone have questions? Disagreements?”

“What about the practitioner?” Akstyr lowered his shovel and swiped sweat from his brow. “The one who set the wards might also be the one who altered the collars so the makarovi have a new target.”

“I’m hoping she took the night off,” Amaranthe said. “But if anyone sees her, grab her. We’ll have to set a guard on her. Even then, I don’t know—Akstyr how does one imprison a practitioner and keep him or her from using mental powers to escape?”

“There are some Made devices that can subdue prisoners.” Akstyr glanced at the wound at Sicarius’s temple. “Otherwise, you have to keep them as distracted as possible.”

“The Nurians use a form of water torture,” Sicarius said. “Lay the practitioner on his back and pour water over his face, so that he has to concentrate on not choking, thus not letting him focus his thoughts on anything else.”

“How… lovely,” Amaranthe said.

“Killing her would also be an option, for whoever finds her while she’s asleep.”
If
she was asleep, Sicarius thought. If the practitioner figured out what was happening to her comrades before she succumbed herself, she might be able to fashion a way to protect herself from the tainted air.

“Uh.” Amaranthe glanced at the dead makarovi, but seemed disinclined to order the same fate for a human being. “If anyone sees her, bring her back here. We’ll handle her the best we can. She might be worth questioning, especially if Ravido slips away somehow.”

Sicarius had spotted Ravido alone in Raumesys’s old office, drinking brandy as he stared glumly out the window—he had no intention of letting the general slip anywhere. He expected the man, too cowardly to run out and fight the makarovi or help anyone, to still be in the room when he and Amaranthe returned. He didn’t argue with her order though.

“The gas is flowing,” Books announced.

“Are the ducts the only way for us to get from the basement to the main floors without going outside?” Amaranthe asked Sicarius.

“No. There’s a coal elevator and servants’ access ladders in the room next to this one.”

Sicarius climbed over the slain makarovi and into the hallway. Amaranthe and the others followed him as he entered a large storage room with chutes in the ceiling. Full coal bins lined the walls. He led them to a ladder at the back of the room and up to a trapdoor where he stopped to listen. A few thumps reverberated through the floor. They didn’t sound like footsteps. More like people falling to the ground.

At the base of the ladder, Amaranthe lifted her eyebrows.

“The servants quarters and lounge are up here,” Sicarius said. “It’s a busy area.”

“Is it
still
a busy area?”

He held up a finger. He caught a bleary, “Wha’s going on?” then another thump.

Several seconds passed without a sound. Sicarius lifted the trapdoor a few inches and eyed a tile floor covered with shabby area rugs and unconscious people.

“We should wait a couple more minutes,” Sicarius said, “for the gas to reach the top floor, then Books can turn off the flow.”

Basilard was standing nearest to the door. He nodded and left to deliver the message, then returned a few minutes later.
It should be safe.

Sicarius checked the room above again, then climbed out, inhaling to see if he could detect the odor of the gas, or anything else that would suggest danger. The kitchens weren’t far off, and the odors of hams and cloves were the most noticeable, though he caught the lingering scent of lilac too. One wouldn’t think of a poison or anything nefarious if one caught a whiff, though he did sense a hint of something alien underneath it, a chemical scent that must come from the venom used to create the compound.

He would have liked to remain by the trapdoor until he was certain the scent had faded and wouldn’t affect him, but they didn’t have much time. Amaranthe had already climbed up the ladder beneath him and waited, a question on her face.

“No one is awake,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe waved to the others. “Let’s go.” She spoke in a whisper, though he doubted it mattered. These people wouldn’t be roused by noise, not until the gas wore off.

The men ascended the ladder, and the teams departed without a word. With Amaranthe behind him, Sicarius jogged down the narrow servants’ corridors and to ladders and utility lifts that led to higher levels. They climbed to the third floor, at which point they had to head into the main hallway. Fewer bodies lay crumpled on the polished floor tiles than he expected, but when he glanced through the open door to the library, he spotted dozens of people on the carpet near the windows. That made sense. People had been gathered to watch the chaos outside and ensure the makarovi weren’t finding entrance.

“I’d forgotten how big this place is,” Amaranthe whispered. “I’m afraid our men won’t be able to pull out more than a few handfuls of people.”

“Ravido is the most important one.”

Sicarius turned down a side corridor that led toward the suites for the imperial family and closest advisers. He stopped before the rooms Raumesys had once claimed. The door was locked. When Sicarius had observed the general, he’d done so from the vent in the wall.

“I suppose knocking won’t be effective.” Amaranthe reached for her belt. “Do you want to pick the lock or shall I?”

Sicarius touched the double doors. They opened inwardly and though made of solid wood weren’t as thick as the building’s exterior doors. Nor as sturdy. He turned, drew in his leg, and unleashed a sidekick. Wood cracked, and a door flew inward, banging against the wall.

Dagger in hand, Sicarius lunged inside. He didn’t expect opposition, but he scanned the room anyway, listening and smelling, as well as eyeing the shadowy niches.

“I see,” Amaranthe said from the hallway, “
you’re
volunteering to pick the lock. Excellent.”

A fire burned in a hearth taller than Sicarius, though a bin of coal also waited next to a stove in the corner. There weren’t any lamps lit in the outer seating room, but light came from the office on the other side. Deep phlegmy snores also drifted from the room.

“Is that Ravido?” Amaranthe whispered.

“He was alone when I saw him.”

“Goodness, I better warn Yara.”

“About what?”

“That Maldynado could sound like that one day,” Amaranthe said.

A particularly noisy snore reverberated from the walls in the office, punctuating her statement.

Sicarius strode for the office door, but hesitated, an offensive odor reaching his nose. Another door opened to the left. Though it was dark inside, he could make out the frame of a massive bed and a clothing wardrobe. A distinct smell came from that direction. Urine. Cat urine.

“Something wrong?” Amaranthe whispered.

He almost said no, but decided she’d be amused. “We may have a secret ally in Sespian’s cat.”

Her nose crinkled as she caught the first hint of the odor. “Ah, I see. Er, I smell.”

Sicarius trotted into the office, his dagger still at the ready. Ravido lay crumpled by the window, his dress green uniform rumpled, his cap askew, brandy dripping from a flask that had fallen from his hand. Sicarius surveyed the room before approaching him, but didn’t see anyone hiding amongst the bookshelves and display cases holding models of old-fashioned artillery weapons.

Amaranthe moved around the desk to stand at Ravido’s head. “We have a few questions for you, Lord General Marblecrest.” She lifted her eyes. “You’re carrying him, right?”

“You have not been practicing your over-the-shoulder one-man carry?” Sicarius sheathed his knife and strode to her side.

“On men who weigh two hundred and fifty pounds? Oh, all the time, but I thought you might want to show off your ability to lift heavy objects. Thus to display your rippling muscles to fuel my imagination and ensure I’m in the mood for when we have those
hours
together.”

“Shouldn’t I be shirtless for that?” Sicarius grabbed Ravido’s hand and hefted the big man over his shoulder in a smooth motion.

“It’s up to you. I’m willing to make allowances for winter.”

The office door slammed shut.

“Uhm,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t suppose that was a draft.”

“There are no windows open.” Sicarius strode around the desk and, balancing Ravido over his shoulder with one hand, reached for the knob with the other. With his fingers an inch from it, he halted. His sixth sense flared, a warning bell clanging in his mind. He lowered his hand and stepped back. “Our shaman is awake.”

Amaranthe groaned. “I so wanted there to be a draft.”

Sicarius tipped Ravido to the floor. “Tie him up. I’ll go through the ducts and try to locate her. If she saw us come in here, she should be nearby.”

“I hear you didn’t win your last battle with her,” Amaranthe said casually, though concern laced the statement.

“She didn’t win either.” Sicarius found a vent beside the bookcases and unscrewed it. “Try to be distracting in here, so she’s focused on you.”

“I’ll do my best.”

On his hands and knees, Sicarius was about to squirm—no, he corrected the thought, shimmy—into the duct, when he caught a thoughtful, “Hm,” from Amaranthe.

He paused, wondering if he should admonish her not to blow anything up. Sage advice usually, but in this case, that might be the sort of distraction he’d need. He decided to allow her to use her discretion.

• • •

Amaranthe decided Ravido looked good in purple velvet bonds. He was a handsome man, after all, so a few plush accessories, sliced from the curtains and applied to his ankles, wrists, and mouth, could only accentuate his features.

That work done, she returned to the door, listening for the shaman’s approach. Akstyr had mentioned it was a woman. Was she waiting in the outer room for them to try and come out? Amaranthe raised a hand to the knob, wondering what trap might have been placed upon it—Sicarius hadn’t tried to open it.

Before she could decide if she wanted to wrap her fingers around it, heat radiating from the brass convinced her to leave it alone. The office door opened inward, so Sicarius’s sidekick maneuver wouldn’t do much good. Barging out wouldn’t be a good idea if a shaman was waiting out there anyway. Amaranthe thought of the female practitioner from the
Behemoth
and the way she’d torched poor Retta. Was this the same woman? Someone living in the Barracks, but working for Forge? It seemed likely—how many female Kendorian shamans could be traipsing about Stumps anyway?—though Amaranthe didn’t know how the deduction helped her.

“Distraction,” she muttered. “I’m supposed to be making a distraction.” The silence outside might mean the shaman was already aware that Sicarius had left to seek her out. That wouldn’t do. “You’re going to focus on me and this room.”

Amaranthe grabbed the iron poker from the side of the coal stove and rattled it around in a copper waste bin, then knocked over the bin. There—that ought to sound intriguing to someone listening outside, almost like a fight might be taking place inside.

She paced around the office, eyeing everything on the shelves. She picked up a few of the models, imagining herself lining up the tiny artillery weapons on the desk and rigging them to fire all at once when someone barged through the door. Alas, while a few had moving parts, none included niches for the insertion of black powder. Nor was there a handy keg of the stuff sitting on a shelf.

Using the lamp on the desk, she could start a fire easily enough, but that didn’t sound like a winning idea when she was stuck in the room. She nosed into a few cabinets and pulled out a bottle of a liquid. Though she’d dismissed the fire idea, she wondered if it were flammable or otherwise useful. Furniture polish, the label read.

“Lovely. Maybe the shaman would like the smudges buffed out of her coffee table.”

Amaranthe started to return the bottle to the cabinet, but paused. Maybe she was trying to come up with something too clever. Simple could work, especially if Sicarius was putting himself into place behind the shaman somewhere and only needed a brief distraction.

She gave the door another once over, her gaze lingering on the area rug sprawled in front of it. She nodded to herself. “Yes, let’s give it a try.”

She rolled up the rug and leaned it in the corner. The old hardwood floor, dating back to when the Barracks had held open bays of bunks for soldiers rather than suites for the emperor and staff, held more scars and scratches than Basilard, but they’d been filled in, the boards smoothed and polished to a gleam that nearly matched the marble tiles in the hallway. Amaranthe poured the polish out of the bottle and smeared it around in front of the entry.

“All you’re lacking is a bucket of water to prop on top of the door…” Not that she could open the door even if she had a bucket.

Now if she could convince the shaman to race into the room… That might be the hardest part, given that several minutes had passed and she hadn’t shown any inclination to do so yet. What was she waiting for? For her soldier allies to wake up and lend their assistance? If she knew she faced Sicarius, that might be exactly it.

Maybe if she thought her prisoner was escaping…

Amaranthe picked up the waste bin, strolled past Ravido, who had yet to stir, and chucked it at the window. She’d jumped through a similar window a year earlier and knew it was breakable. The waste bin didn’t shatter the panes as thoroughly as her own crazy leap had, but she finished smashing out the window with the iron poker. She thought about hollering something like, “The makarovi are all gone—let’s get Marblecrest out this way,” but knew Akstyr could tell how many people were in a room. Surely this shaman could too. Had she figured out that Sicarius wasn’t in there?