Deadly Games

  He flexed his fingers around the axe haft, bringing his attention back to the moment. This was no time for daydreaming. He prowled around the flywheel to consider an angle of attack and almost tripped over two bodies in Turgonian army fatigues. Their throats were slashed. Basilard glanced at Sicarius. He supposed it had been a matter of defense, but if they were alive, they might have been coerced into helping with the engines. Basilard shrugged and stepped past them.

  A glint of light near the ceiling caught his eye. A small, transparent cylinder floated in the air beneath a grate—no, a vent. It was filled with something yellow. The same stuff that had incapacitated him in the stadium?

  Basilard crept closer. It hung in the air for another moment, then dropped, as if the invisible hand holding it let go.

  He dove for it, hitting the deck chest first. A fresh wave of pain erupted from his shoulder, but he flung his arm out and caught the vial before it smashed to the floor. He opened his fist, worried he might have cracked the glass. It remained intact but now what was he supposed to do with it? For all he knew, the practitioner who had levitated it in could snap the glass with his mind.

  “What is it?” Sicarius asked.

  Basilard showed him the vial, then pointed at the furnace. Should we burn it?

  “That’ll release the fumes, and the furnace isn’t airtight.”

  Sicarius found a flat sheet of metal, then fished in the toolbox again and pulled out a screwdriver. He held a hand out for the vial. When Basilard gave it to him, Sicarius slid it back into the duct from whence it had come and screwed the metal sheet across the vent to block it.

  They’ll try again, Basilard signed.

  “Yes. Continue to stand watch while I read.”

  You’re welcome, Basilard signed.

  “What?”

  For saving you—both of us—from a trip back to the laboratory tables.

  “At this juncture, it’s more likely they’d kill us.” Sicarius bent his head over a manual he had found.

  Basilard remembered how he had not thought of him as one of the people he considered friends or family. No mistake there.

  You’re an ass, you know that? he signed, sure Sicarius would not see with his head bent over the book. I can’t believe I’m planning on not killing you when you are so deserving of being killed.

  Basilard scowled at himself. That didn’t even make sense. Before he could stalk away in disgust, Sicarius spoke.

  “What changed your mind?”

  Basilard froze. Er. He lifted his hands, but hesitated. Trying to explain his emotions would be futile. Sicarius had saved his life in the corridor, and possibly on the laboratory table as well, but Basilard did not want to admit to any feelings of gratitude, not to someone who would brush them aside. He signed, Because Amaranthe would never forgive me if I was successful.

  “Huh.”

  With that, Sicarius went back to reading. Basilard sighed and found a spot where he could watch the duct and the door. He wished Amaranthe were there with them. If nothing else, she would have convinced Sicarius to find clothes by now.

  CHAPTER 16

  There was water in Amaranthe’s boot. With every step, her toes sloshed about in it. At least she could take steps. The size and heft of the suit on dry land had worried her, but the air inside her pack and helmet made her surprisingly light as she walked—sloshed—down the lake’s steep slope. Indeed, the suits required weights to keep one from floating to the surface.

  Maldynado, Books, and Akstyr strode at her side. Well, it wasn’t “striding” exactly. Between the swords belted at their waists and the harpoon launchers in their arms, they were not the most agile creatures moving about in the lake. Books carried his keg instead of a launcher, but that was just as awkward, and he had already stumbled twice. Each time somebody slipped, Amaranthe’s heart jumped into her throat. If anybody cut themselves on the harpoon tips, the poison would kill them as quickly as it would kill a kraken—much more quickly in fact.

  The helmets made it difficult to speak to each other—though sometimes a muffled curse reached her ears as someone slipped on the seaweed-slick lake bottom—but they were managing with Basilard’s hand signs.

  When they reached the cliff, Amaranthe crept to the edge. A dark expanse yawned below. She had little feel for how far the viewer had dropped, but no hint of the orange glow she remembered seeped up from below. Since these suits were self-contained, there was no tube connecting them to the surface, and the idea of stepping off and falling a hundred feet or more made her hesitate.

  Four hundred feet, Books signed.

  To the bottom of the lake? Amaranthe asked.

  It’s a thousand at its deepest, but this first ledge has been measured as a three- to four-hundred-foot drop, depending on where you step down. He tilted his head. We’ll be fine, but we should go slowly to acclimate our bodies to the pressure change.

  I was more worried about coming back up, Amaranthe signed.

  Just remove the weights when it’s time, and you’ll float up.

  If there wasn’t a kraken waiting in the middle to eat her.

  Amaranthe took a deep breath and stepped off the ledge. She kept her gloved fingers near the cliff, using the rough stone to slow her descent.

  Time trickled past, measured in the soft inhalations that echoed in her ears. Fresh air whispered into the helmet, brushing her cheek, while her used air escaped through an exhaust vent, creating tiny bubbles that floated away. Her ears popped, and pressure built in her sinuses. Had this been a trip for mere fun or adventure, she would have turned back.

  An orange glow grew visible below, and she exhaled in relief. They were getting close.

  She touched down in a bed of silt, stirring a cloud of fine dust. The strange, two-story fortress waited some twenty-five meters away. Translucent fish still swam about the perimeter, but Amaranthe did not see the kraken. With luck, it and the crew of the vessel had turned their focus toward the Saberfist.

  Something ticked against the back of her helmet. Maldynado. He pointed overhead.

  She tensed, expecting the kraken, and flexed her finger on the trigger of the harpoon launcher. No tentacles waved in the distance though; Maldynado was pointing to divers descending. Six of them. Two carried waterproof lanterns and wore swords. Two others bore weapons she could not name—they had the appearance of arm-sized cannons, but black powder would be useless down here. The final two carried harpoon launchers.

  Did they believe us and come expecting trouble? Amaranthe signed. The nearby illumination provided enough light for the hand gestures.

  They’re marines, Maldynado responded. I bet that’s their typical underwater exploration gear.

  She snorted, fogging her faceplate with the breath. Probably true.

  Akstyr came up between them and pointed at a school of the guardian fish. Amaranthe grimaced, remembering how one had charred some sea critter into a blackened husk. She hoped they lacked the firepower to harm full-grown humans.

  Let’s try to find a door, she signed.

  Little seaweed grew this far down, so their boots stirred sand and silt as they advanced. Amaranthe kept an eye toward the ground, thinking that those fish would blend in against the beige surface.

  Even prepared, it caught her by surprise when one swooped up from the sand right before her. Golden scales shimmered, and an inner light pulsed, building toward a discharge.

  Figuring the poison-smeared harpoon would be overkill, Amaranthe slid her sword free and slashed at the fish. The water drag slowed her swipe, and the foot-long creature flitted aside easily.

  Maldynado lunged, his rapier leading. Poking was faster in the water than swinging, but the agile fish still slithered away, undamaged. Its tail fins fluttered, and it swam back a few feet before facing them again. It started pulsing again, more rapidly now.

  Amaranthe pushed off the bottom, sword raised again. She tried to be subtle, to hold the weapon back so the fish would not see the attack coming, but it moved
again. Or started to—it froze in the middle of a fin flap.

  Quick to take advantage, Amaranthe skewered it. The fish’s inner light winked out.

  You’re welcome, Akstyr signed.

  She removed the creature from her sword and gave him a salute. You’re turning into a useful young man.

  I know. I should get more respect. Akstyr glowered, not at her but at Maldynado.

  It’s hard to respect someone who can’t grow a decent mustache, Maldynado signed.

  Akstyr pointed at Amaranthe and propped his fists on his hips.

  True, Maldynado signed, hers hasn’t come in yet either.

  I imagine you’ll stop trying to set me up with men when it does. Amaranthe continued forward. She left her sword out, but she hoped no more trouble hid on the lake floor. She would hate to admit to Sicarius a fish had gotten the best of her.

  The thought of him sent a twinge of anxiety through her. She had missed him more than made sense these last couple of days. It was not as if he were some cheery, warm presence in her life. Certainly the group had survived a few adventures without him, proof that, for all his skills, he was not some nucleus they could not do without. Professionally, she knew they could go on without him, but personally... Her heart cringed at the idea of infiltrating this structure, only to learn they were too late.

  They neared one of the tunnels of the structure, and she pushed stray thoughts from her mind. “Focus,” she told herself.

  They had no trouble creeping up to the hull of the fortress, and Amaranthe worried that things were going too easily. She sidled over to a porthole, pushed off the ground, and rested a hand on the metal, intending to peer in.

  Energy surged up her arm, thrusting her back even as an electric jolt surged through her body. Spasms wracked her muscles, she couldn’t breathe, and she swore her heart stopped. Panic flashed through her.

  The convulsions ended as abruptly as they began, and her heart started beating again. She recovered with a gasp, the experience leaving her shaken.

  “Too easy?” she muttered. “I take it back.”

  A hand gripped her shoulder. She realized she had fallen back to the lake floor—and that she was clutching her chest as if to keep her heart from bursting out of it. She lowered her arm and nodded to Maldynado before he could ask after her health. Or perhaps after her sanity for presuming to touch something here.

  I sense energy about the exterior, Akstyr signed.

  Now he told her.

  Amaranthe grabbed a rusty tin can sunken into the silt and tossed it against the hull. Lightning crackled about it as it bounced off.

  “Probably should have done that first,” she muttered, picking up the can and tossing it again, this time at the porthole.

  It clunked off without any sparks of electricity. She grabbed it and pushed off the bottom again. With it in her hand this time, she prodded the clear window material—she was hesitant to think of it as glass, since it might be some magical creation. No lightning coursed through her body, so she dropped the can and rested her hands against the surface, kicking lightly to stay in place.

  An empty, dimly lit corridor stretched in either direction. She waited for a moment, in case a crew member walked through or something otherwise enlightening happened. It didn’t. She dropped back to the lake floor.

  Maldynado had moved a few meters away and was looking around a bend. He waved and signed, There’s a hatch over here. Maybe we can get in.

  Without getting electrocuted? Amaranthe signed.

  Maybe...not.

  I’ll look at it, Akstyr signed. Still carrying his keg, Books trundled after him.

  Amaranthe popped back up for another look into the porthole. A naked woman darted into a nearby intersection, and her hopes rose. Was that one of the kidnapped athletes? Surely the practitioners wouldn’t be running around nude.

  She tried to press her cheek to the porthole for a better view, but her helmet clunked against it. The woman must have heard the sound, for she crept closer. She came forward in a slow, wary crouch. Snarls and knots tangled her hair, and her wide, wild eyes darted from side to side. Fresh scars marred her abdomen.

  Amaranthe tapped on the glass.

  The woman spotted her, and leaped back, eyes wide. She sprinted down the corridor and disappeared around the intersection.

  Emperor’s bunions, that woman better not set off an alarm.

  Maldynado tapped Amaranthe on the shoulder. He was treading water beside her and grinning. You do look like a scary monster in that helmet.

  Even without a mustache?

  Oh, yes. Maldynado’s grin widened.

  A tapping noise came from inside, and Amaranthe spun back toward the porthole. The woman had returned. She crouched in the corridor like a rabbit poised to flee. Narrow eyes regarded Amaranthe with suspicion, but hope, too.

  “We’re here to help,” Amaranthe said, exaggerating her words in hopes the woman could read her lips through the face plate. “Can you let us in?” She pointed in the direction of the hatch.

  The woman sprinted away, not toward the hatch but back toward the intersection, and disappeared around the corner.

  Amaranthe sighed and clunked her head against the porthole.

  Maldynado patted her back. They’re athletes. They don’t have to be bright to win the races, just fast.

  Several moments passed, and Amaranthe was about to give up and check other portholes when the woman jogged back into view with a crowbar in her hands. She nodded curtly and continued past, heading toward the hatch.

  Amaranthe pushed away from the porthole and swam in the same direction. When she rounded the bend, she found Akstyr sprawled on his back in the sand, a dazed expression on his face.

  Problem with that energy you sensed? she signed.

  He struggled to sit up. I got a little close.

  Amaranthe helped him to his feet. The five-foot-wide square hatch in the hull had a wheel-style door opener, so it seemed one could get in if the defenses weren’t up. She wondered if the woman would be able to bypass them. Her snarled dark hair and bronze skin had appeared Turgonian, so she probably knew nothing about the Science.

  Scrapes and clunks came from the other side of the hatch.

  If she opens it, Maldynado signed, won’t water flood in?

  Amaranthe shrugged. I don’t know. It’s my first underwater-fortress infiltration.

  A shadow passed overhead. Dread sprang into Amaranthe’s limbs, and she knew they were in trouble before she looked up.

  The kraken glided over the structure, its tentacles streaming out behind it. The creature had to be more than seventy-five feet long from arrow-shaped head to tentacle tips. An eye the size of one of the dive helmets rotated until it fixed upon them.

  Something that might have been a string of curses came from Maldynado. Amaranthe almost grabbed the wheel on the hatch in a vain hope the woman had turned off the defenses, but she did not need more lightning knocking her on her backside.

  The kraken’s great mantle flexed, and its tentacles flared outward, allowing it to alter course toward them.

  Wait by the hatch, Amaranthe signed, then pushed off the lake floor before the men could object.

  Books shouted something. The helmets and the water made it indistinguishable, so it was doubtlessly her imagination that she heard the word “prudent.”

  Amaranthe kicked and paddled one-armed—holding the harpoon launcher made her strokes awkward—to the porthole, then treaded to maintain a position in front of it. She waved her arm, trying to draw the kraken’s attention. She need not have made the effort. The beast had already spotted her. Hungry black eyes bored into her soul, as if they might freeze her by the might of their stare alone. The tentacles spread out, suction cups lining the dark purple flesh, and two long limbs stretched toward her.

  On the floor below, Maldynado and Akstyr raised their harpoons. Though Amaranthe knew they would not like it, she lifted a hand, telling them to wait. She wanted to see if her idea w
orked first. If not...they could fire everything they had into those tentacles. Each one was as thick as Maldynado’s chest and could wrap her in a grip she could never escape.

  One darted toward her. Amaranthe kicked out, pushing off the porthole glass, angling down toward her men.

  The tentacle clipped the fortress wall. Lightning streaked up the purple flesh, and sparks danced over the suction cups.

  A high-pitched squeal assaulted Amaranthe’s ears. The tentacle jerked away. Black ink clouded the water, and the kraken retreated.

  Two harpoons flew from below. With the kraken already swimming away at top speed, Amaranthe did not expect much, but one blade did clip a tentacle. It was hard to tell if the poison had any effect on the creature.

  She landed on the lake floor beside the men. Got that hatch open yet?

  We were busy trying to protect you. Maldynado frowned at her.

  Yes, Books added. Didn’t we discuss how you were going to partake only in prudent actions going forward?

  Is there a prudent way to fight a giant squid? Amaranthe signed.

  Hide behind someone tastier looking than you? Akstyr suggested.

  Before they could discuss it further, a sucking noise sounded—a seal being broken. The hatch swung outward.

  Amaranthe started for it, but Maldynado bumped her aside with his hip, gave her a pointed look, and went first. Feeling protective, was he?

  She followed right after, careful not to touch the outer frame of the hatchway, lest it be electrified as well. They entered a tiny chamber full of water. Another hatch, identical to the first, waited on the inside.

  Maldynado reached for the wheel-shaped opening mechanism, stopped with his hands inches away, drew back and poked it with his sword. No sparks or branches of lightning ran up the blade.

  Metal conducts electricity, you twit, Books signed. If the door had been charged, that wouldn’t have helped.

  Maldynado sheathed his rapier and managed to elbow Books in the process. He tried the wheel, but it did not move.

  Maybe we have to close the outside door first. Books eyed the walls. There must be a way to make the water drain out before one enters the main structure.