“Sire,” Yara said, “it’s possible the soldiers identified you when the group stopped on the road to discuss crossing the bridge. Just because we didn’t have spyglasses doesn’t mean they lacked them.”
It felt strange to have Yara come to his defense, but Maldynado was relieved she was doing so. “How many of these blokes in black did you cut down?” he asked. “Any idea whose stray cubs they are?”
Basilard considered the park while he tallied numbers on his fingers. Fourteen.
“Fourteen?” Yara asked. “Just the two of you?”
Though he knew Basilard possessed a great deal of competence, not to mention the stealthy feet of a cat, even Maldynado found the number surprising.
The emperor is a capable fighter, Basilard signed.
Sespian watched his fingers, trying to learn the hand code perhaps.
“He says you’re a capable fighter,” Maldynado said when Sespian looked to him for a translation. “That’s moderate to high praise from Basilard. If Sicarius ever says that, it’ll mean you can thump ninety-nine out of a hundred men. Possibly all at the same time.”
Yara snorted.
Sespian seemed less amused by the attempt at humor. “We must find a way to retrieve your comrades. The men who originally attempted to ensnare us in the mill are… gone—dead.” Sespian winced, apparently not pleased that he’d been forced to such action. “But it’s possible they have allies around, allies who might have been alerted when the device went off. Practitioners can do things with their minds and create links to objects they made that are beyond our ken.”
So, the emperor knew a thing or two about magic. That was good since their expert, insomuch as Akstyr could be considered one, was unconscious. Or worse.
“Any idea how to get them without passing out? I’ll go in and do whatever needs to be done.” Given how suspicious everyone was of him lately, Maldynado figured he’d better volunteer for heroics at every chance.
“I’ve been musing over that.” Sespian squatted down, draping his elbows over his knees. “You’ve noticed how getting closer to the light causes pain behind your eyes?”
“Looking in the window made my head feel like someone had chained me down and forced me to listen to Books’s lectures all day.” Maldynado glanced about, expecting Books to glare at him or come up with a vocabulary-heavy rejoinder, before remembering that Books was in trouble. “Yes, I noticed,” he said more seriously. “I didn’t know if it was the light or something else.”
It’s the light, Basilard signed. The pain intensifies when you look at it.
“So, we ought to be able to close our eyes, stroll in, and collect our people?” Maldynado asked.
“You can still feel it through your lids.” Yara had closed her eyes and turned toward the beam slanting through the open door. Her brow wrinkled. “Pain.” She turned her back on the mill. “No pain.”
Maldynado lifted a finger, then trotted back to the riverbank. He grabbed one of the discarded hoods the men had been wearing. He’d assumed his attackers were trying not to be identified, but maybe they had another reason for donning the headwear. After a quick poke around the interior, he found a band that could be pulled down over the eye slits.
“Maybe this’ll do it,” Maldynado said when he rejoined the others.
Sespian, Yara, and Basilard were facing the park entrance, and nobody responded.
“What is it?” Maldynado asked.
Machinery, Basilard signed and touched his ear.
A faint rumble floated across the park from the street leading toward the entrance.
“Steam carriages or lorries,” Yara said.
“More than one,” Sespian said.
“They might not have anything to do with us,” Maldynado said.
The others looked at him as if he’d told them Sicarius’s next training session would be easy.
“Where’s the optimism?” Maldynado waved the hood. “I’ll get our lads. Someone yell at me if I’m about to trip or crash into the wall.”
“Wait.” Yara touched his arm. “We don’t know if… ” She nodded toward the mill. “There’s no way to know if they’re still alive, is there?”
Basilard and Sespian exchanged looks.
“We couldn’t tell without going inside,” Sespian said. “They haven’t moved.”
“I’m sure they’re alive,” Maldynado said. “Captured prisoners are more useful than dead ones, right?”
“I… am not certain I’d risk my life on that assumption,” Sespian said.
“That’s what I’m here for.” Maldynado flung an arm around Yara’s shoulders. “Don’t look so concerned, my lady. I’ll not die before I’ve fulfilled your most concupiscent fantasies.”
Yara shoved his arm away. “We’ve discussed you not touching me numerous times now.”
“Does this mean no good-luck kiss?”
The rumbling machinery grew louder, and lights brightened the street leading to the park entrance. Enough trading endearments with Yara. Maldynado had best get going.
Before he could think wiser of it, he tugged on the hood and, arms outstretched, headed for the mill. The soft, black fabric had multiple layers and blocked out the green glow, but he clamped his eyelids shut anyway.
Probing the ground with his toes as he went, Maldynado reached the building without mishap. He mashed his knuckles against the door, but at least his head didn’t hurt.
The noise from the vehicles drifted across the park. They sounded like they’d pulled to a stop. He hoped they were in a spot where they couldn’t see him.
A thud sounded—someone getting out and a door being shut?
“Hurry, Maldynado,” came Yara’s whisper.
Maldynado slipped through the front door of the mill and felt his way inside. He slid his boots along the floorboards, hoping he wouldn’t get turned around and crash into some ancient piece of machinery with sharp protuberances. His foot came down on a bump, and it took him a second to realize it was someone’s hand.
“Oops. Sorry, fellows.”
He bent, found the hand, and used it to hoist the prone person over his shoulder. Akstyr, he guessed, as Books was taller and heavier. He didn’t take the time to check for a pulse, but the skin felt warm to the touch.
Maldynado patted around with his feet, trying to find Books. In picking up Akstyr, he’d lost his sense of direction. When he thought he must be close to the second body, he clunked into the magical device instead. With his knee. He cursed and thought about trying to kick the thing over, but it might have defensive capabilities.
A soft bang came from outside. It didn’t sound like a musket or pistol, but Maldynado had a feeling he shouldn’t linger.
He probed about, faster now, not worrying if he kicked Books. He could apologize later. His toe caught on clothing. There.
Balancing Akstyr on his shoulder, Maldynado grabbed Books by the arm. He debated trying to hoist him over his other shoulder versus dragging him out.
A clack sounded at one of the windows. Someone throwing a rock in warning?
A long squeal came from the park entrance.
“Time to go,” Maldynado muttered.
He dragged Books toward the exit as fast as he could. He smacked face-first into the wall and loosed another string of curses before managing to find the door. He kicked it open, no longer worrying about being seen.
He’d gone no more than two steps when something slammed into the mill behind him. Wood cracked and the ground shuddered.
If Maldynado had a hand free, he would have yanked the hood off, but he couldn’t let go of his comrades. Still dragging Books, he staggered in the direction he thought he’d left the others. Another crack sounded inside the mill, followed by the patters of dozens of objects hitting the walls and the ceiling. Shrapnel? From an exploding cannon ball or something similar?
Maldynado had no sooner had the thought when an explosion roared behind him. The force hurled him to his stomach. Instead of turning the fall into
an efficient roll that would prevent injuries, he grew tangled with Books and Akstyr and sprawled flat. He lost the grip on one man—Akstyr?—and the other landed on top of him. Still unconscious, they were dead weight.
Maldynado pushed them away long enough to tear off his hood.
Half of the mill had collapsed, the roof and two walls tumbling inward, and flames leapt from the remains. The orange glow of the fire brightened the sky in every direction. The green glow had been dulled—beams falling on the device perhaps—but it still leaked into the night, and Maldynado’s headache returned. But not enough to slow him down. He leaped to his feet.
“This way,” Yara barked from somewhere ahead.
Basilard appeared by Maldynado’s side and hoisted Books over his shoulder. Maldynado maneuvered Akstyr into position over his own shoulder. They hustled to reach the others.
Shouts came from the park entrance. Dark figures poured out of two lorries and ran toward the mill. They carried rifles and pistols, not crossbows, and they were closing ground quickly. Books and Akstyr hadn’t stirred yet. As fit as Maldynado and Basilard were, it was unlikely they could outrun trained soldiers while carrying the weight of full grown men over their shoulders. They needed…
“I have an idea for a distraction,” Maldynado whispered just loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire that had engulfed the mill. “Yara or, uhm, Sire… ” Was it unseemly to ask the Turgonian emperor to tote one’s comrade on his back? No time to worry about it. “Can you carry Akstyr? I’ll—”
As one, Sespian and Yara grabbed Akstyr. Maldynado waved toward the neighborhood on the far side of the park. “Head that way. I’ll catch up with you.”
Gravel crunched. The newcomers, at least a dozen of them, were surrounding the burning mill. They didn’t seem to realize that Maldynado had made it out of the building. With all the light the fire threw off, they would soon.
After Basilard and the others moved a ways into the darkness, Maldynado sprinted toward the river. He thrashed through the foliage, making as much noise as he could. A rifle fired, and he dove to the earth, rolling to gain ground as he went. More shots fired over his head, but the branches stabbing him as he careened past were more painful. As soon as his momentum faded, he found his belly and low-crawled toward the river at top speed.
Though damp leaves slapped at Maldynado’s face, and roots sought to entangle his arms and legs, he made it to the beach without slowing—or being shot. The rifles had stopped, but snaps and rustlings in the brush behind him promised pursuit. That was good… so long as he had time to put his plan into action before they caught up with him. Unfortunately, the men, running instead of crawling, were gaining ground quickly. Lanterns rattled and banged as people tore down the trail to the beach.
Maldynado veered toward the campfire. Only a couple of dull red embers still glowed, not enough to illuminate the beach. Good.
Maldynado found the body of the man he’d stopped with the knife throw. He dragged it to the edge of the water, then risked rising to his knees to gain leverage. Careful not to grunt or make a sound himself, he hefted the body with both arms and hurled it as far as he could.
It landed with a noisy splash that ought to be audible for dozens of meters in each direction. Maldynado grabbed a few sizable branches from the woodpile by the fire pit and tossed those in too.
“There!” one of his pursuers shouted. “They’re trying to swim away.”
Yes, keep believing that, Maldynado thought as he crawled back toward the foliage. Doing his best to emulate a snake, he shimmied into the weeds even as the riflemen stormed onto the beach. Pebbles clattered and flew under the barrage of boots.
Maldynado’s first instinct was to crawl straight toward the far side of the park, in the direction he’d sent the others, but he remembered his shopping bags. They lay discarded by the path where he and Yara had come across the first body. He stifled a groan. To leave empty-handed, without the emperor’s disguise or any of the clothes he’d bargained for, clothes he’d desperately need when dawn showed him just how many new grass—and dirt-stains plagued his current attire…
Maldynado kept crawling away from the river, but lifted his head, trying to gauge where he’d left those bags. It wasn’t far from the park entrance and the lorries. The darkness made it difficult to tell for certain, but he didn’t think that more than one or two people stood guard over there. The rest were stomping around the beach, calling, “Can you see them?” and “Are you sure they went in?”
A new plan formed in Maldynado’s mind, one of which he believed Amaranthe would approve. Still crawling, except where the foliage rose high enough to hide him as he darted forward in a running crouch, he angled toward the bags and the lorries. This wasn’t an unnecessary risk, he told himself. It wasn’t just for clothing. The others might need more time to escape. They were carrying two inert bodies, after all.
“Yes, give that excuse to Books when he’s bailing you out of jail,” Maldynado whispered to himself. “Or, more likely, lighting your funeral pyre.” The sobering thoughts couldn’t quite squelch the grin on his lips at the idea of his plan.
Maldynado reached his shopping bags. They’d been kicked into the foliage with a footprint mashing one.
“No respect for fashion around here,” he whispered and, taking the bags with him, continued onward.
As Maldynado drew close to the lorries, he stayed lower than ever to avoid the notice of a guard stationed between them. When he circled around the back, he noticed the newness of the vehicles. He would have recognized military vehicles, but these were civilian models. Forge-owned toys?
Maldynado set his bags down and slipped between the two vehicles, hoping to sneak up behind the guard.
The shouts by the river had stilled. He hoped the men hadn’t figured out his ruse.
Knowing he might not have much time, Maldynado lunged straight for the guard without checking to see if he had a friend in one of the cabs or on the far side. He took the fellow by surprise, wrapping an arm lock around his neck. Even as he cut off the man’s airway, Maldynado forced him to the ground to steal his leverage.
A click sounded—a door opening.
“Emperor’s balls,” Maldynado cursed.
His plan to subtly take down the man by denying him air turned into slamming the bloke’s head into the nearest lorry door. It clunked with satisfying solidity. He duplicated the move to ensure its effectiveness, then spun as a second dark figure launched a kick at his head.
Maldynado dropped into a butt-scraping squat in front of the man, just evading the attack. With both hands, he caught the fellow’s calf before the foot could return to the ground. He leaped up, hoisting the leg over his head. The man pitched over backward.
Maldynado scrambled onto his foe and pummeled him into the ground. Amaranthe would choose tying people over beating them into a stupor, he admitted, but he didn’t have time. So long as they were too battered to move for a few minutes…
When Maldynado stood, neither man did more than moan and curl into a ball. Good.
After a quick glance toward the river—lanterns still moved about on the beach—Maldynado climbed into the cab of the far lorry. He yanked open the furnace door for light and located the safety valve. He grabbed the coal shovel, flipped it, and used the handle to break the gauge. The loudness of the cracking glass made him wince, but he doubted he had time for a quieter tactic. He shoveled heaps of coal into the furnace.
“Oskat, what’re you doing?” came a shout from the beach.
Uh oh. Maldynado hustled out of the cab of the sabotaged lorry, grabbed his bags, and climbed into the other vehicle. Whistling a little tune, he threw a control lever into reverse. The lorry belched smoke and rumbled backward.
“Oskat!”
“Hurry, they’re stealing our lorries!”
By the time the men were racing back up the trail, Maldynado had the vehicle turned around and was rolling into the street beyond the park. Houses lined the curving a
venues, so he resisted the urge to thrust the control lever to maximum speed. Besides, he didn’t think he’d need to worry about pursuit. That second lorry shouldn’t go far before the overburdened boiler became inoperable. Or airborne. One of the two.
Though Maldynado had only a vague recollection of the neighborhood, he took a few turns and found a route around the park. The shouts faded from hearing. As the lorry rumbled down a broad avenue lined with cedar-shingled houses, he was wondering how he would find the others when he spotted a shadow near the side of a corner market that had closed for the day. Yara?
He clucked to himself, slowed down the vehicle, and stuck his head out the window. Sicarius never would have let the team be so easily spotted. Yara was waving, though, so maybe she’d spotted him first. In the shadows of the building, Basilard supported a groggy Books while Sespian stood with Akstyr’s arm slung around his shoulders. Maldynado’s lip twitched as he recalled an imperial law about commoners not touching emperors.
“Say,” Maldynado called, “do any of you gents, or ladies, need a ride?”
A boom sounded in the distance. Maldynado leaned out and craned his neck to look behind him. A plume of smoke rose from a street somewhere near the park.
“I guess they didn’t notice that safety issue,” he said blandly, then waved out the window. “You chaps coming? I don’t know that it’s wise to linger.”
“Sire,” Books said weakly.
Maldynado rolled his eyes. Barely conscious and Books was correcting him.
“You chaps and Sires coming?”
Books shook his head at this disgraceful use of language, but allowed Basilard to guide him into the vehicle. Akstyr, strung between Yara and Sespian, looked less cogent, though he did cast a longing glance back toward the park. He probably wished he’d had a better look at that magical gewgaw before passing out. Maldynado tossed them a couple of shopping bags.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t lose your new ensembles.”
“Joy,” Books said.
Sespian climbed into the cab beside Maldynado while the others piled into the cargo area in the back.