Encrypted

She stumbled, not sure where to go. Not back to the fire and the marines. If she returned to her tent, Agarik would be waiting to yell at her for leaving. She definitely did not want to go anywhere she would have to look at Ottotark. But neither could she go out where yetis and wolves and grimbals waited to devour silly girls thousands of miles from their homes.

  Tikaya finally sat down behind the sleeping tent. She drew up her knees and buried her face in them. She ought not be so stunned. There had been clues all along. She just hadn’t wanted to see them. Had she really thought someone who so readily took command and led the way into battles was an engineer? That love of mathematics made him the best cursed strategist of his generation. Starcrest. How often had his name come up in the documents she decrypted? The youngest fleet admiral in the history of the empire. The man who, as a captain, had been responsible for the sinking of a hundred Nurian ships. And the man who, as an admiral, had guided every battle, every skirmish that allowed the Turgonians to again and again best the preeminent mental scientists in the world, with only mundane technology on their side. It was not until after his death that the tides had turned, ending in a stalemate. Yes, his death. She vividly remembered decoding a note that said a Nurian assassin had killed the admiral. He was supposed to be dead, not exiled. That was why she had never considered her Rias might be the legendary admiral.

  Still, who could she blame but herself? She should have known. She certainly should not have fallen in love with him. If he was nobody important, nobody who would matter to her, he would have told her his name. This was exactly why he had kept it from her. He had known she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. How could she? If what Ottotark said was true, and Rias had been the one to suggest taking over her homeland, then every death was indeed on his hands.

  Her stomach writhed, and she choked on a sob. Every death, including Parkonis’s.

  CHAPTER 15

  Tikaya did not know how long she sat in the shadow of the tent, but shivers and a frozen nose finally convinced her she had to find a warmer berth. She put a hand down and started to rise. The crunch of boots stopped her. A tall figure with a rifle strode between the tents and into the darkness before her. She could not make out features but had an inkling. She remained still, cloaked by shadows.

  A long moment passed with the figure scanning the dark canyon beyond the camp.

  “Tikaya?” he called.

  She closed her eyes. Rias. No, Fleet Admiral Starcrest.

  She did not want to—could not—talk to him. Not then.

  He called twice more.

  “The bitch is gone.” Ottotark strode into view from another direction. He passed within a couple feet of her and stopped a few paces from Rias.

  “Ottotark,” Rias growled. “I ought to twist your head off your slagging neck and shove it up your ass.”

  “It’s not my fault you didn’t tell your girlfriend your name. Admiral.”

  Rias had no answer for that, and even the darkness did not hide the slump to his shoulders. “Where is she?”

  “Off to the tunnels to join her friends and leave us hanged.”

  Tikaya clenched her jaw. Damn these men. She did not want to deal with either one, but she could not let Rias believe she had run off. She opened her mouth to say something, but Ottotark spoke first.

  “You should thank me,” he said. “It’s pathetic the way you were hanging all over the bitch. And why? She slagged us in the war. If you want her, tie her down and screw her, but don’t—”

  Rias threw down his rifle and charged. Between one eye blink and the next he covered the distance and crashed into Ottotark, taking him down so hard they flew backward.

  Tikaya drew her knees in tight, too startled to speak. The attack may have surprised Ottotark, but he recovered and fought back like a cornered badger. Grunts and snarls accompanied the smack of fists striking flesh.

  In the darkness, she lost track of who was who as the men thrashed and writhed on the ground. Clumps of snow flew, spattering her cheeks. Something cracked, and one of them—Rias?—yelped in pain.

  Tikaya held her breath. Ottotark was younger, bigger, and without any morals as far as she could tell. She tried to tell herself that Rias—Starcrest—was no longer her concern, but her fingers clenched into a fist, and she silently rooted for him.

  One man maneuvered on top and straddled the other. He punched down, and a head hammered the snow. The bottom man bucked and twisted, and a moment later the positions reversed.

  “Traitor,” Ottotark snarled.

  Both men panted, breaths rasping. They switched positions again, legs tangling as each tried to pin the other.

  Metal rang, a knife being pulled.

  As furious as he was, Rias would not pull a blade. Tikaya knew he wouldn’t. She almost yelled a warning, but stopped herself. A distraction could prove fatal.

  One man found the top again and raised an arm, the knife silhouetted against the night sky. The blade plunged down at the head of the other.

  Movement halted. Ragged breaths assaulted the still air, and Tikaya could not tell whether they belonged to one man or two. The top person lurched to his feet and staggered back, a hand to his belly.

  Her heart hammered in her ears, and she could not bring herself to call out. If it was Ottotark, who knew what he might do to her? If it was Rias, and he had just made good on his promise to kill the sergeant...

  But, no, the supine man groaned. Weakly.

  Tikaya could not identify him by the sound. She forced her limbs to unlock and she rolled to her knees. She crept to the fallen man’s side and hesitantly reached toward the face. Her glove bumped something hard.

  The knife.

  It wasn’t lodged in an eye after all. The attacker had sunk it to the hilt in the snow a hair from the other’s ear. That told her what the shadows did not: of the two, only Rias would have shown mercy.

  She jerked her hand back as the man—Ottotark—groaned again. She lunged away from him and looked for Rias. He might be injured and need help. She spun slowly, searching the shadows, but he was gone.

  Maybe he had gone to find a cot. She trotted into camp. The number of people awake had dwindled, and the fire burned low. She tore open the flap to the sleeping tent and crashed into someone coming out.

  “Tikaya,” Agarik blurted. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  She grabbed his parka. “Is Rias with you? Have you seen him?”

  “Not since he went to check the perimeter.” He must have read her distress. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Ottotark told him I’d gone to the tunnels. I’m afraid he might have gone after me.” She explained the fight, all the while cursing herself for staying silent during the men’s confrontation. Why hadn’t she answered when he first called out? If he got in trouble because of her stung feelings...

  “He shouldn’t go in there alone,” Agarik said, tone terse, worried. “Come, we’ve got to tell the captain.”

  Glad to have him leading the charge, Tikaya followed him into the command tent. Heat and faint light emanated from the portable stove in the center, and she could pick out shapes amongst the shadows. The meeting had dispersed, and only Bocrest and a couple lieutenants remained inside, all flat on cots. Tikaya stopped near the stove. Certain the captain would blame this on her, she did not want to be close enough for him to grab easily.

  “Sir?” Agarik asked.

  Bocrest jerked awake, hand finding a pistol.

  “It’s Agarik, sir. The admiral’s missing.”

  Bocrest growled and lurched to his feet. “Explain.” He must have had a suspicion, for his eyes skimmed the darkness and found Tikaya. He cursed. “No, you explain.”

  While Agarik had listened to the story patiently, she had to suffer curses and hurled gear while reciting it for Bocrest. He managed to get dressed despite his preoccupation with throwing things and was stuffing his feet into his boots by the time she finished.

  “This is why women aren’t allowed in the
military.” He cursed again, but shifted to efficiency after that.

  By now, the lieutenants were awake and dressing, and he snarled orders at them. Less than five minutes later, the entire camp stood in formation outside. The last to show up, Ottotark limped to the head of one of the lines. Several men held lanterns, and the flickering light revealed bloody and swelling contusions on the sergeant’s face. A dark part of her wished he was dead, though Rias probably would hate himself if he killed someone out of sheer rage.

  Bocrest stalked over to face Ottotark. “Did you draw the knife or did he?”

  “Sir?” Ottotark asked in a tone that sounded like he was trying to play dumb, or maybe buying himself time to think.

  “You heard me!”

  Ottotark licked his lips. The marines in formation apparently knew better than to turn their heads and watch, but their eyes flicked toward the confrontation.

  “I did, sir,” Ottotark finally said.

  “I told you—I told everyone—to treat him like an officer. The punishment for drawing a weapon against an officer is death.”

  “Sir! He’s not an officer any more. He’s a traitor, you said so. The emperor—”

  “Isn’t here,” Bocrest said. “We’ll discuss punishment when the mission is over. For now, do your job and don’t talk to our guide or our translator. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ottotark said so softly Tikaya almost missed it. If only the captain had issued that order a few hours earlier.

  The tracker strode out of the darkness, and Bocrest shifted his attention.

  “There are footprints at the tunnel entrance and it looks like someone walked in, at least a few steps. The floor is that hard black material, and there’s no way to track further.”

  “Slagging women,” Bocrest said before raising his voice. “Gather your gear, men. We’re going after him.”

  * * * * *

  The marines marched in step, and the echoes reverberated through the wide black tunnel. No dead skeletons had marked the entrance, no piles of rubble scattered the floor, nor did water drip eerily in the distance, but the place made Tikaya uneasy nonetheless.

  It was too clean, too perfect. No cobwebs obscured the distance, no chips or scratches marred the dust-free floors, and no decoration adorned the walls. The cool dry air reminded her of the lava tubes meandering beneath her father’s plantation, but no familiar earthy smells accompanied it. No smells at all. The lanterns the marines carried went unused. A soft glow emanated from all around, illuminating the tunnel as clearly as the midday sun. She had visited several ancient catacombs, qanats, and subterranean cities, and she had studied dozens more. This sterile tunnel was like nothing in the archaeology books. Nothing in the world.

  “Who made this place?” someone muttered.

  She walked behind Bocrest, second in a queue of thirty men. A handful of marines had stayed in the base camp while Agarik and a couple others scouted ahead.

  “Ancient people,” someone answered.

  “How?”

  “Magic.”

  No telling tingle stirred the hairs on Tikaya’s neck. “I don’t think so.”

  “Magic,” another said, his tone brooking no argument. Others murmured assent. “Evil magic made this place, just like the rocket and the thing in Wolfhump.”

  “No talking,” Bocrest snapped over his shoulder, saving Tikaya from launching into a lecture that would doubtlessly not be well received.

  Rias must have a lot more patience than she to have commanded such men all his life. It must have been lonely for him with so few peers. She shook the thoughts from her head. It was none of her concern. Even if she could forgive him for his lie of omission, Admiral Starcrest was nobody she could have a life with, not without betraying her people, her family, and everyone she loved. Especially those fallen during the war. She could want him found and safe, but she could not want him. Not any more.

  She swallowed a lump and fished the journal out of her pocket. A challenge. Her mind needed a challenge, and she needed to learn as much as she could before her services were needed. If ever there was a place she could walk and study at the same time, it ought to be these flat, terrain-free tunnels. The worst thing that could happen is she would trip. An animal screeched in the distance.

  Well, maybe not the worst thing.

  Rias had mentioned strange predators in the tunnels. Predators that would probably find a single man an appealing target. Best not to dwell on that. Tikaya turned her attention back to the journal.

  A mile or two passed with no side rooms or cross corridors forcing decisions. With her mind and her eyes locked on the pages, she failed to notice Bocrest stopping, and she crashed into his back. The journal slipped from her fingers as he spun and scowled.

  “Didn’t you see the sign?”

  “Sign?” Tikaya blinked and glanced about. They had come to a six-way intersection, where the scouts had stopped to wait. Large symbols in groupings of threes glowed a soft red above eye level at each corner. “Oh, yes, signs. I just read about those.”

  Bocrest sighed noisily, while she picked up the journal.

  “Not those signs, the hand signal.” He demonstrated by raising his hand, fingers spread. “That means ‘squad halt,’ not ‘librarian run into the captain’s back.’ You need to pay attention in here.”

  “Do you want me to pay attention or do you want me to be able to translate the writing on the walls?” she asked.

  Bocrest folded his arms. “Yes.”

  She snorted but pointed to each sign as she relayed them: “Biology labs, alchemy labs, physics, animal experiments, labs for something Lancecrest didn’t recognize, and living quarters.”

  “What is that?” A marine pointed to a calf-high scat pile in the middle of one of the corridors.

  “Sorry,” Tikaya said, “I don’t translate poo.”

  “Koffert.” Bocrest gestured for the tracker.

  The man knelt to examine the pile. He rubbed some between his fingers and sniffed it. “Predator, unknown. Large. Passed this way less than an hour back.” He stood, wiping his hand on his trousers, and Tikaya made a note not to share meals with the man.

  Bocrest faced the scouts. “Any sign of Starcrest?”

  “No, sir,” Agarik said. He met Tikaya’s eyes, and they shared a grimace.

  Bocrest grunted and waved toward the symbols. “Komitopis, which way?”

  “Which way do I think Rias would go if he was wondering which way I would go?”

  Agarik smiled faintly. Bocrest did not.

  “Alchemy?” she guessed.

  “Fine. Someone mark the wall.” Bocrest waved the scouts forward. “Go. You boys in the back, stay alert. Watch for monsters creeping up on our asses.”

  As the squad headed the new direction, Tikaya cast a longing gaze at the corridor that led to the living quarters. If any personal affects remained after all this time, she could learn much about the people from studying them. After they found Rias, perhaps they could go back.

  Soon, doors marked the passage, taller and wider than normal, and without knobs or latches. Symbols denoting laboratories adorned some while others remained plain.

  Someone walking closer to the wall than the center of the tunnel triggered a door to slide upward of its own accord. The man cursed and lurched back into line. Tikaya glimpsed a landing overlooking what she guessed to be lab stations—all the furnishings were oversized by human standards. A hand on her back encouraged her to hustle forward and catch up with Bocrest.

  “Should we check some of these?” she asked.

  “I’m not exploring anything until we catch up with our lovelorn guide,” Bocrest said.

  Up ahead, the scouts stopped before a closed door. Agarik and another knelt to check something on the floor while the third man stood guard. After a moment, Agarik jogged back to the group.

  “What is it?” Bocrest asked.

  “Blood.” Agarik glanced at Tikaya. “A lot of blood.”

  Her
hands tightened around the journal. If Rias was hurt—or worse—because he had charged in here to look for her, it would be her fault.

  When they reached the spot, the size of the dark puddle only increased her dread.

  “Human blood,” the tracker said after a taste. “Plantigrade print over there, but definitely not human.”

  He pointed to a second puddle halfway under the door. A bloody print more than twice the size of Tikaya’s foot lay beside it. Dots at the end of the toes suggested claws.

  “Bear?” Bocrest asked.

  Tikaya, remembering Rias’s tale of the tunnels, said, “I doubt it.”

  A man screamed somewhere beyond the door. Rias? She lunged for the door, triggering the opening mechanism, but Bocrest caught her before she crossed the threshold.

  “We’ll get him,” he said. “You wait here.”

  He waved two fingers, and the scouts slipped in first, fanning out on a landing with their rifles raised, ready to fire. Tikaya shifted her weight from foot to foot and eyed a bow stave and quiver attached to a rucksack. The man carried a rifle and pistol too; surely, he could spare the weapon so she could—

  “Clear on the landing,” Agarik said.

  “Sergeant Karsus.” Bocrest nodded for the man to take over the lead.

  Without words, and faster than Tikaya expected, the marines shucked their rucksacks and split into two teams. They filed down stairs on opposite ends of the landing and disappeared from her sight. Only Bocrest remained with Tikaya.

  Ignoring his hiss of annoyance, she twisted free of his grip and stepped inside. The landing overlooked a cavernous room that stretched a hundred meters or more. Thick thirty-foot-high columns supported the unadorned black ceiling. Empty floor dominated the front third of the room, and she could only guess at the furnishings beyond. She decided to think of them as lab stations and storage cabinets, though even the lowest counter rose taller than the approaching marines. The height and arrangement blocked much of the floor view as the stations created a maze of sinuous yet symmetrical aisles, some wide, some surprisingly narrow. As with the tunnel, light from an indiscernible source illuminated everything.