Akstyr sprinted the last ten feet and found the rope. Ice and snow caked the cold twine, making the grip slippery and biting into his bare hands. He climbed with mulish determination and dared not look down to check on the dog.
“What’d he do?” a man shouted.
Fool that he was, Akstyr stopped. He’d only climbed a few feet and was far from safe, but if they put out the fuse, then all this would have been a waste of time.
The two rifle slingers had stopped on the ledge, and one crouched, staring at the flame zipping along the fuse. Both men carried lanterns, so Akstyr could make out faces and clothing; but he didn’t recognize either person, and neither wore the uniform of a soldier beneath his parka. There was no time to stop and ask who they were. He tightened his grip on the ice-slick rope with his left hand and pulled out his pistol with his right.
A shape blurred out of the darkness toward him. The dog.
His first instinct was to shoot it, but he hesitated, thinking he needed to save the bullet for the man standing over his fuse. His hesitation cost him, and the dog reached him, jaws snapping. Akstyr tried to dodge aside, but he couldn’t maneuver while hanging from the rope. Sharp fangs pierced his calf, slicing through clothing to gouge into flesh and muscle. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but the weight of the dog, hanging from his leg, almost tore him from the rope. New pain erupted in his shoulder as opposing forces pulled at him. Determination to hang on surged through him, but, even so, his grip slipped, and he inched down the rope.
With his free hand, Akstyr slammed the butt of the pistol into the dog’s head. He tucked his free leg up and kicked at the beast’s belly. The combined effort finally convinced it to let go. A fresh wave of agony washed over Akstyr, as more of his flesh was torn away when the dog fell. He forced himself to focus on the men again.
One was kicking at the fuse, trying to stomp out the flame before it reached the crevice. Akstyr lifted his pistol, struggling to aim while the twisting, swinging rope fought against him. No time for lining up a shot. He fired, and hoped.
The man stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder. His lantern dropped to the ground and went out. His comrade reached for him, arms outstretched, and Akstyr caught a glimpse of the back of the man’s hand. There, highlighted by the lantern light, was a brand. Akstyr couldn’t make out the details, but only gang members from Stumps had such marks emblazoned on their hands.
“Akstyr,” came Books’s voice from above. “Get out of there!”
Yes, right. Explosives. Akstyr tried to holster his pistol, fumbled it, and simply dropped it. He climbed as fast as he could, trying to ignore the injured leg.
A gun fired, and new pain ripped through him, searing his shoulder. Then a boom echoed through the mountains, and an ominous rumble welled up from below. A wave of force struck Akstyr like a battering ram.
All he could think of was to hang onto the rope with all of his strength as he flew through the air. Snow streaked sideways through his vision, and he lost track of whether he was facing up, down, or somewhere in between. The rope ran out of room to swing and snapped to a halt with a jerk that nearly tore his shoulders from their sockets.
One hand slipped from the rope, and he dangled helplessly by the other. He glimpsed tons and tons of rock sloughing into the ravine beneath him. Lest he join it, he flailed to recapture the rope with fingers gone numb from the cold. He finally got both hands back on it, but it was swinging back the other way. Akstyr cringed, anticipating another jerky stop, but the rope started rising. That motion quelled the fierce swaying. Up above, Books straddled the hatchway as he pulled the rope up. Weary and hurt, Akstyr simply hung on. The rocks were still shifting and falling below, throwing a cloud of dust into the air. The men were gone. If the railway tracks were still there, they were buried beneath rubble.
Even with Books’s help, Akstyr struggled to claw his way back into the engine room. As soon as he had the floor beneath him, he collapsed.
Books reached out a hand. “All you all right?”
“I got shot and bit,” Akstyr snarled, rejecting the help. “What do you think?”
Books pulled up the remaining rope, coiled it, and shut the hatch. “That if you can complain about it in complete, albeit grammatically questionable, sentences, you’ll be fine.”
Akstyr scarcely heard him. His mind was whirring at the revelation that those had been gang members. They hadn’t cared about the dirigible or the plan to close the pass; they’d just wanted him. They must have been trying to collect on his new bounty, but how could they have known he’d be up there?
It took a moment, and then realization came like a shot to the head. His mother. He’d mentioned to her where he’d be going. “Idiot,” he whispered to himself.
“What?” Books asked.
Akstyr growled and sat up to investigate his wounds. The shoulder stung, but the bullet had only grazed him. On the other hand, the dog bite was ragged and deep. He hoped it wouldn’t get infected. He didn’t have a good history of healing infections. He wasn’t even sure if he could concentrate well enough to heal normal cuts with pain distracting him. Another disgusted growl rumbled in his throat, and he flopped back onto the floor. “They were waiting for me, Books.”
“Yes, I apologize for not coming to your aid. I was in the navigation cabin, focusing on not bumping into that cliff, and I didn’t hear the gunshots at first. Who were they? Soldiers?”
“Not soldiers,” Akstyr said and debated whether to share more. Maybe he should pretend he had no idea who they were and what they’d been doing up there. Otherwise, he’d have to admit there was a bounty on his head and that he’d foolishly told his mother about some of the team’s plans. It’d be best to feign ignorance. Except he might need the group’s help to take care of the Madcats, especially now that it didn’t look like he’d be getting out of the city any time soon. “They were from the gangs, from the city. They were after me specifically.”
Books frowned. “Why?”
“The Madcats have a bounty on my head.”
“How would they know you were here? You didn’t tell anyone about our mission, did you?”
Akstyr’s lips twisted. “Just my mother.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. All she wanted from the beginning was to get a piece of the money on my head. I’m a slagging fool for thinking...” Akstyr snorted, wishing he hadn’t asked those dumb questions about people changing. He’d let Books witness his naiveté. “It doesn’t matter now. Pieces of that pass blew so high that they’ll be splashing down in the Gulf. Those boys won’t be trouble again.” Unfortunately, there were a lot of other people in that gang.
“Did you tell your mother any other details of our mission?” Books asked.
“No, I didn’t tell her details at all. I just said I’d either be at the pass or Forkingrust.”
Books frowned. “So, it’s possible she sent people here and to Forkingrust where the rest of the team is.”
“I didn’t say anything about Sicarius or the others.”
“I see. You’d only betray them to bounty hunters, not your mother.”
Akstyr’s leg was throbbing, and he was busy worrying about the Madcats, so it took him a moment to grasp what Books was talking about. A chill stampeded down his spine. Books knew what he’d done. Did the whole team know? “I...”
Books’s lips were pursed in disapproval. “Your bounty hunter buddy decided he’d rather have Sicarius on his good side than be on yours. He shared the tale of how you approached him.”
“I didn’t mean for it to make trouble,” Akstyr said. “I was just trying to get some money. I wasn’t even going to tell him where Sicarius really was.”
“Oh, how noble. You weren’t going to put us all at risk, but you were going to steal from someone else.”
“It wouldn’t be stealing if he was greedy enough to fall for it!”
Books stood up, disgust curling his lips. “Disregard what I said before. Most people never change.??
?
He climbed the ladder, taking his lantern with him, and left Akstyr in the dark.
Chapter 13
Amaranthe and Maldynado sat in a hollow scraped out between two hillocks of coal. They had their knees pulled up to their chins and their backs to the biting wind as the train barreled toward the mountains at fifty miles per hour. A few feet away, on the opposite side of the car, Basilard and Yara hunkered in a similar position. The coal hills wouldn’t provide much cover in a firefight, but Amaranthe didn’t think anyone looking in from the ends could spot her team. Sicarius hadn’t returned from scouting.
Amaranthe opened her pocket watch and tried to read the face, but clouds obscured the moon, and little light brightened the train. The dark, towering evergreens speeding by on either side further blocked the sky.
“I reckon he’s been gone an hour,” Maldynado said.
“I didn’t know clock-free time-telling was one of your skills.” Amaranthe tucked the watch back into her pocket. However long Sicarius had been gone, it felt like too long. If he was limiting his scouting to the roofs of the cars, there wasn’t that much area for him to explore. If he’d gone inside... he shouldn’t have. There were far too many alert soldiers in there.
“I got good at it when I was working for Costace,” Maldynado said.
“That was the lady in charge of the male escorts place, right?”
“Yes. She used to send me off with old crones who regularly competed in the city’s Most Trite and Tedious Conversationalist Contest. Costace said it wasn’t seemly for me to check my watch every three minutes, so I perfected the art of telling time—and knowing when my hours were up—without a clock.”
“It’s amazing that you’re such a noble and compassionate man, considering all the terrible life experiences you’ve endured.” Amaranthe peeked over the coal mound, checking for Sicarius.
“I know,” Maldynado said.
With him, Amaranthe was never certain if he was truly oblivious to sarcasm or if he simply chose to ignore it. She shifted her weight, trying to lessen the discomfort of sitting on lumpy coal for prolonged periods. “As long as we’re here chatting, why don’t you tell me about your brother? Is he—”
“An arrogant, condescending know-it-all who couldn’t be bothered to spit on you to cool you off if you were staked out naked in a scorching hot desert? Yes. Yes, he is.”
“I was going to ask if he’s politically conservative or progressive,” Amaranthe said.
“He’s about as progressive as a rock.”
“How does he feel about Sespian?”
“I haven’t talked to Ravido for five years, and Raumesys was still alive then, so Sespian wasn’t much discussed, but my brother doesn’t approve of anyone with new ideas. He only likes spending time with devoted soldiers who, when they’re deep in their cups, talk about things like duty and honor and the good old days of the empire.”
“I can see why you two might not have gotten along well then,” Amaranthe said.
“I haven’t gotten along well with anyone in my family, not since... Never mind.”
Amaranthe was debating on prying further when a touch on her shoulder startled her. A dark shape slipped in beside her. Sicarius.
She tried to scoot over to give him room, but bumped into Maldynado. “Why don’t you go entertain Yara for a while?” she told him. “She can’t understand Basilard’s signs, so she’s probably missing your charms.” Actually, if Amaranthe read Yara correctly, the woman appreciated the silence and had been relieved when Maldynado and his charms had sat down on the far side of the car. But there wasn’t room for three, and Amaranthe wanted to digest Sicarius’s report without the others around.
“Of that I have no doubt.” Maldynado slipped out of the hollow.
“Find anything?” Amaranthe patted the vacated spot, inviting Sicarius to sit.
“Sespian is in the fourth car back.”
Sicarius sat beside her, keeping a few inches of space between them. Amaranthe thought about scooting over to lean against him—after all, it wasn’t exactly warm in that coal bed with the autumn wind sweeping past—but Maldynado and the others were in sight. A mercenary leader probably shouldn’t be witnessed cuddling up with an employee.
“Is he surrounded by soldiers?” Amaranthe asked.
“Yes.”
“Full car?”
“Very.”
“See any other assassins lurking about?”
“No,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe wondered if Sicarius would be chattier than this when he came face to face with Sespian. How many years since they had spoken, she wondered. Or had they ever spoken? If Sespian had grown up being afraid of Sicarius, he must have gone out of his way to avoid the dark figure slipping in and out of his halls like an ancestor spirit. Ah, Sicarius, she thought, how much of the angst in your life might have been mitigated if you simply smiled at Sespian and gave him a lollypop when he was a kid?
“Is there anyone with him except for soldiers and bodyguards?” Amaranthe asked.
“A woman. Sixty, sixty-five. She was reading a book. Sespian kept his back to her.”
“Sounds like the woman Basilard described from the athletes’ dinner. She must be his Forge escort to ensure he doesn’t get out of line.”
“Not for long,” Sicarius said.
“Er, don’t you think you’ve killed enough of their people this week? If we turn them into martyrs—”
“She may be the one who put that implant in Sespian’s neck,” Sicarius said. “She may be the one who has the power to kill him if he goes astray.”
“She may simply be along for the ride.”
“I’m not risking that.” Nothing in Sicarius’s tone suggested she could persuade him otherwise.
Amaranthe sighed. “Be careful then. She may be a practitioner.”
With the darkness shrouding Sicarius’s face, she couldn’t see him giving her a you’re-stating-the-obvious look, but she could feel it.
“I know, you don’t need my advice on how to navigate battles, but women say things like ‘be careful,’ when we mean, ‘I care about you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.’ It’s our way of keeping feminine sentimentality to a minimum. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
Sicarius said nothing to that, though his gaze seemed to soften a tad.
The clouds had blown away, revealing a quarter moon. Amaranthe leaned back against the wall of the rail car and pulled her watch out again. Two and a half hours to the pass. “Maybe... once we have Sespian on our side... we can help him fix the empire and turn it into a place where you don’t feel compelled to kill people anymore.”
Sicarius sat back against the wall as well, this time letting his shoulder touch hers. “What would I do for a living?”
Amaranthe squinted at him, suspecting him of making one of his oh-so-rare jokes. With all of his skills, he could qualify for countless jobs. “I understand Maldynado is still acquainted with that lady who runs the male escort service. With your physique and agility, you ought to be able to entertain her clients effectively.”
“At what rate of payment?” he asked in his usual monotone.
The prompt and unexpected response made Amaranthe fumble her watch and drop it. Now, she knew he was joking. She thumped him on the arm and said, “Never you mind. If we fix the empire, you’re not entertaining anyone except me.”
Sicarius picked up the watch and pressed it into her hand. The warmth of his fingers brushing hers made her think of... Well, she wasn’t thinking of the mission.
Something clanked at the end of the coal car, and Amaranthe jerked away with a start. Had that been a door opening?
She sank deeper into their hollowed valley. Sicarius stayed low, but he shifted into a crouch.
“Corporal Kevelak?” someone called from the door to the first passenger car. “You up there?”
Across from them, Maldynado stirred as well. Amaranthe lifted a hand, hoping he saw it and wouldn’t take any action. She
didn’t want anyone thinking it would be a good idea to impersonate the corporal. Nothing in the soldier’s voice sounded alarmed. For all he knew, his comrade had gone to water a bush and been left behind in Forkingrust. Amaranthe had a feeling the army would do a thorough search, but she hoped it would take time. It’d be far better for her plan if they could wait until the train reached the pass and the distraction of the blocked railway before her team had to make its move.
“You seen Corporal Kevelak, Sergeant?” the soldier called, louder this time. From the sound of his voice, he had poked his head over the lip of the coal car.
“What?” someone bellowed from the side door of the locomotive cab.
“Corporal Kevelak! Is he up there?”
“Not since we left Forkingrust,” came the return call.
“He was here, though, right? He handled the refueling?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, the door clanged shut again. The soldier had gone back inside, but whether to search for his colleague or alert a superior that something was going on, Amaranthe didn’t know.
She leaned close to Sicarius to ask him his opinion, but his hand covered her mouth as soon as she opened it. She squeezed his arm to let him know she understood the message. Be quiet.
Amaranthe tried to hear or sense whatever he’d heard or sensed. Wind blasted past the train, and the mounds of coal beneath her reverberated in synch with the wheels pumping below. She couldn’t detect anything out of place, but, from Sicarius’s vigilant posture, she assumed someone was coming from the other side.
She laid one finger on his wrist and turned her face toward him, so he’d know it was a question. He pressed two fingers against her wrist, then released her and disappeared over the side of the coal car.
Amaranthe figured he was going to skirt the outside, crawling along the moving train like a spider to come up behind the soldiers. She had better plan to handle the lead man.
Across from Amaranthe, Basilard and Maldynado had risen to crouches. Yara, back against the wall, looked like she meant to stay out of the way. Probably a good plan. Amaranthe waved to her men and pointed toward the locomotive, though she wasn’t sure they’d see the gesture in the poor light.