Lindsay Buroker - Forged in Blood I

“What does that have to do with ducts?”

“How can you possibly be our expert on the Science?” Books asked. “Or anything?”

Sicarius tapped Sespian’s boot again. They needed to keep moving. He decided not to voice his agreement on Books’s assessment of Akstyr’s brightness. Akstyr could prove his intellect on the ward. Or not.

Sespian moved forward, passing Books and Akstyr who’d squeezed into ducts on either side of the five-way intersection.

“Angles weren’t real important on the streets,” Akstyr muttered, continuing the argument as Sicarius and Sespian passed.

“Without angles , a proper understanding of geometry if you will, the buildings on those streets would have collapsed,” Books said.

“That happened sometimes.”

“Follow,” Sicarius said, letting an icy tone creep into his voice. He wondered if Amaranthe knew how much of his respect for her came from her ability to harness these lunkheads to a cart and get them all moving in the same direction. Basilard was the only one who might have lasted more than three days as a recruit in the army.

“I can’t go any farther,” Sespian said after a few moments of crawling. “The duct curves upward and stops at a vent in the floor. If my nose isn’t failing me-and it was somewhat damaged by that hair stunt-we’re near the kitchens. We don’t want to come up in such a busy area, do we?”

“No.” Sicarius pulled out his dagger again.

If he remembered his map of the Imperial Barracks correctly-and Hollowcrest had once insisted he be able to draw it from memory-the old dungeons lay below them, a section that had not been modified or modernized. Though he did not expect anyone to be down there, Sicarius pressed an ear to the warm tiles anyway. Books and Akstyr caught up, their breaths stirring the hot, dry air behind him.

Satisfied nobody awaited below, Sicarius chiseled into the bottom of the duct. The black dagger made quick work of the tile mortar and also that of the bricks below. Stale, cool air wafted up. As soon as he’d removed enough bricks, he dropped through, landing in a crouch fifteen feet below, his fingers touching down beside his foot, resting upon the porous stone floor. That floor had been carved from rock long before the original barracks building had been built. Darkness filled the space, but he could tell they were alone. The cool draft brushing his cheeks carried the scent of earth, rock, and mildew, nothing of people or other creatures.

“It’s safe,” Sicarius said. “Come.”

Clothing rubbed and a soft thump sounded as the first person dropped down-Sespian. The second came with an, “Ooophf.”

“Can’t see a thing,” Books muttered from above. “Probably fall on my-” He dropped, landing softly beside the others and making less noise than Akstyr.

“This way.” Sicarius led them out of the stone room, following the draft into a passage.

“Can we risk a light?” Sespian asked.

“Once they realize the intruders are attempting to escape down instead of up and out, they’ll start searching in here,” Sicarius said.

“Was that a no?” Sespian asked, his tone light.

“We’ll be faster if we aren’t groping our way along the walls in the dark,” Books said. “Besides, we have a head start, right? You’re taking us directly to a secret passage, aren’t you? We’ll be out of here soon.”

“Not quite.” Sicarius rounded a bend and stopped. “Akstyr.”

“I feel it.” Akstyr came up beside him.

“What?” Books asked.

A faint whisper of power brushed Sicarius’s senses, senses that had nothing to do with sight or sound or smell, and the hairs on the back of his neck wavered. Several paces ahead of him, a soft red light appeared, emanating from a fist-sized octagonal spot on the chiseled stone floor. It was strong enough to illuminate old shackle holders on the walls and rusty torture tools leaning in nooks.

“That’s the ward,” Akstyr said, his voice full of concentration. “I lit it up so we can see. I’m going to have to figure out…” His nose wrinkled, then he grunted and took a step back. “Yup, I’m going to have to figure out something.”

Prepared to wait, Sicarius put his back to the wall so he could see in either direction down the passage. The cacophony of noise continued in the building above-it wouldn’t be long before someone thought to check the dungeons.

“What happens if we walk past it?” Sespian asked. “Does it warn that wizard? Or… more?”

“More,” Sicarius said.

He’d attempted to infiltrate the Barracks the summer before, when Sespian had first sent a note to the team asking to be kidnapped. He’d tried three different approaches, including an above-ground climb over the walls. Humans he could evade, but he hadn’t been able to get past the wards.

In the face of Sespian’s curious look, Sicarius tossed a pebble into the air above the glowing octagon. A sheet of red sprang into existence, blocking the route and hurling heat down the passage. Prepared for it, Sicarius merely turned his cheek. Sespian and Books stumbled backward, lifting their arms to protect their faces. Akstyr grimaced, but seemed too focused on his task to bother moving.

“So, we get incinerated if Akstyr can’t disarm it?” Sespian asked.

“Or we go back and face the practitioner,” Sicarius said.

“I bet she’s in an amiable mood after you slammed the door in her face.”

Sicarius said nothing. Best to be quiet and let Akstyr concentrate. This night had proved pointless thus far, unless Books had found something useful in Hollowcrest’s archives. It mattered little to him. Any curiosity Sicarius might have had as to his parents’ identities had been lost long ago. As a boy, he’d occasionally wondered about such things, especially insofar as they might involve escaping his rigorous training and living a different life, but at this juncture, the die was cast.

Books must have felt his gaze, for he looked at Sicarius. Sicarius waited for him to say something-if there was something to say. Dust and cobwebs clung to Books’s scruffy brown hair and wariness edged his eyes, but that wariness was always there when he regarded Sicarius. A new emotion seemed to lurk there was well. Sicarius didn’t read such things as intuitively as Amaranthe did, but, given the context, knowing what those files had contained, he could guess. Pity. Sicarius stared back, willing Books to look away, to forget such ridiculous feelings. He wanted pity from no man. Not even Sespian. From Sespian all he hoped for was… understanding, for it would be useful in establishing a relationship.

While he considered these thoughts, Sicarius’s subconscious mind remained alert, detecting a faint scuff and placing the source. He spun, flinging a throwing knife down the tunnel before his conscious mind fully registered the danger. His blade thudded into the neck of someone who’d been leaning around the bend. A man in a black uniform made a choked, gurgling sound and toppled. A pistol dropped from his fingers, clattering onto the hard stone floor.

Sicarius sprinted toward the bend, assuming there’d be others. Before he reached the spot, footsteps started up- running footsteps-and he picked out three distinct patterns. Two men on the right side of the tunnel, one on the left, all fleeing. In case anyone might be waiting, unmoving, Sicarius feinted, dipping his shoulder around the corner to draw fire if it came, then pulling back. No one attacked. Sicarius risked enough of his body to pump his arm three times, hurling three more throwing knives down the hall. The blades thudded into the backs of the men he’d been picturing in his mind. Before they finished toppling, he was crouching, scouring the tunnel for threats with his eyes and listening for any sign that more enemies were on their way. A whimper and gurgle came from one of the fallen men, but nothing else moved.