Lindsay Buroker - Forged in Blood I

“That’s not going to work,” she muttered.

More shots were fired. Two of the men climbed out of the lift and burst into view. They knew Amaranthe was on top, and one promptly turned, a rifle raised in her direction. If she’d still been on that side of the lift, she would have been an easy target, but she’d rolled to the back edge. She lowered her head over the side and fired into the guards who remained below. Yes, gentlemen, she thought grimly. Your lift is open on two sides.

Abruptly, her perch descended. Amaranthe nearly dropped the rifle.

“Get out, get out, it’s going back down!” someone inside yelled.

Gunshots continued to fire, and more than one shout of pain arose. Amaranthe didn’t think the cries came from her men, but they were outgunned, and there was nothing to hide behind in the control room. Those translucent floating images did nothing to stop bullets.

Amaranthe moved back to the front of the lift and bashed the butt of the rifle down on a man trying to climb out. At the same time, she searched for Books and Akstyr, and the two guards who’d already leaped out. One was fighting with Books, using the rifle like a club, while Books defended with his dagger. The other had his rifle raised, pointed at Akstyr’s chest.

Amaranthe jerked her own rifle back up, trying to ready another round in time to help him, but even though the firearms held more ammunition than a regular muzzle-loaded weapon, she’d run out with the random shots she’d been firing. Fearing she’d be too late, she dropped the rifle and lifted her dagger to throw. But the guard hadn’t fired. He was standing there, aiming, and nothing more.

“Are you holding him, Akstyr?” Amaranthe asked.

He didn’t have his hand outstretched in the usual manner. The rifle twitched a few times, then was pulled out of the man’s grip. It floated over to Akstyr and he caught it with a firm nod. The guard never moved.

“I’ll take that for a yes,” Amaranthe said.

A clunk sounded, a rifle hitting the floor. Books had disarmed his opponent.

The lift disappeared back into the floor and Amaranthe jogged over to join her men. “Let’s tie these two up.” She waved toward the cabinet, figuring there had to be something useful in there. At the least, they might be able to close it and shut the guards inside.

“I’ve locked it again for now,” Retta said, returning to the image she’d been manipulating before the lift rose, “but I’m sure she’ll keep trying. There are other entrances to this room too.”

“Lovely.” Books eyed the distant walls, each of which probably held a door, though who could tell on those featureless facades? “What happens when they’re better prepared and split their forces, so they can charge us on multiple fronts?”

Indeed, Amaranthe thought. That last group hadn’t been prepared. After waiting so long, they might have been caught by surprise when the lift started rising.

“We have rifles and more bullets at least,” Akstyr said.

He had opted for tying the guards up with their own trousers, then shoving them into the cabinet. He’d relieved them of their belts and ammo pouches. A yawn stretched his lips, and black bags nestled beneath his eyes. Sweat dampened his shirt as well, a reminder that his mental science gifts didn’t come without effort. He was more efficient at them than he had been a year ago, but they taxed him nonetheless.

“Thank you, Akstyr.” Amaranthe nodded her approval toward him, then dropped her chin in her hand, mulling.

“We should all stand around Retta,” Books said, “and if they attempt to come in, we’ll shoot from there. Protecting her is the most important thing. If we don’t…” He frowned at Amaranthe. “You look like you’re scheming.”

“Do I? How can you tell?”

“You’re wearing your harbinger-of-trouble face.”

“Hm, Sicarius calls it that too.”

Books blinked. “He says harbinger of trouble?”

“No, he shortens it to trouble.” Amaranthe smiled. “He lacks your gift for verbosity.”

She said it to tease him, but Books nodded seriously. “Yes. Regrettable.”

“What’re we going to do?” Akstyr asked.

“I was thinking that a small sortie out of the control room might be advisable,” Amaranthe said.

“A sortie?” Books asked. “There’re only three of us. Doesn’t a sortie require more people?”

“You and I will go, and Akstyr will stay here to guard Retta.”

“That’s fewer people, not more,” Books said.

“Yes, thank you for confirming the math for me.” Amaranthe hated to disturb Retta while her fingers were flying about in preparations, but risked asking, “Is there a way to see where your assistant is located?”

“She’ll be three floors up in the auxiliary control room.” Retta sidled over to the image displaying the interior map, where blue dots floated between lines. People and walls, Amaranthe realized. At the moment, the view was focused on the knot of guards in the lift, but Retta manipulated the picture, and it enlarged, showing more of the corridors around the control room along with levels above and below it. An orange dot came into view, along with two blue ones. “That’ll be her and two guards.”

“If we can kidnap her, there’d be nobody else on board who can operate the craft, right?” Amaranthe studied the map, trying to find a route to the auxiliary room that didn’t require going past the guards in the lift. “Did you say there were other exits out of here?”

“Here and here.” Retta pointed at two perforated lines. One had a cluster of blue dots in front of it, but the other door appeared unblocked.

“I think I’ve got the route memorized,” Amaranthe said after a moment, then lifted her eyebrows to ask if Books had done the same, in case they were separated.

He sighed and muttered, “Sortie,” but nodded.

“Akstyr, you’re in charge of defenses here.” Amaranthe clapped him on the back. “If you see any blue dots wandering onto this route-” she traced the path she and Books would take, “-we’d appreciate it if you tormented them a little. Trousers around the ankles would be fine.” She guessed that took less effort than some of his other tricks.

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Akstyr brushed his fingers through hair damp with sweat, pausing to frown anew at the shortness of his locks.

“With luck, nobody will cross paths with us,” Amaranthe said. “If you get bored, you could also keep those people in the lift uncomfortable, so they’re less prepared to attack if a door opens. I imagine they’re wearing a wide variety of undergarments that they’d like to model for each other.”

“I can’t believe you’re encouraging that behavior,” Books murmured as they checked their rifles, stuffed cartridges into their pockets, and headed for the secret door the map had indicated.

“You don’t approve?” Amaranthe asked. “It’s better than killing, isn’t it?”

“You won’t be laughing if he decides to try the gag on you someday.”

“Those are the risks you must accept when you step into the role of leadership.”

• • •

By the time noon approached, the pieces of Sicarius’s trap were laid out on the flat bank above the dock. If not for a clock inside the shop, it would have been difficult to guess the hour. Snow was falling again, more inches accumulating on the fields beyond the camp, and the sun had not been seen all day. The temperature had dropped as well, and the ice edging the lake seemed to expand outward with every hour. Sicarius was watching it, knowing his plan hinged on immersing the trap in the water, not under a frozen sheet.

Steam hissed as the arm of a crane lifted and moved one of the heavy walls of the incipient box. The other two machinists operated welding tools powered by the engine of a second vehicle. Sicarius had been directing the placement of the beams and sheets, but he paused to gaze out at the field. It was one of many scans he’d been making of the area. He hadn’t sensed anything otherworldly, such as he might feel if the soul construct approached, but something kept plucking at his senses, a discordant twang on a harp.