Lindsay Buroker - Forged in Blood I

Sicarius hurled the armful of snow. For an instant, the powder outlined a figure gripping the crane controls, preparing to steer the vehicle into the lake. It reacted instantly, spinning toward him, but he was already leaping for the invisible person, his dagger in hand. Whatever device protected the intruder, it compensated for the thrown snow, and the white outline disappeared. But Sicarius had already closed the distance and caught a fistful of clothing, part of a fur cloak. He’d intended to grab the man’s arm, to pull him off balance, and slip his dagger into the lung, but the Nurian recovered and backed away too quickly. The noisy vehicle drowned out sounds, so Sicarius couldn’t hear the rustle of clothing that might have signified an attack, and only the tug at the cloak and his familiarity with Nurian combat styles prepared him for the jab-straight-punch combination that was typical.

He blocked both, one-handed, sight unseen. Before his opponent could add a hook, he glided to the side, pulling on the cloak with his free hand and adding a leg sweep to further distract the man. As fast as Sicarius’s movements were, the Nurian might have countered effectively, but he bumped into one of the control levers. The crane lurched forward, and the cab floor jerked beneath them. This time Sicarius succeeded in grabbing the invisible man’s arm and forcing it up. He slipped his dagger in beneath it.

As the intruder cried out, Sicarius’s nose caught a whiff of a hard-boiled egg on someone’s breath. It was the only warning he received. Pulling his dagger out of the first man’s torso, Sicarius dropped to the floor. He threw the weapon even as he rolled for the opening on the opposite side of the cab. A moist thunk sounded-metal driving into flesh. Hard.

He came to his feet, facing into the cab, a throwing knife in hand. Both men were still invisible, so he made his best guess and hurled the second weapon. It halted in mid-air and disappeared. They’d both landed, but not accurately enough, for a thump sounded, someone jumping down into the snow.

Sicarius ran to the side of the cab, tempted to leap out in pursuit, but if he were in the other man’s place, he’d pause down there to throw a knife of his own. Instead of exposing himself, he used the frame of the vehicle to hide his body and watched the ground for newly forming footprints. Again the oft-trampled snow made it hard to spot them, but droplets of blood gave away the intruder.

Several new droplets fell, and Sicarius, envisioning the throwing motion that might have caused it, ducked behind the frame. A blade appeared in midair, then clanged off the metal, an inch from his eyes. Before it clattered to the floor of the cab, he was hurling his own knife. Again, it disappeared behind that field of invisibility, but this time a pained gasp sounded, and something heavy flopped to the ground. More than droplets stained the snow now.

Sicarius checked both men to make sure they were dead before cleaning off his knives and sheathing them. He was aware of Wodic and Mederak standing a few meters away, gaping, but did not say anything until he’d walked a perimeter of the camp, ensuring no other new sets of tracks had appeared.

“There is a wizard.” Mederak nudged one of the invisible bodies with his boot.

“Mr. Sicarius wouldn’t lie.” Wodic had climbed into the cab to check on the driver. He shook his head and muttered something to himself. “We’ll have to tell his family and see if they want to do a funeral pyre out here or-”

“Tomorrow,” Sicarius said. “We must finish the trap before dark, or we’ll have a much bigger problem than invisible Nurian bodyguards.” In truth, he didn’t know if they had until dark. Just because he’d only encountered the soul constructs at night or dawn in the past didn’t prove they couldn’t travel during the day.

Mederak’s gaze drifted toward the lake, in the direction of the city. “Not getting paid for this,” he muttered, too low for most people to hear, but Sicarius had good ears. “Better to-”

Wodic thumped him on the back, silencing him. “We’re with you,” he told Sicarius.

It was odd to have this stranger’s loyalty. Oh, he understood it was due to his and Amaranthe’s actions the winter before, but she wasn’t here, and the man was still willing to give that loyalty to Sicarius. Few ever had unless it’d been out of fear or a desire to fawn, that too usually having a fear component. This fellow simply seemed to believe he owed a favor.

“Let’s get this last side up and the top on.” Sicarius waved to the partially assembled trap. “I’ll operate the crane.”

As he climbed up into the cab, a boom drifted across the lake, and he paused, cocking an ear.

“What was that?” Wodic rotated around, trying to locate the source.

“The wizard?” Mederak asked in a tone that said he’d rather chew his foot off than have that be the case.

“No,” Sicarius said. Distance and the snow made it hard to pinpoint the source, but his trained ears knew it had come from the north. When gunshots started seconds later-a lot of gunshots-he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. “It’s Fort Urgot. Heroncrest’s army is attacking.”

Sicarius closed his eyes. Now Sespian was in danger from more than the soul construct.

“This is the right corridor, isn’t it?” Amaranthe whispered.

“Yes,” Books said. “I believe so.”

Amaranthe wished he hadn’t voiced the addendum. They’d both memorized the map before leaving the control room, but the three-dimensional, multilevel display had been a different type of cartography than they were accustomed to, and all the tunnels looked the same. She and Books walked shoulder-to-shoulder, passing identical tall, narrow doors with identical runes that brightened into visibility when one of them drew close.

“I am certain we’re on the correct floor,” Books added.

Good, that narrowed the searchable area down to twenty or thirty million square feet. “The entrance was at the end of a dead-end corridor, I remember that at least.”

“There’s an intersection,” Books said as they rounded a curve. “I believe we go left.”

“Which left? There are three of them. And two rights. These people weren’t into simple.”

“That I could have told you after a second of looking at their language.”

“They must never have heard that old saying,” Amaranthe said, “about any dolt being capable of complicating matters and true genius lying in making a thing simple.” She herself struggled to keep her plans simple. That probably said something about her, but she didn’t want to examine it too closely.

“Most likely not, since they visited our world tens of thousands of years before Scribe Ilya Yaro of the South Gaolas wrote that platitude.”

“Good point.”

With her finger on the trigger of one of the acquired rifles, Amaranthe eased her head around the corner and peered down each corridor before committing herself. They hadn’t seen anyone since they’d left the control room floor, but if Mia had guards with her, they couldn’t assume all the hallways would be empty. Further, a familiarity to this intersection nagged at her senses. Had she passed through it on her way into or out of the Behemoth the last time? She couldn’t remember; the only events that were distinct in her mind from that week were ones she wished she could forget.

“I think it’s that left.” Books pointed to the closest one.

Amaranthe led the way, passing several widely spaced doors before stopping a few meters in front of the one at the end. A wave of apprehension washed over her. She’d been in that exact spot before, she was certain of it. Books passed her, heading to the last door, but she couldn’t seem to move her feet. She looked left, then right, then left again.