their enemies were already down in unmoving heaps, but one remained standing. He nodded firmly at the order and yanked out a dagger.
Akstyr focused on the practitioner. Already, sweat beaded on the man’s forehead and dribbled down his cheeks to drip off his stubbled jaw. This wasn’t someone of Losk’s caliber, and Akstyr himself had grown a lot since the previous winter. Having his physical body restrained did not mean he couldn’t use his own mental powers.
He pursued the first tactic that came to mind. Using telekinetics, he unbuckled the man’s belt. The practitioner’s eyes widened, and his hand dropped in a startled jerk for his trousers.
The pressure weighing down Akstyr vanished. He lunged to one knee and hurled his cutlass. He ran in after it, not expecting the blade to do more than surprise the practitioner and keep him from reapplying his spell, but the sharp sword cut into the man’s neck. He dropped, clutching at his throat as blood gushed out between his fingers.
Akstyr grabbed his fallen cutlass and finished the man off. One couldn’t be too careful when practitioners were involved, though this fellow didn’t look much older than Akstyr himself, and he’d sounded like a Turgonian. An unfamiliar sense of remorse touched Akstyr as he watched the man’s life fade away. What if this had been someone like him? A Turgonian trying to teach himself the best he could?
“Nice work,” Maldynado said.
The praise surprised Akstyr out of his musings. Maldynado never praised him.
Yes, Basilard signed. Good work.
“Uh, thanks,” Akstyr said.
“That move with the cutlass was smooth,” Maldynado said. “You were like a little Sicarius.”
Akstyr snorted. “Whatever.” Despite the snort, he had to wrestle with his lips to keep them from a grin. Sure, he wanted to be a practitioner, not a warrior, but being compared to an assassin was nice.
Basilard gestured to the fallen men-he and Maldynado had finished off their three-and signed, Now what do we do?
Unsecured crates of ammunition and bundles of firearms bounced with the train’s vibrations. Akstyr was lucky he hadn’t tripped over something on his way to the back. Behind the dead practitioner, the bigger artillery weapons were strapped to the wall.
“The original plan was to see where these weapons were being delivered,” Maldynado said, “and I imagine we can still do that. I’m curious myself, now that we’ve seen these people weren’t above employing magic to help things along. That’s not exactly standard imperial operating procedure.”
“I think he was a local boy keeping his skills a secret, to most of his comrades anyway.” Akstyr thought of the way the first two men they’d subdued had seemed terrified by the idea of magic, not like people who’d been exposed to it often.
Someone must have known about his skills and hired him, Basilard signed.
“If we want to find out who,” Maldynado said, “we better remove the bodies and clean up the mess. If the people receiving the delivery think someone forgot to send the help, they won’t suspect we’re around.”
“It’ll take a lot of cleaning to make it look like people didn’t die in here.” Akstyr eyed blood puddles on the floor and spatters on the crates. “Too bad Am’ranthe isn’t here. She likes cleaning.”
I doubt she’d enjoy mopping up blood, Basilard signed. That’s an unpleasant task for anyone.
“I don’t know,” Akstyr said, “she likes spending time with Sicarius, and that’s about the most unpleasant thing I can imagine.”
Chapter 4
Twilight descended upon the farm, and someone lit lanterns in the house. Amaranthe watched from behind trees lining the stream a few hundred meters away. After her failure to win a meeting with “Ma,” she and Books had retreated to the area to wait for Sicarius. Fallen leaves carpeted the banks, and old gnarled roots that had survived more than a few floods rose hip-high in places, offering cover from farmer eyes.
Under the dying light, Books sat on a fat root, squinting and scribbling notes in a journal he had been carrying everywhere for the last couple of months. It contained the information he’d been compiling on Forge and its members.
Amaranthe nodded toward his work. “Any new thoughts?”
“I think,” Books said, “that it’s wretched that one can’t acquire a fresh newspaper anywhere out here. Don’t these rural bumpkins care about what’s going on in the world?”
“We won’t stay much longer.”
“I can’t be expected to further my research under these conditions.” Books gave her a pointed look. When Amaranthe had first announced the multi-day training exercise by rail, Books had argued that his time would be better spent in the city, continuing his fact-finding mission. She’d almost relented, but she would need everyone to infiltrate the emperor’s train, and Books would more likely be a hindrance than a help if he hadn’t practiced with the team. “But,” he said, “I have been mulling over the names I’ve recorded thus far, trying to decide who might be behind the building of these weapons.”
“It’s possible this isn’t a Forge plot. If the weapons are meant to disrupt the city, it could be a scheme concocted by foreigners, especially if it was timed to coincide with the emperor’s travels.” Amaranthe tapped her finger on one of the roots. “Though, you’d think they would have chosen to move earlier, when he was out on the West Coast, if they wanted to take advantage of his absence. He’s almost home now. Maybe they meant to act sooner, but manufacturing was delayed.”
“I believe it’s too early to speculate on motivations-we don’t yet know what the weapons will be used for. I imagine, though, that setting up this enterprise required a great deal of funds, both for construction of the manufacturing facility and for crafting the weapons themselves. And let’s not forget about the preliminary research and development that would have been done. Someone well-financed must be behind this.” Books lifted his journal. “I have seventeen confirmed Forge names in here and more than thirty other suspected ones. One controls a metallurgy factory and another mills timber, so they could easily provide the raw materials. Also, a surprising number of people on my list are bankers or own shares in banking interests.”
“Fifty people,” Amaranthe said.
“That we know of. I’m certain there are more.”
“So many. Is it possible…” She nibbled on her lip and gazed at the water wending its way around rocks and roots stretching into the stream.
“What?” Books asked.
“I certainly don’t approve of their methods, but if there are so many business leaders in the city vying for a change in the government… Are we sure we’re right, Books? I don’t believe it’s wrong to protect Sespian, not for a moment, but are we-is the throne — standing in the way of progress?”
“The fact that a lot of people believe in something doesn’t make it right. If they wanted to effect change, there are legal routes they could have pursued.”
“Really? This isn’t the Kyatt Islands. You can’t hold demonstrations or print whatever you want in periodicals. Those with dissenting opinions have to go underground.”
“It’s true that the empire could stand to adopt more flexibility and offer more freedoms to its citizens,” Books said, “but murdering people and loosing monsters on the city isn’t an acceptable method of protest.”
Amaranthe didn’t answer him. She was thinking of all the destruction her team had wrought, however inadvertently, in her pursuit to protect the emperor and thwart Forge. She wished she might have a chance to walk into Forge’s secret meeting room, wherever that might be, and to talk to the leaders, to see exactly how much they wanted, and to find out if there was some compromise that might suit both sides. Wouldn’t that be a better solution than ongoing plots and schemes that put the city at risk? Or was it too late for negotiations? Maybe she was crazy for thinking of dealing with such people.
“Do you have addresses for any of the members?” Amaranthe asked.
“Some, yes. Business addresses if not residential ones.”
“Keep up the research. After we’ve helped the emperor, maybe-”
