Sicarius returned to her side. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears and waited, expecting a chastisement for being so slow to wake everyone. Nobody should have been caught sleeping when the attack came. If she hadn’t been worried about losing face…
“Good fighting,” Sicarius said.
“Huh?” she blurted before something more intelligent could form in her thoughts.
“Your accuracy with the crossbow was pinpoint, your sword skills adequate.”
“Oh. Thanks.” From him, “adequate” was high praise, and she’d never heard him use the word pinpoint to describe any of her maneuvers. He must not have seen her get her sword stuck between that wolf’s ribs.
He prodded the nearest corpse with a muddy boot. “These were more difficult to kill than wolves should be.”
“Wolves don’t generally attack people either.” Maldynado strolled up. “Also, in case it wasn’t mentioned, that glowing-eye effect was a mite odd.”
“Magic?” Amaranthe assumed.
Akstyr knelt beside one of the wolves. “Not that I can tell.”
“Er,” Amaranthe said. “What else could it be?”
“I suppose it’s possible something has been done to them,” Akstyr said, “but the wolves themselves don’t feel crafted by a Maker. Not like the soul construct from this winter.”
“Bas?” Amaranthe asked. “Your people live up north in these mountains. Any ideas what we’re dealing with?”
Basilard shook his head.
“They appear to be simple eastern timber wolves,” Books said, “native to these mountains, but hunted nearly to extinction in the last century by farmers and shepherds concerned for their stock animals. Though carnivorous by nature, these creatures are a smaller, less aggressive offshoot of the giant frontier wolves. Attacks upon humans are rare. Most incidents have involved individuals, not groups, and the wolves were starved from a harsh winter.”
Maldynado made a show of yawning. “It’s bad enough I had to get up in the middle of the night; I didn’t think lectures would be involved.”
Books opened his mouth to respond.
“What could explain this behavior?” Amaranthe blurted, hoping to head off a verbal sparring match.
“Maybe the professor can dissect one and let us know,” Maldynado said. “What do you think, Booksie?”
“I was a history professor, you simian twit. Not a biologist.”
“So…no dissections?” Maldynado asked.
Amaranthe lifted a hand to end the discussion. “Let’s…” She considered the carnage, crinkling her nose at the butcher-house scent. Even if they moved the bodies out of camp, the blood would attract scavengers that would keep her team up the rest of the night. “Pack and get back on the road.”
“Who has to drive and stoke the firebox, and who gets to sleep?” Maldynado asked, eyes narrowed.
Books, Akstyr, and Basilard stepped back. That left Maldynado in the front.
“I believe you’ve been volunteered,” Amaranthe said.
Maldynado groaned. “This trip is off to a horrible start. When I agreed to help you so I could become famous and have someone make a statue of me, I thought my tasks would involve bad-man thumping by day and soft beds by night.”
Amaranthe patted him on the back. “Statues don’t come easily, my friend.”
“So long as it’s a big one when it comes.”
CHAPTER 11
B ooks adjusted his rucksack and sword as the lorry drove away, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. Amaranthe, Basilard, Akstyr, and Sicarius were driving off to investigate the suspicious lot while Books headed in- unannounced-to the Spearcrest estate.
A hand thumped Books on the shoulder.
“Thanks for requesting me for this side trip, Booksie.” Maldynado carried a rifle and ammunition in addition to his usual gear, all overshadowed by his ridiculous hat. He pointed the weapon toward a stone-and-timber home at the end of the driveway. It and a carriage house overlooked the wide river as well as the main road through the pass. This early in the morning, the craggy valley walls cast shadows over the homestead.
“ Requesting you?” Books asked.
“Sure, the boss told me how you thought my family connections could get us a friendly welcome and a warm bed.” He tilted his head back and yawned. “And that sounds particularly fine after last night’s interrupted snooze.”
“Amaranthe told you that, did she?” She might be right, but Books wondered at her claiming the words had come from him. Did she think to ingratiate him to Maldynado? “I hope the fact that you’re disowned doesn’t get us turned away.”
“Nah, these remote, rural Crests haven’t an inkling of what goes on in the capital. Look over there. Do you see that?” Maldynado pointed at a tiny shack downhill from the house.
“An outhouse?” Books asked.
Maldynado shuddered. “This place is as antiquated as the pyramid in the city.”
“Not quite.”
A rustic home did not mean these people could not get news from the capital, but Books shrugged and followed as Maldynado headed up the driveway.
Snowy peaks scraped the sky behind the rocky valley. Giant boulders had fallen in eons past and lay in jumbled heaps along the river’s banks. Upstream, a mill perched with an old waterwheel turning in the current, its wooden frame gray with age. A pretty landscape, though nothing suggested the sort of wealth one associated with the empire’s aristocracy. A garden and greenhouse waited for the sun to peep over the crags, though they did not likely provide enough vegetables for more than a couple of people. Even timber was scarce on this side of the river; it must have been cleared in the previous generation.
On the way to the front porch, Books and Maldynado drew even with the carriage house. The doors stood open, revealing two steam vehicles. A couple of young men labored beside one, shoveling coal into the furnace.
Books halted. Not just “young men.” Soldiers. And the red-and-silver vehicle was the one that had passed the team on the road.
A pair of dogs raced around from the back of the house. They bayed as they ran toward Books and Maldynado.
“Maybe we should have kept the others with us longer.” Books tensed, hoping the hounds were simply announcing visitors. At least their eyes weren’t glowing.
Maldynado squatted and spread his arms. “Hullo, puppies!”
“You’re going to be missing a throat in a second,” Books said.
“Nah.”
The dogs sniffed around Maldynado. He ruffled one’s ears. The other kept its distance, huffing and grumbling, but it did nothing more threatening. The friendlier one leaned against Maldynado’s leg and cocked its head for the ear rub.
“Must be female.” Books muttered.
He doubted the soldiers would be so easily won over. The two young men came out of the carriage house, brushing coal dust from their hands. Suspicious frowns darkened their faces.
“Howdy, lads,” Maldynado said, still petting the dog. “Is the lord of the manor home?”
The front door opened. Thirty soldiers streamed out, rifles in their hands. Three enforcers, including the female, followed.
“We’re in trouble,” Books murmured.
A bald, bow-legged man stepped onto the porch. He was missing one arm. A white-haired woman stood in
