“Deal with them,” Tarok told it, “and return to me. Take those ten.”
With her mind a jumble, Amaranthe could barely think. Only when several constructs ambled past and into the tunnel did she realize: her team had been discovered.
“It seems you are the distraction while your men break in,” the shaman said. “It won’t matter.”
Amaranthe wanted to voice a cocky retort, but her mind was working too slowly. Her stomach churned. Maybe if she smothered his boots with vomit that would annoy him as much as a cocky retort. It did not sound nearly as brave.
His touch grew firmer against her forehead, and he entered her mind again. He ripped into her thoughts, stealing everything.
CHAPTER 25
A sheen of water covered the walls and rivulets trickled down the sloping tunnel floor. The ore cart tracks glistened. With the pump broken, it would not take long for the lower levels to flood, but Books did not think it would happen quickly enough to help them that night.
He, Basilard, Maldynado, and Akstyr walked in silence, listening for noise from above. Since Books had now destroyed two of the shaman’s security devices, not to mention the pump, Tarok ought to be down here investigating. The fact that he was not suggested Amaranthe was up there playing the part of the distraction. That thought did not comfort Books.
The team entered a cavern with a ledge running along one side. Though the chamber appeared natural, wooden posts and beams supported the ceiling, and the far wall had seen miners’ picks.
Books diverted to the ledge, jumped, and peered over it. Though he doubted any of the side passages held backdoors out of the mine, he would not mind being proven wrong-it might be easier to grab Amaranthe and escape deeper into the tunnels rather than out the front. The broad shelf, littered with trash and broken lanterns, ran back about eight feet, but simply ended at a wall.
“No sightseeing,” Maldynado said.
Books caught up as the men continued out of the cavern and into the tunnel, following the cart tracks again.
“The boss is waiting,” Maldynado added.
“Waiting…or captured,” Books muttered.
Basilard stopped, lifting a hand. A thump emanated from the passage ahead, then a scrape.
“Uh oh,” Maldynado said. “If that’s him, then it means Amaranthe might be…no longer in a position to distract him.”
“Let’s go back,” Books whispered. “You boys can hide on that ledge, and I’ll face him. Maybe he won’t know you’re there, and you can get a few shots off while he’s cursing at me for destroying his pump.”
“You sure you want to be the bait?” Maldynado asked as they jogged back to the cavern.
“No,” Books said. “Do you have a better idea?”
“No.”
“Then there’s no more to discuss, is there?” They entered the cavern again, and Books chose a spot in the middle.
“I don’t know,” Maldynado said as Akstyr and Basilard veered toward the ledge. “We could discuss strategy. Maybe you should try to look extra enticing so you keep his attention riveted.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Show some leg?” Akstyr caught the ledge and pulled himself on top.
Maldynado snickered. “Nah, this is Books. He’s more likely to entice someone by keeping his body fully covered.”
“Have I mentioned how grateful I am you lads came to rescue me?” Books asked.
“No.”
“Excellent.” Books shoved Maldynado toward the ledge.
The first bulky, hard-edged shadow appeared in the tunnel ahead. Others followed. Books did not see the shaman or anything human-sized.
Ker-thunk.
Metal glinted as it flew toward him. Books lunged to the side. A harpoon clattered down inches from his feet. Sparks flew as it skidded, snagged, then flipped end over end.
Books raced for the shelf. He jumped, caught the lip, and cleared the edge without so much as scraping a shin against the rock. He rolled and hit the back wall before coming to a stop.
“Problem?” Maldynado asked, tone bland, though he lay on his belly, rifle butt nestled into the hollow of his shoulder, ready for action.
“The shaman isn’t with them,” Books said. “I don’t think I can entice machines. No matter how much clothing I take off. Or leave on.”
The first construct clanked out of the tunnel, continued several paces, then pivoted and faced Books. Glowing crimson eyes bored into him.
“Oh, I think they’re downright enticed by you,” Maldynado said.
Other constructs walked or rolled out, displaying a variety of means of ambulation. Each carried a barrage of weapons ranging from harpoon launchers to rotating saws to small cannons.
Akstyr whistled. “I want to learn to create artifacts that could power machines like that. So impressive.”
“I’d admire them more of they weren’t trapping us.” On his belly, Books scooted up to peer over the edge between Maldynado and Akstyr.
“Look at the detailed etching on that cannon arm,” Maldynado said. “Only a very bored or very obsessed man could have made all these machines.” He tapped the frame of his rifle. “Or a man with an overbearing wife he’s avoiding.”
The mention of a wife made Books think of Vonsha. He hoped she was somewhere safe, preferably not the same somewhere as the shaman. “Either way,” Books said, “it doesn’t look like he’s coming.” He did not know whether to feel relieved or concerned. How did one negotiate with machines?
The constructs formed a line in the center of the chamber, facing Books and the others. The eight-foot-high ledge offered a modicum of protection, but not enough. Not against that firepower.
Basilard, on his belly beside Books, rifle readied, turned questioning eyes his way.
“I don’t know,” Books said. “I had all my brilliant ideas before you boys showed up.”
“I can only think of one brilliant thing to do alone in a cell,” Maldynado said, “and I don’t want your details describing it.”
“I meant escaping and destroying the pump, you nit.”
Ker-thunk!
A harpoon hammered the wall a foot below the ledge. The construct’s arm whirred, and another projectile rotated into place.
“Whose idea was it to climb up here and get ourselves trapped?” Akstyr asked.
Basilard pressed his cheek against the stock of his rifle, sighted, and squeezed the trigger. The ball smashed into the crimson eye of a bipedal construct with spinning saw blades for hands. The cylindrical head twitched, but the saws continued to whir, sharp steel teeth a blur.
The construct next to it in line slung a harpoon toward Books. He flattened, pressing an ear to the damp stone. The projectile stirred his hair on its way by. It cracked against the rock wall behind him, and the broken shaft landed on his leg.
“Why’s it targeting me?” Books asked. “ I didn’t shoot one.”
“You’re the escaped prisoner,” Maldynado said.
Something similar to a blunderbuss fired, and a burst of pellets hammered the ledge.
“Lucky me,” Books said. “Given the enhanced attention I’m getting, it would have been even more thoughtful of you to bring me a weapon.”
