His comrades fired and reloaded. The rifle shots had little impact on the metal constructs, but nobody offered better suggestions. Akstyr closed his eyes at one point, as if trying to work some magic, but he shook his head and opened them again soon. The shaman’s devices must be beyond his ability to tamper with. Books would have to come up with a plan.
He scooted back, careful not to lift his head-or anything else the machines might target. He grabbed one of the rusty lanterns abandoned on the ledge. A faint sheen of lamp oil residue smeared the inside of the cache. He hoped it was enough. He swiped the wick through it and made himself a couple of fuses.
Shots and curses peppered the air while he worked. A harpoon skimmed over Basilard’s head and cracked against the wall behind Books.
He dropped onto his belly and slithered back up between the men. He fiddled with the clasps on Maldynado’s ammo pouch.
“What are you doing at my belt?” Maldynado fired a shot, then rolled over to reload.
“I’m going to help.” Books removed a flask of black powder.
“You’re not taking off my pants, are you?”
“No.” Books slid one of his fuses into the mouth of the flask. “Does anybody have a match?”
“No,” Maldynado said, “and why are you taking my powder for this help you’re planning? I’m going to need that.”
One of the machines on treads rumbled forward, a human-sized shield extended. It rammed into the base of the ledge. The earth quaked beneath Books’s belly, and pebbles trickled down from the ceiling. An overhead support beam creaked.
Maldynado fired his rifle and a pistol at the ramming construct, but his shots ricocheted off its metal hide, leaving only small dents.
“Let me borrow that.” Books tugged the pistol from Maldynado’s hands without waiting to see if he would object.
“Oh, that’s why you wanted the powder?” Maldynado asked. “To reload for us? Good idea. You’re not doing anything else useful.”
Books ignored the jab. He tilted the pistol, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger, trying to direct the sparks onto his fuse instead of into the pan.
“You have to load the gun before you fire it,” Maldynado said as he rammed a ball into his rifle.
“Thanks for the tip.”
The construct with the shield slammed into the ledge. Rock crumbled and gave way. The support beam groaned again.
This time when Books pulled the trigger, sparks landed on his fuse. He blew them to life and tossed his makeshift explosive. It clinked onto the head of the construct ramming the ledge.
Maldynado grabbed his arm. “What are you-”
“Down!” Books barked.
The men imitated turtles.
The explosion rocked the ledge. A portion of it crumbled beneath Akstyr. He squawked in surprise, scrambling about, trying to catch the deteriorating lip. Books lunged over Basilard and caught Akstyr’s arm. He braced himself, but the weight almost pulled him over too. Gritting his teeth from the effort, he dragged Akstyr back atop the shelf. A harpoon slammed into the rock at the base of the ledge, where Akstyr would have been without the help.
Books released the younger man and slumped back against the wall. If Akstyr had been hit, it would have been his fault.
He inhaled deeply. Dust and black powder smoke filled the air, bringing tears to Books’s eyes and stinging his nostrils. Another round of pellets flung toward them. He flattened himself again and Akstyr shuffled to the side, taking a second to glower at Books through the hazy air.
“I lost my rifle,” Akstyr said.
“I’ll trade you a pistol for your powder flask.” Maldynado coughed and wiped at tears streaming down his cheek. “Some dumb lizard blew mine up.”
“Someone had to do something,” Books said.
Basilard thumped Maldynado on the chest and pointed over the edge. The thinning smoke revealed the closest construct, toppled and unmoving, its head missing, its torso warped and charred into scrap.
“And I did do something,” Books said. “That one’s not bothering us again.”
Basilard nodded and gripped Books’s arm.
“That one,” Maldynado said. “And you used a third of our powder to destroy it. There are ten more over there.”
“It’s something at least,” Books said. “The rifles are completely ineffective. You’re just irked I used your powder instead of someone else’s.”
“You should have at least asked-”
A cannonball pounded into the ledge below Maldynado. Rock crumbled, and he disappeared over the side in a haze of dust and falling rock.
“Blast it!” Books lunged, lowering an arm again. He could not see through the dust. “Maldynado?”
A groan floated up, a groan muffled by layers of rock. A metal body on treads advanced through the haze.
Akstyr cursed. “He’s crow food, isn’t he?”
Books glared at him. “Mal, hurry up! Grab my arm.”
Rubble stirred. Maldynado’s dust-coated curls pushed through, and he shoved rocks aside.
The advancing construct rumbled closer, lifting an arm cannon. An orange spark shone through the haze.
“Move!” Books shouted.
Maldynado jumped up, sloughing rubble. The cannon fired. Books yanked his arm back and rolled away from the edge. The earth quaked again. Dirt and rock plummeted from the ceiling. A stone thudded onto Books’s head.
Stunned, he flopped onto his back. Shrapnel rained down about him, pieces gouging through his clothing and into his skin. Black dots swam through his vision, and blood trickled into his eyes. Maldynado might have been right: creating the explosion had been a bad idea. It had only incensed the constructs to increase the intensity of their attack.
• • • • •
Amaranthe woke in less pain than she expected. Voices-the shaman’s and a woman’s-murmured nearby, so she kept her eyes shut. She lay on her side on the floor, but the rough texture of a wool blanket pressed against her cheek. Strange courtesy from the man who had torn her thoughts out of her head.
“Take it,” Tarok said. “For your family. I’ve spent most of what they gave me on tools and materials, but if the plan fails perhaps this will help.”
“I don’t want your money,” the woman said. “I want you to give up this foolishness with the assassin. Revenge isn’t worth dying for.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Vonsha. Your people have been conquerors for centuries; you don’t know what it’s like to be bullied and oppressed, shunted into inhospitable lands.”
Vonsha? Books’s Vonsha? Amaranthe opened her eyes. The woman stood near the door, facing the shaman, clasping his hands.
“Is it truly worth risking your life combating a man who kills for a living?” Vonsha asked, her grip tightening on Tarok’s hands. “It won’t bring your dead rulers back.”
Tarok’s head drooped, and his long blond hair covered his face. Amaranthe had to strain to hear his next words.
“No, but it will empower and unite my people. They’ve been fragmented and squabbling since the royal line was extinguished. They don’t always…understand my work, but they’ll understand this. I’ll finally find honor amongst the elders.”
“Tarok…”
“I’ve made up my mind. One way or another, I’ll make sure that man dies.” Coins clinked as he pressed a
