Blood and Betrayal (11 page)

Yara bared her teeth. “You could try.”

Maldynado wouldn’t admit it, but he found the idea of facing rogue soldiers and creepy magic less intimidating. “I’ll look in the mill. Watch my back, will you?” He flicked a finger at the crossbow Yara had claimed for herself.

“Acceptable.”

At least she was willing to take orders if he gave them. Yara must believe that, as a newer member of the team, she held a lower rank than he did. Or maybe she just wanted him to be the one to wander in and get fried by some strange, light-emitting doodad.

After eyeing each window and door for signs of people—snipers, more specifically—Maldynado crept toward the closest wall. Full darkness had fallen, but the green light leaking between the timbers cast its glow onto the grass. His skin appeared sallow under the influence. His headache grew in intensity, and he thought of the device Shaman Tarok had deposited in the lake the spring before, and how its power had contaminated water over a hundred miles away, not to mention filling the forest with deranged glowing-eyed animals. Maldynado hoped this light lacked similar properties.

He paused a few steps from a window with a shattered pane. A crossbow quarrel protruded from the frame, and a second one had probably been responsible for the breakage.

Careful not to make a sound, Maldynado eased closer. Scratched and dulled by time, the window offered a poor view. He wiped away a circle of grime and spattered grass clippings from the last mowing. A single, large room with worn wooden floorboards stretched before him. Old mill machinery, the cutting blades removed, had been pushed into corners, leaving a large open area in the center. A squat cylindrical device sat on the floor, emitting the light from four holes in a dome-shaped top.

Two men lay crumpled on the floor on either side of it.

“Emperor’s balls,” Maldynado whispered. It was Books and Akstyr, neither of them moving. Maldynado wasn’t even sure if they were breathing.

For a second, he thought about running inside and dragging them out, but the dull ache behind his eyes had turned to stabbing pain. He had to escape that light for a minute. He and Yara could figure out what to do from across the field.

Before Maldynado could step away from the window, cold, sharp steel touched his neck. Curse Yara, she was supposed to be watching his back.

His first notion was to hurl an elbow backward and try to catch his attacker off balance, but the dagger pressed deeper. Another hair, and it’d slice into his flesh.

Maldynado eased his hands out to the sides, palms open. “Mind if we step away from the light?” he murmured, careful not to let his emperor’s apple dance about—and get cut. “I think it’s melting my brain.”

“Tell me what you know about it.”

Maldynado’s jaw dropped, a movement he promptly regretted, because it made the knife cut into his skin. But the speaker—the person with the blade to his throat—was the emperor.

“Sire?” Maldynado squeaked.

“Did you arrange for this trap when you were in town?”

“No! We were
shopping
. Look, I’ll show you our bags. We left them on the path—”

“Sire,” came Yara’s voice. “He didn’t arrange this. There was a conversation I should tell you about, but I heard enough to know it wasn’t about sending men to your hiding place.”

Maldynado bit his lip to keep from snapping at Yara for not warning him about Sespian’s approach. Best to stand still and not dig himself into a hole—a deeper hole.

A long moment passed before the blade disappeared from Maldynado’s neck. He touched his skin and grimaced when blood came away on his fingers.

Arms wide, Maldynado turned, intending to impress upon Sespian just how innocent he was, but the emperor was already stalking away. Basilard had joined Yara by the steam donkey. His approach must have kept her from noticing Sespian as he sneaked up on Maldynado. That Sespian
could
sneak so well was surprising. Maldynado might have to reassess his image of the young emperor as a harmless, bookish sort.

Basilard waved for attention as soon as everyone stood in the shadow of the donkey engine. Maldynado realized he was the only one there who could understand his hand signs.

We routed the men in black, but we must figure out a way to retrieve Books and Akstyr.
Basilard pointed to the building.
That device didn’t start glowing and affecting us
—he paused to touch his temple—
until they were inside. The men with the crossbows tried to ambush us while we ate. I noticed them coming, and we took to the field, but there were a lot of them firing rapidly. We decided to take cover in the mill. As soon as we approached, Akstyr said he sensed magic inside. We were being shot at, so he and Books volunteered to go in and investigate. I don’t know if they turned the device on or if it fired up of its own accord, but they fell unconscious before they could run back out. It’s been at least twenty minutes, and they haven’t moved.

“What’s he saying?” Yara asked.

Maldynado translated.

When he finished, Sespian added, “It was a trap. I think we were all meant to be in there when the device turned on. I don’t know how these men knew we were here—” the look Sespian gave Maldynado dripped with significance, “—but they did.”

“Sire,” Yara said, “it’s possible the soldiers identified you when the group stopped on the road to discuss crossing the bridge. Just because we didn’t have spyglasses doesn’t mean
they
lacked them.”

It felt strange to have Yara come to his defense, but Maldynado was relieved she was doing so. “How many of these blokes in black did you cut down?” he asked. “Any idea whose stray cubs they are?”

Basilard considered the park while he tallied numbers on his fingers.
Fourteen.

“Fourteen?” Yara asked. “Just the two of you?”

Though he knew Basilard possessed a great deal of competence, not to mention the stealthy feet of a cat, even Maldynado found the number surprising.

The emperor is a capable fighter
, Basilard signed.

Sespian watched his fingers, trying to learn the hand code perhaps.

“He says you’re a capable fighter,” Maldynado said when Sespian looked to him for a translation. “That’s moderate to high praise from Basilard. If Sicarius ever says that, it’ll mean you can thump ninety-nine out of a hundred men. Possibly all at the same time.”

Yara snorted.

Sespian seemed less amused by the attempt at humor. “We must find a way to retrieve your comrades. The men who originally attempted to ensnare us in the mill are… gone—
dead.
” Sespian winced, apparently not pleased that he’d been forced to such action. “But it’s possible they have allies around, allies who might have been alerted when the device went off. Practitioners can do things with their minds and create links to objects they made that are beyond our ken.”

So, the emperor knew a thing or two about magic. That was good since their expert, insomuch as Akstyr could be considered one, was unconscious. Or worse.

“Any idea how to get them without passing out? I’ll go in and do whatever needs to be done.” Given how suspicious everyone was of him lately, Maldynado figured he’d better volunteer for heroics at every chance.

“I’ve been musing over that.” Sespian squatted down, draping his elbows over his knees. “You’ve noticed how getting closer to the light causes pain behind your eyes?”

“Looking in the window made my head feel like someone had chained me down and forced me to listen to Books’s lectures all day.” Maldynado glanced about, expecting Books to glare at him or come up with a vocabulary-heavy rejoinder, before remembering that Books was in trouble. “Yes, I noticed,” he said more seriously. “I didn’t know if it was the light or something else.”

It’s the light
, Basilard signed.
The pain intensifies when you look at it.

“So, we ought to be able to close our eyes, stroll in, and collect our people?” Maldynado asked.

“You can still feel it through your lids.” Yara had closed her eyes and turned toward the beam slanting through the open door. Her brow wrinkled. “Pain.” She turned her back on the mill. “No pain.”

Maldynado lifted a finger, then trotted back to the riverbank. He grabbed one of the discarded hoods the men had been wearing. He’d assumed his attackers were trying not to be identified, but maybe they had another reason for donning the headwear. After a quick poke around the interior, he found a band that could be pulled down over the eye slits.

“Maybe this’ll do it,” Maldynado said when he rejoined the others.

Sespian, Yara, and Basilard were facing the park entrance, and nobody responded.

“What is it?” Maldynado asked.

Machinery
, Basilard signed and touched his ear.

A faint rumble floated across the park from the street leading toward the entrance.

“Steam carriages or lorries,” Yara said.

“More than one,” Sespian said.

“They might not have anything to do with us,” Maldynado said.

The others looked at him as if he’d told them Sicarius’s next training session would be easy.

“Where’s the optimism?” Maldynado waved the hood. “I’ll get our lads. Someone yell at me if I’m about to trip or crash into the wall.”

“Wait.” Yara touched his arm. “We don’t know if… ” She nodded toward the mill. “There’s no way to know if they’re still alive, is there?”

Basilard and Sespian exchanged looks.

“We couldn’t tell without going inside,” Sespian said. “They haven’t moved.”

“I’m sure they’re alive,” Maldynado said. “Captured prisoners are more useful than dead ones, right?”

“I… am not certain I’d risk my life on that assumption,” Sespian said.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Maldynado flung an arm around Yara’s shoulders. “Don’t look so concerned, my lady. I’ll not die before I’ve fulfilled your most concupiscent fantasies.”

Yara shoved his arm away. “We’ve discussed you not touching me numerous times now.”

“Does this mean no good-luck kiss?”

The rumbling machinery grew louder, and lights brightened the street leading to the park entrance. Enough trading endearments with Yara. Maldynado had best get going.

Before he could think wiser of it, he tugged on the hood and, arms outstretched, headed for the mill. The soft, black fabric had multiple layers and blocked out the green glow, but he clamped his eyelids shut anyway.

Probing the ground with his toes as he went, Maldynado reached the building without mishap. He mashed his knuckles against the door, but at least his head didn’t hurt.

The noise from the vehicles drifted across the park. They sounded like they’d pulled to a stop. He hoped they were in a spot where they couldn’t see him.

A thud sounded—someone getting out and a door being shut?

“Hurry, Maldynado,” came Yara’s whisper.

Maldynado slipped through the front door of the mill and felt his way inside. He slid his boots along the floorboards, hoping he wouldn’t get turned around and crash into some ancient piece of machinery with sharp protuberances. His foot came down on a bump, and it took him a second to realize it was someone’s hand.

“Oops. Sorry, fellows.”

He bent, found the hand, and used it to hoist the prone person over his shoulder. Akstyr, he guessed, as Books was taller and heavier. He didn’t take the time to check for a pulse, but the skin felt warm to the touch.

Maldynado patted around with his feet, trying to find Books. In picking up Akstyr, he’d lost his sense of direction. When he thought he must be close to the second body, he clunked into the magical device instead. With his knee. He cursed and thought about trying to kick the thing over, but it might have defensive capabilities.

A soft bang came from outside. It didn’t sound like a musket or pistol, but Maldynado had a feeling he shouldn’t linger.

He probed about, faster now, not worrying if he kicked Books. He could apologize later. His toe caught on clothing. There.

Balancing Akstyr on his shoulder, Maldynado grabbed Books by the arm. He debated trying to hoist him over his other shoulder versus dragging him out.

A clack sounded at one of the windows. Someone throwing a rock in warning?

A long squeal came from the park entrance.

“Time to go,” Maldynado muttered.

He dragged Books toward the exit as fast as he could. He smacked face-first into the wall and loosed another string of curses before managing to find the door. He kicked it open, no longer worrying about being seen.

He’d gone no more than two steps when something slammed into the mill behind him. Wood cracked and the ground shuddered.

If Maldynado had a hand free, he would have yanked the hood off, but he couldn’t let go of his comrades. Still dragging Books, he staggered in the direction he thought he’d left the others. Another crack sounded inside the mill, followed by the patters of dozens of objects hitting the walls and the ceiling. Shrapnel? From an exploding cannon ball or something similar?

Maldynado had no sooner had the thought when an explosion roared behind him. The force hurled him to his stomach. Instead of turning the fall into an efficient roll that would prevent injuries, he grew tangled with Books and Akstyr and sprawled flat. He lost the grip on one man—Akstyr?—and the other landed on top of him. Still unconscious, they were dead weight.

Maldynado pushed them away long enough to tear off his hood.

Half of the mill had collapsed, the roof and two walls tumbling inward, and flames leapt from the remains. The orange glow of the fire brightened the sky in every direction. The green glow had been dulled—beams falling on the device perhaps—but it still leaked into the night, and Maldynado’s headache returned. But not enough to slow him down. He leaped to his feet.

“This way,” Yara barked from somewhere ahead.

Basilard appeared by Maldynado’s side and hoisted Books over his shoulder. Maldynado maneuvered Akstyr into position over his own shoulder. They hustled to reach the others.

Shouts came from the park entrance. Dark figures poured out of two lorries and ran toward the mill. They carried rifles and pistols, not crossbows, and they were closing ground quickly. Books and Akstyr hadn’t stirred yet. As fit as Maldynado and Basilard were, it was unlikely they could outrun trained soldiers while carrying the weight of full grown men over their shoulders. They needed…