Emperor's Edge Republic (71 page)

“If ingested in sufficient quantity or taken up into the bloodstream.”

“And it’s deadly.”

“Within a couple of days.” Sicarius’s tone had changed as soon as he started speaking of the poison, his usual emotionless monotone growing clipped and cold. They didn’t know exactly when Starcrest had ingested the poison, but that note was well over a day old, so it would have had to be sometime before that.

Amaranthe pointed at the jars. “Is there an antidote?”

“No.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean no? There
has
to be one. Isn’t there always such a thing? In case the person making the poisons accidentally poisons himself?”

“There is no known antidote to this poison.”

Chapter 28

A
s the lorry bumped down a dirt road, Tikaya fiddled with her bow and tried not to worry about Rias and Mahliki, though she couldn’t help but glance at a pocket watch. It had been thirty or forty minutes since the submarine descended into the lake. Had they reached their destination in the harbor yet? Or had they been delayed by all those grasping vines? Was the submarine even now hopelessly mired at the bottom with their precious air being breathed away? The communication orb remained dull and dormant.

“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said. “I see lamps ahead, over to the left of the road. Someone is awake.”

“Naturally,” Dak said. “Kidnappers, rebels, and usurpers don’t keep normal hours.”

The corporal glanced over his shoulder. “We’re not keeping normal hours, either, sir.”

“
Because
of the kidnappers, rebels, and usurpers.” Dak pointed. “Focus on the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do we have a plan?” Tikaya asked.

“We have an armored lorry with cannons, harpoons, and fifteen armed men in the back.” Dak touched a cargo pouch attached to the back of the cab. “We also have that blasting stick that Sespian left in here.”

“So our plan is to barrel into the complex and blow things up?”

Dak gave her a wolfish smile.

“Are you going to send Rias the bill for this too?” Tikaya asked, reminded that all they had was Sicarius’s note to go on. If they blasted their way across some innocent family’s orchard... that wouldn’t be good publicity for this new government.

“We’ll assess the situation first,” Dak said.

The corporal slowed the vehicle and turned onto a muddy road with canyon-sized ruts. Trees stretched away to the north and south in tidy rows, though something glinted between two of those rows. Some bit of glass reflecting the light of the lorry’s running lamps?

“Slow down,” Dak said.

“I see it, sir. It looks like another lorry.”

“Pull us off to the side,” Dak said. “Under the cover of the trees as much as possible. Cut off our lights too. No need to announce our arrival.”

By now, Tikaya could make out a large house and several outbuildings at the end of the road. Someone raced out of a big, tall building. Her breath caught. A dark robe flapped about the man’s legs as he ran.

“This might be the right place,” she whispered. Dare she hope the people who had sent that encoded note—and mentioned poisoning Rias—would have their headquarters here?

She wanted to drive straight to the end and start questioning people—or perhaps perforating them with arrows until they volunteered information—but Dak had hopped out of the cab, a rifle in his hands. He called someone’s name softly, and two soldiers climbed out of the back and joined him. They headed into the gap between the rows of trees.

The glass Tikaya had seen did indeed belong to a lorry, one backed several meters off the driveway and into the shadows. She thought she spotted movement in the front cab but couldn’t be sure. Though she doubted the soldiers would need her help, she stepped outside with her bow to cover them in case they received more trouble than anticipated.

Frost crunched in the short grass beneath her feet.

“Stop right there and identify yourselves,” a man called from the parked lorry, his voice stern. He sounded like another soldier, but who else would have seen Sicarius’s note and come out here? “I’ve got you in my sights.”

Tikaya didn’t see a pistol, bow, or other weapon sticking out of the cab, but maybe the person intended to shoot through the glass window. The two soldiers had their own rifles up at this point, with the cab, if not the person within, in
their
sights.

“We’re soldiers in the president’s employment,” Dak said. “That’s all you need to know. Toss out your weapon and step out of the vehicle.”

A few seconds dribbled past, then something was thrown from the cab. Tikaya frowned. It looked like a crooked stick, not a rifle or other weapon.

“Throw out your
weapon
,” Dak repeated.

“That’s all I’ve got,” the man responded, the sternness gone out of his voice. He sounded tired. Beleaguered.

“A stick?”

“A stick.”

“You had us in your sights with... a stick?” Dak asked.

“Yes, I hope you were suitably quaking with terror.”

“Go get him,” Dak told his men.

The pair of soldiers walked forward, keeping their weapons trained on the cab, but the man who slumped out of the vehicle didn’t look like much of a threat. He favored one leg and hissed and clutched his shoulder when he bumped the doorframe.

“I’m Deret Mancrest,” he said. “And I’m injured, so I’d appreciated it if you forwent the manhandling and simply escorted me to your vehicle, if that’s your intent.”

One of the soldiers had been about to grab him, but stopped at the name, and looked to his colonel.

“The journalist?” Dak asked.

“Journalist and owner of the
Gazette
,” Mancrest said. “I believe we’ve met before. In the service. Colonel Starcrest, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“I served in the Twenty-Third Infantry Battalion, under General Bearcrest.”

“I must not have made a good impression on you if you were keeping me in your stick’s sights.”

Mancrest grunted.

“You were at the funeral for Professor Mugdildor,” Tikaya said. In the poor lighting, she couldn’t see the man’s face, but she remembered the name. They hadn’t spoken, but he had been a friend of Amaranthe’s, hadn’t he? “You know Amaranthe?”

“Yes.”

“Is she here? The note said she’d been kidnapped.”

“The note?” Mancrest asked.

“From Sicarius,” Tikaya said.

“No mention about
me
being kidnapped as well?”

“No.”

“That figures. Look, she and Sicarius were going to sneak into the compound to snoop.” Deret pointed in the direction of the house. “I was supposed to keep the furnace hot in the lorry. They’ve been gone a while, and people started banging around, yelling about escaped prisoners about fifteen minutes ago.”

“How many men are in there?” Dak asked.

“At least twenty in the bunkhouse, plus whoever lives in the house.”

“Armed?”

“The priests all had pistols,” Mancrest said.

“All right. You want to come with us or stay in that lorry?”

“That depends. Do you have a medic with you?”

“Shovak, anyone in your squad got training?” Dak asked one of the soldiers.

“I think Drogo had basic first aid, sir.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay here and bleed.”

“We’re going to go blow things up,” Dak said. “You might want to come along and help us avoid hitting your friends.”

“Friend. Singular.” Mancrest bent, grabbed his stick, and used it as a crutch as he walked toward Tikaya. He nodded at her bow before he climbed into the cab. “Your stick is more impressive than mine, my lady.”

“Not something a man should ever say to a woman,” Dak muttered, hopping in after him.

“It
is
made from the finest Kyattese onyx wood,” Tikaya said.

Dak took up his position behind the driver’s seat. “Let’s go, Corporal.”

“Shall we... drive straight up to the door, sir?”

“I thought we’d start firing before then,” Dak said.

“I see you’re applying your infantry background to your intelligence career,” Mancrest said.

“Actually that’s my artillery background. We practiced everything down there on the border.”

The corporal shoveled some coal into the furnace, checked a gauge, then thrust the forward lever on the lorry.

“Any suggestions for targets, Mancrest?” Dak asked.

“As much as I’d like to see you blow up that cider mill, the bunkhouse is where most of the robed fellows live. You might catch some inside still. Assuming you don’t want to take them prisoner.”

“Their friends spent the night trying to blow up the president,” Dak said. “If they beg to be taken prisoner, we’ll do it. I would be just as happy if they didn’t.”

“I see,” Mancrest said. “Should we... be taking his wife along for this... carnage?”

“It’s not my first carnage, Lord Mancrest.”

“You can call me, Deret, my lady.”

“Then you can call me Tikaya.”

“Uh,” Mancrest said. “I don’t really think I can. But thank you.”

“I address my Kyattese president and his wife by first name,” Tikaya said.

“Yes, but your people are... special.”

Dak snorted. “Tactful, Mancrest.”

“What did you expect from the man who threatened you with a bent stick?”

“We’re getting close, sir,” the corporal said. “Someone saw us and ran into the bunkhouse.”

His tense tone stole the mirth from the air. Tikaya continued to hold her bow, though she imagined the soldiers would take care of things with their superior firepower.

The trees ended, giving her a better view of the compound. Someone slammed a wrought iron gate shut in a fence that surrounded the house, then ran inside and slammed the front door shut as well. The person who had seen them was running toward a carriage house behind the bunkhouse.

“They’ll have lorries of their own in there,” Mancrest said. “They kidnapped us in one. I don’t know if they’re armored.”

“Carriage house first, Corporal. We don’t want anyone leaving before we give them our permission.”

“Yes, sir.” The corporal reached for the cannon controls. “Should we warn them first, sir? Give them a chance to surrender?”

The bunkhouse door flew open, and a green-robed man thrust his arm out.

“Practitioner,” Tikaya barked, the intense prickling sensation on her skin promising a big discharge of energy.

“No warning, no,” Dak growled and grabbed the blasting stick.

“Duck,” Mancrest said.

Red energy danced in the air around the priest’s fingers. Tikaya stepped past Mancrest and yanked out an arrow. She loosed it at the same time as the priest hurled the fireball. Someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her to the floor, and she feared her shot was thrown wide.

Rifles fired behind her—someone leaning out of the bed of the lorry—but Tikaya couldn’t see anything except the padded roof of the cab. Then heat washed over her, and the orange and red of flames drove away every shadow. The fireball struck the front window. Glass cracked under the intensity, and Tikaya lifted her arm, afraid shards would pelt them. But the heat faded without anyone crying out, and she dared hope the window had blocked the brunt of the attack.

A match hissed in her ear. Tikaya tried to sit up, but someone bumped her with an arm.

“Sorry,” Dak grunted.

Everyone was trying to stand up at the same time. No, Dak was doing more than that. He had hurled the blasting stick at the bunkhouse. It struck before she got her head high enough for a view, but she heard glass crack in the distance. He must have aimed at a window instead of the door. Good thinking. The practitioner might have come up with a defense if the projectile had been arrowing straight toward him.

A boom split the night, loud enough that farmers on parcels fifty acres away were sure to bolt from their beds, clutching at their hearts. The wooden bunkhouse didn’t stand a chance. Burning boards flew fifty feet into the air, and slammed into the first row of trees in the orchard. Tikaya looked away, not wanting to see if bodies—or body parts—flew into the air as well.

“Did you get the practitioner?” she asked when the flames died down.

“
You
got the practitioner,” Dak said.

“Nice reflexes,” Mancrest said from the floor. He propped himself against the wall by the furnace, not looking like he wanted to rise further. In the better lighting, the blood staining the shoulder of his shirt was visible.

“Yes, I was too busy throwing myself down for cover to shoot anything,” Dak admitted. Interesting, she had never seen a sheepish expression on him before.

“I’m sure if it had been a gunman, you two would have both fired more quickly,” Tikaya said. “Magic seems to alarm Turgonians, doubtlessly because you’ve had so little experience with it.”

“I’ve had more than the average Turgonian’s experience with it, but I’ll accept your excuse,” Dak said.

A few men with singed and tattered robes staggered out of the back of the bunkhouse—the only side with a wall still partially standing—and hobbled toward the trees.

Dak thumped on the back of the cab. “Go round up those men.”

Judging by how quickly a team of six soldiers shot off into the orchard, they had been ready and waiting for the command. Another squad jogged up to the driver’s side of the cab.

“Should we take the house, sir?” the leader asked.

“Corporal, see if you can open that gate for them,” Dak said.

“Yes, sir.” The man smiled, no longer hesitating to reach for the cannon controls. Apparently once a wizard spat a fireball at them, Turgonians felt justified in commencing bloodshed.

The cannonball launched, spinning
through
the iron bars instead of into the gate, and the corporal lost his smile. It smashed into a planter under a window and tore into what was probably those people’s living room. “Sorry, sir.”

Dogs streaked out of little houses on the side and started barking.

“A little to the right,” Dak advised.

“Yes, sir.”

The second cannonball clanged into one of the hinges, tearing the gate from its mooring. That proved too much noise for most of the dogs; they streaked through the broken gate and into the field behind the house.