Dread curled in the pit of her stomach. Not only did she not want to see any more Nurians, but she surely did not want to help with a brutal Turgonian interrogation.
“ You’ve got to come at some point anyway, so the captain says now.” Agarik gave her an apologetic shrug. “We’ll protect you. We scouts are well trained.”
“ No doubt. You found me and dragged me off my parents’ plantation without trouble.”
He winced.
“ Sorry,” she said. Agarik was the closest thing she had to an ally amongst the marines, and if he had not found her, another would have, so she could hardly blame him.
He pointed to the rucksack. “Want to check that? I grabbed your clothes and some pencils and blank journals. Then there’s standard issue gear for this climate: medical kit, snow goggles, crampons, canteens, blanket, and a hygiene and shaving kit.”
“ Shaving kit? As cold as it is up here, I’m not sure I want to remove any of the little body hair I have.”
He did not smile at the joke. Instead he watched her with curious intensity, as if willing her to understand something. Then she got it. Shaving kit. Razor.
Agarik’s gaze shifted toward Ottotark, who stood by the hoist, directing the lowering of a dog sled.
“ I see,” Tikaya breathed. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”
Agarik hesitated a second, then said, “Standard issue gear,” which she took to mean he probably would get in trouble for doing something as stupid as arming a prisoner, but it would likely be seen as negligence rather than treason. A lesser crime with a lesser punishment, she hoped.
“ Thank you, Corporal.”
He saluted her, fist to chest. “Ma’am.”
“ I think you can call me Tikaya at this point.”
“ Yes, ma’am.”
Powdery snow skidded sideways as wind scoured the ice field. The icy crystals needled Tikaya’s neck as she crunched along behind the squad of marines. For the seventy-third time, she adjusted her wool scarf and cap, wondering why the secret to the gear’s effectiveness eluded her. A wan sun burned in the sky, but its arc remained low on the southern horizon, and it provided no warmth. At least the bulky goggles smashing her spectacles against the bridge of her nose warmed her cheeks somewhat, though the main purpose of the darkened lenses was to protect from the sunlight glinting off ice and snow.
Despite her discomfort, determination kept her feet moving as quickly as those of the scouts. Even before Rias’s story, she had daydreamed of translating the language and bringing awareness of it to the greater archaeological community. Now, she had a more compelling reason to learn as much about the runes as she could. Quickly. Since the Nurians had deprived her of the original clues, she would have to find new ones inland. It struck her as odd that she resented the assassins more for stealing the rubbings than for trying to kill her.
Tikaya peered over her shoulder. She still did not know if the Nurians had returned to their ships or had holed up on the Emperor’s Fist somewhere.
Agarik, bringing up the rear, asked, “Problem, ma’am?”
“ Just wondering how far back Rias and the others will be.”
The ironclad, its black hull a dour blot against the stark white world, rose a couple miles behind, and she could no longer pick out the men and dog sled teams assembling in its shadow.
“ An hour back or so for the main party. As for Five…” Agarik might know who Rias was now, but he was careful to use the number instead of a name. “I heard him and the captain arguing just before we left, and, uhm, Bocrest told him he could shove-er, he had to carry the blasting sticks, so he’ll be in the rear.”
Tikaya groaned, knowing that argument had been her fault. She should not have complained about Ottotark. “Blasting sticks? Are those practitioner-made or the unstable alchemical kind?”
“ We don’t use anything magical.”
She groaned again. One thoughtless comment, and now Rias had to traverse the slick ice while carrying a heavy box of volatile explosives. While wearing shackles.
The image distracted her, and she crashed into the marine in front of her. An unstrung bow strapped to his rucksack clipped her jaw.
He glared over his shoulder but said nothing. At some signal or command she had missed, the queue of marines had halted. Two dogs the scouts had brought sniffed and romped, unconcerned by whatever caused the leaders to stop.
“ Bones!” someone called.
Tikaya glanced at Agarik. Was that a name? Or a discovery?
Agarik said nothing. Every man in the squad stood still, apparently drilled to do so until a command came. Well, she was not a marine. She sidled out of line. Ten meters in front of the formation, two men stood around something pale half-covered in snow.
Would she get yelled at if she went up to investigate? Did she care?
Tikaya shrugged and walked to the front of the line. Men glanced at her as she passed, but no one stopped her.
She slowed as she approached, regretting her decision to leave the squad as soon as she identified the object on the ground.
It was a naked man. A dead naked man.
Snow mounded against one side of the body, and ice crystals gathered on limbs blackened by frostbite. He had died face down, an arm stretched out, fingers splayed.
“ Nothing to translate here, woman.” Lieutenant Commander Okars, a stocky man with eyebrows thicker than the fur trimming his parka hood, leaned against his rifle. He removed a plug of tobacco from a pocket and gnawed off a corner with stained teeth before handing it to the other man. “What d’you think?”
The second marine looked so similar to the commander that Tikaya thought them twins for a moment. The name tabs on both their parkas read Okars, but this fellow wore lieutenant’s pins and had fewer lines on his face. He spat a brown stream into the snow by the body. “Looks like he was running from something.”
“ I called you up here for a more professional assessment than that, Sawbones.”
“ Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to inquire about his health and see what ails him? Perhaps if he’ll give me a list of his symptoms, hm.”
At that point, Tikaya realized ‘sawbones’ was slang for doctor. The connotations in that name disturbed her-she had never visited a healer who did not work as much with the power of his mind as with his hands-and she hoped she did not require this man’s services any time soon, especially if he kept serrated metal tools in his kit.
“ Bones,” the commander snapped. Strange that he used the term instead of his brother’s name. Maybe the staid Turgonians had regulations against familial familiarity.
“ What?” Bones asked. “He froze to death. What do you want me to do?”
“ Figure out what drove him to run out here naked and suicidal.”
Bones levered the barrel of his rifle under the corpse and leaned onto the stock. Ice snapped, and the rigid body rolled over. Tikaya jumped, surprised at the irreverent treatment of the dead. That did not keep her from staring. The front half was no more illuminating than the back, but the face, eternally contorted in terror, made her shiver. The man had died afraid, very afraid.
Bones shook his head at the commander. “Nope, no clues.”
Okars ground his jaw. “Curse the Headquarters desk-rider who thought it’d be amusing to put my little brother on the same ship as me.”
“ Exquisite torture, isn’t it?” Bones grinned.
Tikaya stared at the brothers. They were joking. A corpse lay before them, a corpse probably belonging to one of their own citizens, and they were joking. Uncharacteristically intense irritation stirred within her.
“ Animals,” she blurted before she could still her tongue. “Where’s your respect for the dead?”
The commander’s bushy brows lowered, and a cold, almost predatory expression darkened his face.
Bones placed a hand on Okars’s sleeve. “You’d best get back to your place, ma’am. Stay out of the way and let us do our jobs.”