The Arcana Chronicles 3: Dead of Winter
Page 56That boy put a face on all that Jack had accomplished here.
Realization sank in: we’d helped thousands.
Rodrigo rode to meet us, a huge smile on his face. “The three Milovnícis are this way.”
“And the jammers?” Jack said.
“We’ve had them going nonstop, General. No transmissions could’ve gone out.” He led us deeper into the camp.
Under my breath, I said, “He called you ‘General’?”
“I tried to get them to stop,” Jack said with a hint of a grin. “Then I realized how intimidating it sounds. Let it stand, me.”
“You used jammers to block radio calls.” Aric cast him a look— was that the same grudging respect Jack had shown Death last night? “That’s why you wouldn’t radio ahead.”
“I wanted to control any communications from this camp. But now that we’ve got a hostage and a full army, we doan have to hide your involvement anymore. And we’re about to inform the twins of our upcoming trade. Their father for Selena.”
Excitement filled me. A hostage exchange sounded workable!
Aric removed his helmet, stowing it on his saddle. “If we allow the carnates to live, they’ll transfer all they experience to the source.”
“Too risky,” Jack said. “We end them.”
“Agreed, mortal. Are you going to tell your people the twins are fake?” Jack seemed to consider it. “Non. It’d just be noise, clouding the victory.”
Aric nodded. “While you’ve got Milovníci, we might as well interrogate him for information about the twins, uncover their defenses and carnate numbers.”
When we stopped and dismounted, Jack and I handed our reins over to a couple of soldiers, but Death just shook his head, leading Thanatos on.
The crowd parted ahead of us, revealing three unconscious forms, bound and gagged on the ground. The infamous Milovníci and his spawn. Or rather, his spawn’s spawn.
Finally, I was going to see the man who’d brought so much misery to a world already drowning in it.
The former general’s features were sharp, his nose beaklike. Though wiry and thin, he had a florid complexion. I could imagine his face growing even redder whenever he was angry.
His tan jacket read: MILOVNÍCI ELITE SECURITY. His face and clothes had copious amounts of spit on them—and boot prints.
This was the great General Milovníci? He looked harmless. And the twins? They were identical to the ones we’d encountered in the other camp, with the same distorted tableau.
“You should do the honors on the carnates, Reaper,” Jack said. “Folks need to see what the two of you are packing.”
Low-voiced, Aric said, “We’re not circus acts.” To me, he added,
—All my life I’ve cloaked these gifts.—
“I’m just a figurehead, me. This army can create order, or just the opposite. The more order there is in the world, the safer Evie is. You either want that or you doan.”
More people closed in.
Exhaling with irritation, Aric removed his gauntlet. He crouched to place his bared icon hand over each clone’s face. Black lines forked out.
Did Aric remember his parents every time his touch killed? I’d heard that he preferred to take out opponents like this. Maybe his Touch of Death served the same purpose as his tattoos: reminders never to forget tragedies of the past.
Jack might be accustomed to attention, but Aric was uncomfortable with the stares. Had the coolly collected knight once been shy around others? The idea made me smile with affection—even as the replicants stopped breathing.
I heard murmurs in the crowd: “Good riddance.”
“Rot in hell.”
“They got off too easy. . . .”
Rodrigo cleared his throat. “Uh, sir, what do you want to do with Milovníci?”
“His name’s Milo now,” Jack announced. “My neighbor had a coonhound named Milo. Went rabid. Got put down.” Nervous laughter broke out.
Death stood and slid on his gauntlet. —That’s shrewd. Strip the man of a name that people fear.—
On our first day out, Aric had studied Jack. Tonight, his attention had redoubled, as if he now found his foe worthy of investigation.
Aric had his hunger for knowledge; Jack had his curiosity. Was there really a difference between those two things?
Jack told Rodrigo, “Take ole Milo here and the two bodies back to his tent. He and I are goan to have a chat.”
“Yes, sir.” Rodrigo could barely hide his glee. He ordered soldiers to carry the three, adding, “You might want to wear gloves.”
Jack said, “Death ain’t contagious.”
Aric looked astonished. —He does listen to me on occasion.—
As we made our way through the crowd, Jack shook hands, accepting thanks. By the time we reached Milo’s tent, the man had been already tied to a chair, prepped for interrogation. The carnates lay on the ground, atop a layer of extravagant sawdust.
Rodrigo said, “Sir, there are about thirty mercenaries who are loyal to him. They fought back before we overpowered them. What do you want to do with them? Firing squad?”
I frowned. “Like Milo used to do?”
“Non. But they got to be punished.”
Aric leaned against Milo’s desk. “And how will you do it, mortal? Will your leadership be callous? Or merciful?” He sounded fascinated with this subject. Of course, his favorite book was The Prince. “If you plan to be a leader, then the actions you take now could resonate for your entire life.”
“You think I doan know that?” Jack turned to Rodrigo. “Exile them fifty miles from camp with no shoes, shirts, or coats. Give them each a map that leads to five packs filled with gear.”
“I’ll organize that right away, sir.” And off he went.
The corners of Aric’s lips curved, his eyes lively. “Most will kill or be killed long before they reach their destination. And I don’t suppose there will actually be packs.”
Jack opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to think better of it. “That’s army business, and you ain’t army.”
I surveyed the tent. The lavish area was spotless, except for around Milovníci’s desk. Books, pens, and papers had been swept to the ground. A framed picture of his weird children lay with broken glass. He must’ve been sitting there when he passed out. “Do you think Milov—I mean, Milo will give up information on his kids?”