He sent men to hunt, Basilard signed. Yes?
“Yes, but they may lack our unique skills,” Amaranthe said.
Basilard looked at her skeptically. Sicarius simply looked at her.
“Fine, fine,” she said. “The artifact is the priority. I still want to talk to the woman and find out what’s going on. Basilard, you recognized something when they were talking of monsters.”
He hesitated, started to shake his head, but turned it into a shrug. He slashed two fingers in a claw-like motion. Amaranthe did not recognize the sign.
She spread her hands. “I don’t-”
“Makarovi,” Sicarius said.
The word sounded familiar. “Isn’t that some mythological creature of old?”
Basilard shrugged again, an embarrassed flush reddening his cheeks.
“They’re real,” Sicarius said.
Basilard flicked him a surprised glance.
“Real but rare,” Sicarius said. “Their habitat is in the drier eastern half of the mountains, especially up north where the Mangdorian tribes were pushed. Centuries ago, they were hunted relentlessly in the empire, and they’ve been absent here since.”
“So, someone from Mangdoria brought them here?” Amaranthe asked.
Basilard slashed his hand in a “no” sign and added: Too dangerous. Nobody could harness them.
“A powerful practitioner could,” Sicarius said.
That drew another “no” from Basilard. Not for a long trek. Shaman must sleep.
“Let’s just worry about the fact that they’re here for now,” Amaranthe said. “And that they’re apparently so awful they were hunted close to extinction. What did they do exactly?”
“When our ancestors first pushed east and encountered them, the creatures killed many of our people,” Sicarius said. “Women in particular were targeted. After numerous gruesome deaths, Emperor Skatovar placed a bounty on them.”
“Why did they target women?”
“Unknown.” Sicarius looked to Basilard.
He grimaced, face apologetic as he signed. Favorite prey. They eat female organs.
“Great,” Amaranthe said. “I’ve always wanted to be some horrible creature’s culinary delicacy.”
A branch snapped nearby. Sicarius disappeared. Basilard darted behind a shrub. Amaranthe ducked behind a knot of roots protruding a couple of feet above the ground. The earthy scent of moss filled her nostrils as she peeked over top.
A soldier came into view, weaving between the trees. Performing a routine patrol or searching for the owners of the abandoned steam lorry? The scouts on the road must have reported back by now.
He drew closer, head rotating from side to side. His hands gripped the rifle tightly. Yes, he anticipated trouble.
Something brushed Amaranthe’s arm, surprising her. Sicarius had joined her behind the roots.
He pointed to the soldier, whose back was to them as he moved past their position. Sicarius said nothing but she guessed his meaning: should he grab the man for questioning?
“I want to talk to the woman,” Amaranthe breathed.
Sicarius stared her in the eye, his gaze hard and unwavering.
A dozen justifications floated through her mind, though she knew any one would sound like an excuse. They could probably get the same information from the soldier. It was curiosity that motivated her choice, nothing wiser. She lifted her chin in what she hoped was a regal commanding expression that proclaimed she had made her decision and would not rescind it.
“If we question her and let her go,” Sicarius said, “she’ll report our presence to the soldiers. They’ll know exactly who is here.”
She grimaced, realizing that meant he had not planned to let this soldier go after questioning. She doubted that meant tying the man up to release later.
“The soldiers knowing we’re here is acceptable,” Amaranthe said. “In fact, it’s good. If nobody knows we’re here, nobody will know we’re the ones who save the city. I know you prefer stealth and secrecy for your work, but if we’re to…” She glanced at Basilard, mindful not to hint too much of Sicarius’s interests in front of anyone. “If we’re to earn exoneration from the emperor, it’s not enough to help the empire. We need Sespian to know we’re helping the empire, so the more people who know of our work, the better.”
“Very well.” Sicarius did not appear happy, but then he never did.
“How shall we arrange this?” Amaranthe rubbed her hands. “I can go in there, and you can cover me while I palaver, and-”
“No.”
She lifted her hands. “What are the odds of another team having blasting sticks to hurl at you?”
“Wait by the water,” Sicarius said, apparently uninterested in estimating odds. “I’ll bring her to you.”
“No violence,” she said.
He snorted.
“No permanent, scar-producing violence that will leave her disinclined to listen to me,” Amaranthe amended.
Sicarius stalked away, ignoring Basilard who was signing to ask if he could help. Basilard lifted his eyebrows in her direction.
“Do I ask for too much?” she asked.
He pointed the direction Sicarius had gone and rocked his hand back and forth. Just too much for Sicarius then. Well, everyone thought that.
“We better do as he says and wait by the water.” Amaranthe took a few steps that direction before noticing Basilard was not following. “Coming?”
He signed: I stay. Help if he needs it.
For a few heartbeats, Amaranthe watched him, noticing how he avoided her eyes. He didn’t want to be alone with her. Did he fear she would question him, and he would reveal things he did not want to share?
“Basilard, if there’s something you know that might help us,” she said, “I hope you’ll consider telling me. If one of your people is working for whomever is behind all this…he’s already abandoned your tenets, right? By killing or creating devices that do the killing for him?”
Basilard studied a particularly interesting fern at his feet.
Amaranthe left him and made her way around the spur to the marshy zone that stretched along the lake. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, casting shade across the valley.
She propped a foot on a bird-poop-stained rock at the water’s edge. Ducks stared at her as they paddled past, eyes glowing. Amaranthe had to admit, she could think of places she would rather spend time alone. She wondered if not drinking the water would be enough to keep them safe, or if the artifact’s powers permeated the land and the air about the lake too. The thought of waking up for watch and stumbling upon an aggressive Sicarius, eyes glowing, was the stuff of nightmares.
She shook the idea from her mind and windmilled her arms to loosen tense muscles. She redid her bun, smoothed her fatigues, and brushed mud from her boots. The sergeant’s opinion should not matter, but Amaranthe did not want to appear like some vagrant booted from the force due to sloth and dishevelment.
Reeds rustled behind her.
Amaranthe whirled and pulled her short sword free.
A three-foot-long lizard hurtled toward her. Green eyes burned brightly in its dark, scaled face. Its maw gaped open as it ran, rows of needle sharp fangs glistening.
Amaranthe lunged to the side and thrust her blade downward. Steel pierced leathery hide and pinned the lizard at the neck. It thrashed with surprising power. Leaving her sword, she skittered back to avoid its whipping razor-edged tail.
She evaded it, but her heel sunk into mud. Thick muck snared her boot, and she lost her balance. She went down with an ungraceful splash. Muddy water washed over her clothing and splattered her cheeks.
The lizard flailed one last time and lay still. Amaranthe glared at it.
Three figures walked out of the trees. Basilard, Sicarius, and the enforcer woman. Though Sicarius’s knives were sheathed, a long thin cut at the woman’s throat dripped blood. Her cold dark eyes could have been carved from obsidian. Sicarius gripped her arm, and she remained quiet, but the tendons standing out along her neck suggested she would be happy to lunge at Amaranthe and complete the task the lizard had failed at.