She renewed her climb. Ten feet to go. A growl from below drew her gaze.
The creature jumped straight up. A claw slashed at Amaranthe. She jerked her leg up. The wind of the miss rustled her pants.
The beast backed up to get a running start. Without stopping, Amaranthe looked up. Five feet. Almost there. Sicarius had long since made the narrow access ledge surrounding the base of the tank. Doggedly, she kept going.
The creature leapt.
Time slowed. The beast arced toward Amaranthe. Its open maw grew level with her knees. The misshapen head was bigger than her torso. She lifted a foot, ready to kick at it, knowing it would prove futile.
Sicarius’s hand wrapped around her wrist. He yanked her up. The creature soared past the spot she had occupied. A frustrated howl tore from its throat as it descended.
On the ledge, Amaranthe collapsed next to Sicarius. She tucked her legs into a ball, ensuring no limbs hung over the edge.
“Was that a close enough look for you?” Sicarius asked dryly.
He was not even sweating. Bastard.
Amaranthe pushed hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand. It was a moment before she caught her breath and could answer. “I can describe it well for Akstyr now, so, yes. Do you know any more now that you’ve seen it?”
Sicarius watched the beast pacing below. Yellow eyes glared up at them from above a thick snout fenced with four-inch fangs.
“It’s Nurian.”
“Careful,” Amaranthe said, “you’ll overwhelm me with the details.”
The creature rammed into one of the support columns. A tremor pulsed through the structure. The columns were set in concrete. The beast could not possibly have the mass needed to knock the tower over. She hoped.
“It looks like it’s made out of clay, though obviously it’s stronger than your average ceramic…” She trailed off, remembering.
“What?” Sicarius asked.
For the first time, Amaranthe described to him the fire, the murders, and the shards scattered about the giant kiln she had been investigating the day she first came to Hollowcrest’s attention. “Would a magic creature like this be crafted from mundane materials? And would people need to die for the spell, ritual, or whatever to be completed?”
Sicarius looked at her sharply. “If it’s a soul construct, yes.”
“What’s the purpose of a soul construct, besides-”
The creature rammed the column again before turning its head and gnawing at the steel.
“-killing people and chasing us up water towers?” Amaranthe finished.
“Guarding its maker,” Sicarius said.
“And would that maker be nearby?”
“Perhaps not near the creature’s kills. These appear random, as if it’s simply replenishing itself with people’s souls, choosing victims unlikely to be missed-though the soldiers could have been a mistake. It is likely the maker is in the city.”
Amaranthe remembered Avery’s gossip about a creature seen leaping fences in the Ridge neighborhoods. “I have a hunch it’s Arbitan Losk.”
“Based on newspaper clippings in his desk?”
Before she could defend her hunch further, Sicarius pointed. A line of twenty armed soldiers marched toward the tower.
“At least they’ll see what they’re up against,” Amaranthe said, struggling for a positive tone. She wanted the soldiers to see the creature but feared it would attack them, leaving more dead scattered on the cold snow.
Sicarius rose to a crouch. “We can’t be captured.”
Amaranthe grimaced. If they were, it would be her fault, just as their current situation was.
The soldiers reached the base of the hill. Several bore repeating crossbows or muskets. They all wore swords. One man pointed at Sicarius and Amaranthe. From the bottom of the hill, they could see the top of the water tower, though not its base yet. They didn’t know about the creature.
The soldiers began climbing. Their voices ascended ahead of them.
The creature cocked its head. After a frozen moment, it ran. It veered not toward the soldiers but away, down the back side of the hill. Amaranthe’s shoulders sagged. The soldiers would never see it.
“Now,” Sicarius urged.
He swung over the lip of the ledge and grabbed the column. He half-slid, half-dropped to the ground. As the lead soldier crested the hill, Sicarius landed with a roll and came up running. He dodged through the columns and took off in the same direction as the beast.
“Murderer!” the lead soldier shouted. “Alpha Squad, get him.”
Eleven men chased after Sicarius. That left a mere nine staring up at Amaranthe. Knowing she could not duplicate Sicarius’s descent without breaking bones, she did not try.
“Hello,” she called down to the soldiers.
“Come down,” the leader said, “or we’ll shoot.”
“I’ve done nothing,” Amaranthe said. “I was only trying to escape from the monster that killed your men.”
A couple soldiers shifted uneasily at the word “monster.”
“Save it for my C.O.,” the leader said.
Amaranthe slid over the ledge and navigated a cautious descent. At the bottom, soldiers surrounded her. One man searched her and took her knife.
“Tomsol is dead too,” a soldier said from the ruins where Amaranthe had discovered the first corpse. “Body torn up, limbs missing.”
The corporal in charge-she could see his rank now-glared at her as if she was responsible.
She spread her arms, palms up. “I’ve done nothing. I was just out for a run and followed the tracks up from the lake.”
A soldier plucked Sicarius’s throwing knife from the snow. “Just out for a run, huh?”
“The lake’s not as safe as it used to be.”
“Take her back to the fort,” the corporal said. “The C.O. will want to question her.”
Four men detached from the squad. Two clamped their hands around Amaranthe’s biceps, grips strong. The other two followed them, muskets aimed at her back. They left the corporal kneeling over one of the bodies, fist pressed to his lips.
On the way to the garrison, the efficient soldiers gave Amaranthe no opportunity to escape. The sun peeked over the city. Its rays landed on her back but warmed her little. With dawn’s arrival, people moved about outside the fort, heading toward a fenced compound where steam vehicles were being fired up. A gate stood open, and an armored artillery truck trundled out for practice maneuvers, its steel frame bristling with canons.
Everyone they passed wore army uniforms with the exception of a couple dozen civilians, mostly women. They were opening a variety of kiosks outside the front gate. Signs advertised boot polishing, fresh-baked pastries, and other goods and services. The scent of warm flatbread wafted through the crisp air, and Amaranthe’s stomach rumbled.
Though the front gate was open, two soldiers guarded it. When Amaranthe passed through, she might as well have entered a steel cage. With so many soldiers crossing the brick square inside, she did not see how she could escape.
She should have taken the route Sicarius had and risked the broken bones. Now it was too late.
• • • • •
Sespian strode down a windowless passage in the back of the Imperial Barracks. His six guards clanked and clattered behind him. Long periods of shadow lay between the unadorned gas jets; their pipes ran along the outside of the old stone walls. No one else walked the hallway. Few knew of its existence.
He clutched birthday invitations for diplomats of eight nations. Should Hollowcrest learn of this jaunt, Sespian hoped the invites would provide a plausible cover for his sudden interest in visiting the headquarters of the Imperial Intelligence Network.
At the end of the hall, he opened a door and entered a windowless room ordered with numerous tidy desks and tables. Wooden file cabinets lined three of the four walls, while shelves full of books and maps rose along the last. A couple doors led to tiny interrogation cubicles.
Eight men worked in the office, though Sespian knew they represented only a portion of the intelligence network. Some wore army uniforms and others bland civilian attire, though all were soldiers.