“Here.” Maldynado, back on one knee again, shook his hands. Yes, he was as worried about Basilard and the others as she.
Amaranthe stepped into his hands, and he boosted her up. She scrambled through the membrane and found herself in a dark tunnel. Dark? Odd, the ship had always been illuminated when she’d been inside, every tunnel, ramp, and chamber brightened to daylight intensity.
A scrape and grunt sounded behind her. Amaranthe turned to see if Maldynado needed help, but he’d jumped high enough to catch the ledge on his own. The snowy field lay visible behind him, as if this were a window instead of some hidden door.
“Do you have the lantern?” Amaranthe asked. The others weren’t visible anywhere. She thought about calling out, but decided to wait. Just because those would-be relic raiders with the cannon hadn’t found a way in didn’t mean other enemies weren’t about in the tunnels.
“Yes, one moment.”
After a few clanks and thumps, a match flared to light, illuminating Maldynado’s face. The grim expression didn’t match the foppish nest-of-snakes hat he’d managed to keep on his head through everything.
He lit a lantern and held it aloft.
A long black tunnel stretched out ahead of them, an intersection visible at the edge of the light. There wasn’t a sign of anyone else.
Chapter 7
Two hours before dawn, Sicarius glided through Flintcrest’s new camp, following paths freshly tramped into the snow, his feet soundless on the hard crust. None of the perimeter guards spotted him, none of the sleeping soldiers heard him, and nobody saw the heavy bloodstained bag hanging from his shoulder. He wound through the trees and tents, searching for the Nurian area. Flintcrest had moved his men in the night, marching south, choosing a wide route around the lake, up the eastern side of Stumps, and into the Emperor’s Preserve. Though the wilds were dense, they didn’t span that many acres, and the army wouldn’t remain hidden for long. Flintcrest must intend to strike soon. What target? The Imperial Barracks?
Sicarius found the Nurian tent, not by the lack of activity around it this time, but by voices coming from within. Elsewhere, only snores emanated from the tents, the soldiers sleeping hard after their night’s work. From dozens of meters away, he heard the Nurians, speaking in their own tongue, their voices raised in argument.
Though he suspected Kor Nas would know his precise location, Sicarius slowed his approach to listen.
“The assassin is acceptable,” a young man said. “Nobody back home objects to that method of dealing with enemies, and using one of their own people to deliver the killing blows, it’s a better choice than the soul construct, but I don’t want you to send him after Enemy Chief Fox.”
Who? Sicarius stopped outside the tent flap. He knew the Nurians gave animal nicknames to their honored chiefs and some of their enemies as well, but he had only worked in Nuria once and wasn’t familiar with many of them.
“Your attitude… puzzles me, He shu,” Kor Nas said. Ah, he was speaking to the diplomat. “To lay his head at your father’s feet, would that not be a great prize? Resulting in great honor and prestige for your family? For twenty years, he made the Turgonians untouchable at sea, and he destroyed more of our ships-our crews-than one can count.”
An uncharacteristic bout of anxiety wormed into Sicarius’s belly. Starcrest.
“If he dies in the fighting here, so be it,” the diplomat said, “but I do not wish to be the cause.”
Kor Nas did not speak for a long moment, and Sicarius expected to be called inside, anticipating that the practitioner had paused because his senses had alerted him to Sicarius’s presence. But when Kor Nas spoke again, it was to continue the conversation.
“I do not understand why you feel that way, He shu, but if you do not wish to lay Enemy Chief Fox’s head at the Great Chief’s feet, allow me the honor. As soon as his hiding place is discovered, I will send the assassin, and-”
“No.”
Another long pause. “Your stubbornness in this matter mystifies me. He is an enemy of Nuria. To have a chance at him and not take it is tantamount to treason.” Kor Nas lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Your father would not be pleased if he learned that you could have arranged his death and turned your back on the opportunity.”
“I do not appreciate the implication that you would go to my father and speak ill of me, Kor Nas.” The young man managed an impressive amount of cold menace in his voice. Was he a practitioner as well? One capable of standing toe-to-toe with Kor Nas? It seemed unlikely in one half of Kor Nas’s age. If he was one of the Great Chief’s sons, perhaps he believed himself untouchable because of his father’s influence. An unwise assumption, perhaps, if he chose to let Starcrest live. Indeed, the Nurians would likely see that as treason, even if twenty years had passed since the war. Sicarius understood Kor Nas’s logic, but he found himself hoping the younger man had a way to stand up to him effectively.
“Do not force me to do so then, He shu.”
“Do you think my father will care? We’re not here to settle old grudges. We’re here because our people are hungry, and our resources are limited. Our soil is depleted after thousands of years of farming, there’s scarcely any coal or ore left in the mountains, and few of the great forests remain standing. My father wants a deal with the Turgonians, some of the resources they have so many of, and that is all that he cares about.”
“He’ll be more likely to get that deal if all of Flintcrest’s enemies are thwarted. Starcrest can only be here to cause trouble.”
“We don’t know why he’s here. Maybe he heard about the nascent fighting and came to collect whatever family he has left in the area.”
“Don’t be naive. Let me send the assassin.”
“What honor is there in killing a gray-haired old man, Kor Nas? It’s been over twenty years since he bothered us. He probably walks with a cane, has three teeth left in his mouth, and can’t remember half of the crimes he committed against our people.”
“He is my age, He shu.” Sicarius had never heard the practitioner so dry. “I know at thirty it seems that anyone over sixty must be doddering and infirm, but I assure you this isn’t so.”
The diplomat had the grace to clear his throat, but he didn’t give up his argument. “Yes, but you’re a practitioner, not a warrior. You will retain your power as long as your mind remains sharp. Enemy Chief Fox was a marine.”
Kor Nas grunted. “He did not receive that moniker because of his sword arm, boy. I know you know that. He will be dangerous as long as his mind remains sharp. Are you not worried about why he is here? It may be true that your father didn’t care about him so long as he was on that island, but now that he is back in the empire… I’m warning you, to leave him alive be would be treason.”
“If his mind is still sharp, maybe he’ll have no trouble defeating your assassin, leaving you out here without a pet to watch your back while you work your craft.”
“Oh, I’m confident in the abilities of my assassin.” Kor Nas raised his voice-he needn’t have bothered. “Enter, my pet.”
Had Sicarius been capable of ignoring the derogatory summons, he would have. Even as his feet led him through the flap and into the tent, he longed to sling the heavy bag at the practitioner’s head, yank out his dagger, and drive the blade into his heart. All his arms would do, however, was lower his burden. He untied the cord binding the stained canvas shut and dumped the contents.
Seven heads rolled onto the carpet between the two Nurians.
The diplomat, fully clothed, shaved, and dressed with his flute and pipe ornamentation despite the early hour, didn’t stumble backward or flinch at the grisly trophies, but he did stare down at them for a long moment, his mouth set in a hard line. When his gaze lifted to Sicarius’s face for a wary few seconds, Sicarius read the fear in his eyes, though he tried to mask his features.