He still remembered the day when Hollowcrest had dropped Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s Mathematical Probabilities Applied to Military Strategies into his hands. He’d been nine. At that age, he’d already read Starcrest’s simpler and more useful, at least for Sicarius’s future career, Applications of the Kinetic Chain Principle in Close Combat, along with numerous other books on tactics and strategies from other authors-though Hollowcrest hadn’t anticipated that Sicarius would need a thorough military education for his work, he hadn’t discouraged the interest. Sicarius had also studied the careers of the important Turgonian admirals and generals from the empire’s history, so he’d been aware of Starcrest beforehand, but this had been the first thing he’d read that had been written in first person by the admiral himself. Probabilities had been too advanced for him to understand at that age-some of the math was still too advanced for him, he admitted dryly, and with a little sadness for an education that Hollowcrest had deemed finished once he was completing missions for the throne-but he’d devoured the real world examples from Starcrest’s own victories, and from the rare losses. In that book, a hint of the man’s self-effacing personality had shown through, and something about it had drawn Sicarius to want to learn more about him.
Not disapproving of the obsession, Hollowcrest had supplied third-person accounts of his battles and even copies of a few of Starcrest’s personal reports and mission summaries. Those had been brief, though, without any of the… personality that had occasionally shown up in Probabilities. Looking back as an adult, Sicarius wondered if Starcrest had been trying to excite future officers about the field of mathematics. Either way, he’d been secretly-oh, so secretly-delighted when he’d stumbled across Captain Starcrest in the West Markiis. Ten years old at the time, Sicarius had been reporting to an officer-tutor in the intelligence office for linguistics lessons when he’d spotted the book on the man’s desk. The lieutenant had cleared his throat and hastily stuffed it into a drawer, but not before Sicarius saw the title. He’d returned in the middle of the night to sit under that desk and devour the story by candlelight. Over the next year, he’d risked much to acquire other titles in the series. Hollowcrest had forbidden Sicarius to read fiction, calling it a waste of time, and he’d been caught twice with the books. It had been his own fault for daring to keep some of the copies he’d acquired, favorites that he’d wanted to read again. The first time, the punishment had been tolerable if unpleasant. The second time… had convinced him not to hunt down any more of the books. But for months afterward, he’d lain in his bunk at night, imagining himself as a young officer on the Striker or the Emperor’s Wrath, performing heroic feats to win Starcrest’s regard and eventually working himself up to second-in-command.
Sicarius sighed and rolled onto his side, the lumpy snow beneath the carpet pressing into his ribs. He was surprised at how much he remembered of those days, and how vivid the memories were. To be forced to kill Starcrest now…
Kor Nas couldn’t know that he’d been given that assignment twice in his life already and refused to accept it both times. But now, he wouldn’t be able to. He could slag himself for ever sending that letter.
If he could have foreseen these events…
Enough. He needed to do more than lament his fate; he needed to find a way to avoid it.
Yes, how?
Kill Kor Nas, he thought promptly and not for the first time. But he’d already tried. The first night they lay like this, the Nurians snoring on their cots and Sicarius on the carpet, he’d stood, silent as a shadow, and tried to plunge his dagger into the practitioner’s chest. He’d managed to lift the blade overhead, but his muscles had locked. The opal embedded in his temple had flashed an angry warning, sending a stab of pain into his brain, and his arms had never started their downward descent. He’d stood there, seconds bleeding past as he mentally wrestled with it, trying to find a way around the artifact’s power, but he’d failed. A few minutes later, he’d lain back down, breathing heavily, but not so much as to wake anyone. Kor Nas had slept through it all, not concerned in the least that his “pet” would-could-turn on him.
So get someone else to kill him, eh?
Sicarius let the thought hang in the silence for a while, considering it from a few different angles. With Kor Nas’s death, the power of the opal should fade, or at least have no direction. The leash might remain until he could figure out a way to remove it, but the handler at the other end would be gone.
But who could kill Kor Nas? Thus far, the practitioner had sent Sicarius out on independent missions-assassinations-while remaining in camp, but if Flintcrest meant to march on the city, he’d want his Nurian wizard along, blowing things up and adding to the enemy’s chaos. In such a battle, Kor Nas might be a target, but he would keep Sicarius at his side. That was what Nurian battle wizards did-employ bodyguards to allow them to concentrate on their Science. In such a situation, Sicarius had no doubt he’d be compelled to protect Kor Nas.
So, he needed to pit Kor Nas against someone capable of both bypassing Sicarius and killing a practitioner. Or simply killing them both. The bleak thought didn’t repel him as much as it would have once. With little left to live for, this might be more apropos than suicide. If he could take Kor Nas down with him, and in doing so, assure Starcrest would live… Starcrest was the one person, he believed, who might achieve what Amaranthe and Sespian had failed to do: create a better empire.
Yes. Sicarius rolled onto his back again and placed his hands behind his head. This would be an act worth dying for.
But how? Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, Amaranthe’s face was the first one to pop into his thoughts as someone who could concoct a scheme that would bury a wizard and his bodyguard beneath a mountain of rubble. But she wasn’t around any more to do that. And she’d risk herself trying to save him, anyway, instead of accepting that he and his master-in the darkness, with nobody watching, Sicarius allowed his lip to curl at the word-had to be slain. His belly shivered at the idea of Amaranthe approaching him while he was under Kor Nas’s influence. Once again, he remembered Darkcrest Isle and his fingers wrapped about her neck.
Stop it, he told himself. She’s dead. It’s moot.
He needed someone else capable of the job. Starcrest himself was the logical person. But Sicarius had defeated him the one time the admiral had attacked him, and Starcrest was twenty years older now. Slower. While Sicarius was still in his prime. Or close to it anyway.
True, Starcrest had seen him as a boy back then and had underestimated him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Still, Sicarius would win in a purely physical confrontation between the two of them. But if the admiral had warning, time to plan something…
A snort came from the cot above. Sicarius’s thoughts hiccuped to a halt. Had Kor Nas woken? Had he been listening to Sicarius’s mind spin all along?
The snort, more of a gurgle, came again. Kor Nas rolled over and started snoring.
Sicarius exhaled slowly. No, the practitioner slept on. Here, and here alone, he could think without being monitored. He had to take advantage of that and come up with a plan before dawn.
Go in person? He couldn’t. For one thing, he didn’t know where Starcrest was. Beyond that, Kor Nas would wake if Sicarius tried to escape. He’d tried to walk away before and had been compelled, after a blast of pain seared his brain, to return. Kor Nas had been waiting for him, a slit-eyed glare on his face.