“ Why I enjoy spending time with the man is a mystery,” she muttered and tried not to find his parting words ominous.
Part II
Twilight bathed the lake, and shadows blurred the features of Darkcrest Isle. Though the sun had set, humidity thickened the air, and the temperature had dropped little. Amaranthe stroked toward the island, cool water lapping at her shoulders. She was too nervous to appreciate the reprieve from the heat that swimming offered. While she stroked, she held her shoes, sword, and crossbow overhead to keep them dry. Freshly applied poison darkened the tip of the loaded quarrel, and four more waited in the chamber.
Sicarius swam along at her side, but he had said little since he returned from the woods. What he had been doing up there, she could only guess, but he was more tight-lipped than ever.
They swam toward a snarl of fallen logs that would offer cover once they climbed out. One of Amaranthe’s kicks scraped the pebbly shallows, and she maneuvered her feet beneath her, staying low in case anyone was watching the beach.
A few steps took her to the end of the log snarl, and Amaranthe crouched there, eyes probing the darkness. At the head of the beach, evergreens rose, thick and densely packed trees that had never seen a logger’s axe. Two dark shapes lay side-by-side on the pebbles before the woods, and she squinted, trying to guess what they were. The odor of rotting meat lingered in the air. Just a dead fish washed up nearby, she told herself.
“See any sign of our thieves?” she asked when Sicarius crouched next to her.
He did not answer, or maybe he shook his head. It was hard to tell in the gloom. Amaranthe put on her shoes, grimacing at the sand stuck to her damp feet, then strapped on the sword. Lastly, she grabbed the crossbow, tucking it into the crook of her arm, so she would be ready to fire in an instant.
A muggy breeze whispered through, moaning softly as it passed the rocky ravine that framed the riverhead south of the island, like a breath blown over the lip of a bottle. The noise stirred the hair on the back of her neck, or perhaps it was simply the wildness of the island. The capital city, with its population of one million, lay only a few miles away, but here… It felt like they were hundreds of miles from civilization.
“Any thoughts on which way we should go?” Amaranthe asked.
Heartbeats thumped past while she waited for an answer. She touched Sicarius on the shoulder, and he stirred. He bent and tugged on his own soft boots.
“Are you all right?” Amaranthe whispered. “You’re even quieter than usual.”
“I must concentrate,” Sicarius said.
“On what?” She thought of the way Akstyr had to utterly focus to access his mental powers. But Sicarius had never trained in the Science, at least so far as she knew.
“I smell a campfire.” He pointed inland.
If there was smoke, the darkening sky hid it.
Amaranthe waited a moment to see if he would take the lead. He did not. Shrugging, she led the way up the beach, though she paused to take a closer look at the shapes. She soon wished she hadn’t.
Two human skeletons, meat long since picked from the bones, faced each other on the rocks. One’s arms were outstretched, hands locked around the other’s neck, or what remained of it. The other skeleton gripped a dagger, the blade thrust into his foe’s ribs.
“Fight to the death,” Amaranthe murmured. “It happened a while ago, though. I’m surprised the bones weren’t torn away by scavengers, but I suppose it’s mostly small game this close to the city. Rats and carrion birds perhaps.” Talking about it in that analytical tone helped to distance herself from the horror. She had seen plenty of dead bodies in her life, but it made her uneasy, wondering why these people might have killed each other. Why visit Darkcrest Isle for a duel to the death?
“ Adon tsk zeel tu,” Sicarius said.
“Uhm, what?” Amaranthe asked.
“What?”
“What did you just say?” Amaranthe asked.
“That we should get off the beach.”
“In what language?”
“Turgonian.” His voice rarely contained any nuances that would hint of his thoughts or emotions, but he said the word in a faintly puzzled tone, as if he thought she were the one who was crazy.
“Not unless it was some old dialect I’ve never heard,” Amaranthe said.
A long moment passed before he said, “We should complete this task and get off the island as soon as possible.”
“On that we can agree.”
Amaranthe led the way along the beach, looking for a place to turn inland. Bushes and brambles created dense undergrowth amongst the evergreens, and she did not like the idea of using her sword to hack a trail. That would be noisy going, and she had hopes of catching the thieves unaware.
Amaranthe caught sight of the boat the thieves had used and veered toward it. In the growing darkness, she struggled to see details and ended up patting around the inside. Maybe the thieves had left some of their purloined goods.
The bottom of the boat was mostly empty, but she found two items. One felt like a rifle bullet, though longer than she was familiar with. It must be one of the cartridges Sicarius mentioned. The second object had a similar shape, but it was bigger than her fist. Another cartridge but for a larger weapon, perhaps? She dumped both into a cargo pocket on the side of her trousers.
“We’d best assume they have loaded firearms. Maybe cannons.” Amaranthe stood and turned, almost bumping into Sicarius who loomed dark and silent behind her. “Want to see if you can find their trail?”
He always seemed to have preternatural skills, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he could track people at night.
Without a word, he headed inland.
Crossbow in hand, Amaranthe followed. It bothered her to admit it, even if only to herself, but she was not certain she wanted him behind her at the moment. Something odd was going on.
Sicarius found a game trail between the trees and glided up a path. Bushes and branches choked it, but he maneuvered through it soundlessly while Amaranthe struggled to push through without making noise. It was almost as if he were an ancestor spirit himself tonight. Strange and inscrutable. More so than usual.
Amaranthe wiped sweat from her brow, and wished the breeze rustling through the undergrowth would bring cool air. It did not, but it did offer the scent of burning wood. The campfire Sicarius had mentioned. It seemed strange that those thieves would light a fire, something that could serve as a beacon. Maybe it was a trap.
“Should we be going straight up the trail to it?” Amaranthe whispered.
Only the wind answered her. She paused to listen for rustling on the trail ahead, but there was nothing.
“Impossible man,” she muttered. Maybe he intended to do the deed on his own. She was inclined to turn thieves over to the magistrate rather than kill them, but for spies stealing imperial technology, death would be the ultimate punishment regardless.
A crack sounded, and Amaranthe dropped to the ground. A gunshot? No, dozens of branches snapped and foliage rattled. Almost too late, she realized it was a tree falling. She scampered back as a breeze battered at her. The trunk crashed across her path, less than two feet from her.
Heart pounding against her ribs, she gaped at it. Only luck had kept one of its substantial branches from hitting her.
Amaranthe swallowed, remembering another time with Sicarius in the woods. A tree had nearly dropped on her, and he had pulled her to safety. That had been during a fierce wind-and-lightning storm though. This was a calm summer evening.
She tore her gaze from the log and looked for Sicarius. Surely he had heard that. Why hadn’t he come back to check on her?
Because he’s not himself, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.
Amaranthe put a foot on the log, intending to climb over it and continue on, but soft clacks reached her ear, and she paused. Now what?