The Emperor's Edge (a high fantasy mystery in an era of steam) by Lindsay Buroker
Chapter 15
Before dawn, on the icy dock outside of the cannery, Amaranthe tightened her boot laces. Despite chilled fingers, she took the time to ensure each loop was the same size and tails of identical length hung free from each knot. She wished Hollowcrest’s minions hadn’t taken her spiked leather training shoes—and everything else she owned.
She grabbed her mittens, stood, and jumped in surprise when Sicarius coalesced out of the darkness. No hint of pink brightened the sky over the distant mountains, so she could not see his face, but then it rarely expressed much anyway.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Was his voice less cool than it had been the day before? She wished she had offered that apology, but bringing it up now would feel awkward.
“To run the lake trail,” Amaranthe said.
“It’s too early. The creature could still be hunting.”
Which was the point. She needed a good look so she could describe this deadly mystery beast to Akstyr. If he could identify it, maybe he could also suggest how to kill it. She planned to run along the waterfront and out toward Fort Urgot, where copious mature trees lined the trail. If it did show up, she hoped to have time to climb out of reach.
All she said to Sicarius was, “You’re out here training every morning before dawn.”
“Very well. Let’s go.”
She blinked. Was that an invitation to join him?
Before she could ask for clarification, he trotted up the dock toward the street. A backward glance suggested he meant for her to follow.
She subdued a grimace and jogged after him, snow and ice crunching beneath her boots. A witness for her first day back, wouldn’t that be lovely?
They turned onto the street and headed for the trail.
“I’m usually a decent runner, but I’m sure I won’t be able to keep up with you today.” Amaranthe hated the idea of wheezing at a mediocre pace in front of him. “Not after being sick and missing so many days of exercise.”
When he did not respond, she forced herself not to utter more preemptive excuses. Why did it matter what he thought anyway?
They passed the first mile in silence, and the docks and warehouses of the waterfront dropped behind. Bare-limbed trees, evergreen shrubbery, and snowy hills marched past. No doubt Sicarius’s gaze absorbed it all. Amaranthe tended to use her running time for inward thoughts, but this morning her eyes probed the shadowy terrain as well.
“May I ask a question?” she asked when minutes drifted past with nothing jumping out at them. Since he was letting her set the pace, her words came out conversationally rather than in spurts and puffs.
A glance her direction was his only response. Not exactly a yes but close enough.
“What’s a Hunter?” She had not forgotten Akstyr’s question from that first morning at the ice house.
“Do you refer to the Nurian word, istapa?” Sicarius asked. “Wizard Hunter?”
“Uh, maybe.”
“How much do you know about Nuria’s history?” he asked.
“About what your average former-business-student-turned-enforcer knows.”
“Little, then.”
“Exactly.” Amaranthe jogged around a large broken branch stretched across the trail.
Sicarius glided over it without breaking stride. “Where we have a warrior caste, Nuria is ruled by a wizard caste. Those who cannot access the mental sciences—the majority of the population—are laborers and slaves. As with our system, there is friction between those with power and those without. Hundreds of years ago, an anti-wizard organization developed with the intention of usurping the government. They believed people could develop an immunity to the mental sciences, especially invasive telepathy, by conditioning the mind.” He spoke as easily as if he were sitting at a table rather than running, but then this pace could hardly challenge him.
“Is that possible?” Sweat dampened Amaranthe’s shirt and stung her eyes. She removed her mittens.
“To some degree. With decades of mental training, you can learn to defend against mind-control techniques. It does no good against indirect attacks, however. A wizard could still levitate a rock and hurl it at you. Nonetheless, the idea of creating a man who could resist mental torture and whose thoughts could not be read by telepaths appealed to many. The cerebral training was combined with combat training, and the organization called their warriors Wizard Hunters, which is often shortened to Hunters.”
“I assume they didn’t succeed in overthrowing the government.”
“No, the time and dedication needed to complete the training meant few finished it. Though Hunters have become legendary in Nuria—and feared by wizards—the organization never developed enough clout to threaten the status quo.”
Time to ask what she was really wondering: “Are you one of these Hunters?”
“No.”
“Akstyr heard it somewhere.”
“There are many rumors about me.”
“No kidding.” Amaranthe wasn’t yet panting, but carrying on a conversation was growing more challenging. Another mile and she would turn back. “One does wonder where Akstyr would have gotten that idea.”
He did not respond. Only the scrape of her boots on the sanded trail broke the silence. As usual, Sicarius whispered soundlessly over the earth, like a spirit. She couldn’t even hear him breathing, and only small puffs of fog appeared in the air before his face.
“Did you have any training for it?” Amaranthe asked. “I apologize for prying...but I’m curious because...if you have any special skills...that would help fight this creature...it’d be good to know.”
“I do not,” Sicarius said. “If that creature is some wizard’s spawn, it would be made from the mental sciences—probably crafted to be impervious to weapons—but it could not access them itself. A full Hunter may be able to harm the maker, but would be ineffective against the beast.”
Full Hunter? Did that imply he was a partial one? Maybe he had had some training—the same way he had had cartography training—but not as much as one needed to qualify for the title. Or maybe she was imagining hints that weren’t there. Still, he did seem to have a better idea what the creature was than he was admitting.
“Regardless, there are no Hunters in Stumps,” Sicarius said.
“Too bad.”
Before she could pepper him with further questions, a pair of soldiers clomped into sight on the trail ahead. With their black fatigues and training rucksacks, their occupation was unmistakable even in the dark.
Amaranthe’s breath caught. Wholt’s death reared in her mind again. Sicarius wouldn’t attack them, would he? Surely, he didn’t kill every enforcer or soldier he passed. Maybe he would veer into the trees to avoid them.
Sicarius’s gait didn’t falter, nor did he leave the trail, though he did speed up and move in front of Amaranthe. The soldiers passed on the left without a word, and she blew out a relieved breath. Several times, she glanced back, but in the darkness, they appeared not to have recognized either of them. The men soon disappeared around a curve in the lake.
Lights appeared on a distant hilltop, outlining the walls of the fort.
“This is far enough for me for the first day.” Amaranthe slowed and then stopped to grab a handful of snow. “We haven’t seen any sign of the creature, so there’s no reason for you to run back with me. I’m sure you’ll want to do some real training.” She chomped on the snow, rolling it around in her mouth to melt it. The water sent a chill down her gullet, but it felt good.
Sicarius looked farther down the trail. He probably ran twice as fast and four times as far on his own.
“Very well,” he said.
“Before you go, uhm. About the other night.” Amaranthe thumbed the clump of snow, sending powder to the ground. Why was it so hard to apologize for this? Because she wasn’t really sorry? Because Wholt had been her partner? “When I yelled at you, I didn’t mean... I mean, I did sort of, but you thought you were helping. You were helping,
He said nothing.
She sighed, not really expecting anything else. Still, she had said it. Maybe it would matter to him in some small way.
Amaranthe turned back toward the city. Time to get moving again.
“Lokdon,” Sicarius said.
She looked over her shoulder, hoping for...she wasn’t sure exactly. “Yes?”
“Stay alert.”
Her lip twitched up and she gave him a soldier’s salute. It was a start.
She headed back.
In his absence, the predawn darkness felt lonely and oppressive. Few sounds disturbed the lakeside. No animals skittered across the trail; no birds chirped from the trees. A breeze stirred the bare branches, rattling them like bones. She regretted urging Sicarius to leave.
A scream sounded beyond a bend in the trail. She skidded to a stop, then darted for the closest tree before her mind caught up with her reflexes. That had been a human scream, not the unearthly screech of the creature. Still, humans rarely screamed on dark trails for good reasons, and a moment passed before she coerced her legs into moving forward again.
Hand on her knife, ears cocked, she eased around the bend. Beneath the waning starlight, two bodies sprawled on the trail, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Rucksacks, black fatigues... The soldiers. Neither figure moved.
Her foot bumped something on the edge of the trail. It rolled away from her. The object lacked the heft of a rock, but in the weak light, she could not make out details. Amaranthe reached down to investigate, and her fingers brushed against human hair.
She jerked her arm back, and her heart leapt into double time. She took a steadying breath, forcing reason into her mind. However distressing, a severed head was not a mystifying find next to a couple of bodies.
She examined it more closely. The head had been torn off.
The creature.
Light blue had crept into the eastern sky, but trees and bushes created shadows and offered dozens of hiding spots on either side of the trail. Ears straining, she listened for footfalls or breathing. This had just happened, so the creature could not have gone far.
Amaranthe skirted the head and approached the bodies. The gouges tearing flesh and bone apart appeared the same as those she had seen on the dead man outside the icehouse.
A familiar screech tore through the foothills. Even though she expected it, Amaranthe flinched.
At least the creature was not right on the trail beside her. It had headed inland.
Several moments of squinting into the gloom let her find tracks trampling the snow beside the trail. She knelt and probed the cold craters. The size of the prints dwarfed her hand, but it was the shape that drew her interest. They were asymmetrical, even lopsided, with five clawed digits on one paw and four on the other, none of them balanced. She had long suspected the creature was nothing natural, but a thrum of excitement went through her. Perhaps she finally had some proof. No one could look at the prints and think bear or panther. Amaranthe glanced at the sky, noting the lack of clouds. With no snow heading in, the tracks would remain for searchers to discover.
“Once the soldiers see this, they’ll know there’s magic about,” she muttered.
“Perhaps.”
Maybe she was growing accustomed to Sicarius’s stealthy approaches, because she did not jump this time. She could have hugged him though. Being out here alone was about as appealing as roaming an old battlefield during a full Spirit Moon.
“I doubt their upbringing will allow them to see the truth,” Sicarius said.
“Some of the soldiers who have been stationed on the borders must know these mental sciences exist.”
“Some.” As he spoke, Sicarius circled the area, head up, eyes scanning. “It’s been almost twenty years since the last war with Nuria though. Of late, the empire has used more subtle tactics to keep neighboring nations off-balance.”
More subtle, huh? Like sending in assassins? She recalled he spoke at least one foreign language, enough to chat with the shaman who healed her anyway.
“This creature is likely the work of a Nurian wizard,” Sicarius continued.
“And what would the Nurians have to gain by mauling random people in our capital? An invasion I could see—they’d love all our ore and natural resources, but simple mayhem?”
He did not answer.
Amaranthe stepped off the trail. “We have to get a look at it to tell Akstyr, see if he knows more. It left tracks, so we can follow it.”
“The creature has nothing to do with our goal,” Sicarius said.
“Someone has to stop it or it’ll go on killing people.”
“So?”
She scowled at him. “So, the emperor wouldn’t want his citizens being mutilated by some bloodthirsty monster.”
Since she had stopped running, her body had cooled. Cold air licked through her damp clothes, and she shivered. “Let’s go.”
Amaranthe started up the hill, following the tracks. She had only taken a few steps when Sicarius’s voice halted her.
“No.”
She turned. “No?”
“We cannot fight it.”
“I’m not planning to fight it. We just need to find out what it is we’re dealing with.”
Sicarius pointed at the shredded corpses. “They found out. It killed them. It will not let us walk up, shake its hand, and walk away. If we get close, it’ll kill us too.”
“You’re afraid,” Amaranthe blurted.
As soon as she voiced the words, she regretted it. She had uttered them as a revelation, but they sounded like an accusation. Or a challenge.
Sicarius did not respond, though he stood still, face like stone.
While she could not retract her words, maybe she could soften them. “I do not judge you for it. I merely wonder why, when you seem to fear no one.”
“I have no fear of men. They are soft and easily dispatched. Their creations are more powerful and less predictable. It’s likely our weapons won’t work against it.”
“I understand. And I’m scared too,” Amaranthe said. At least he did not sound angry. She had never seen him lose his temper and never wanted to. “But I think this is tied to our goal. Arbitan Losk had newspapers clippings of every story that’s been printed about this creature, and there’s magic guarding that house, when magic is forbidden in the empire. You and Akstyr both tell me this creature was made with the mental sciences. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“You said nothing to me of the newspaper clippings.”
“No, because you were displaying...snippiness yesterday.”
“Snippiness?” he asked.
“It’s a word.”
“I think not.”
“I’ll ask Books when we get back.” Amaranthe smiled and held out her hand toward the tracks.
“Very well.” Sicarius led the way inland.
As they climbed the incline, the trees near the lake dwindled, replaced by cleared fields around the garrison. The ground leveled to an oft-traversed area used by the soldiers for parades and training, with a pavilion and bleachers in the distance. A nervous twinge ran through Amaranthe. The emperor’s birthday celebration was usually hosted out here. Was it possible the creature was scouting the area?
Hundreds of footprints tamped the snow, and she kept losing the creature’s trail. It took enormous bounds that left wide gaps between the tracks, and its path was not entirely linear. Sicarius followed the intermittent traces with some sense she did not possess.
To the distant left, a road wound up to the front gates of the garrison. Voices counting in unison drifted out—soldiers doing warm-up exercises before their company runs. Across the parade field and up a hill, a water tower rose, its bulk dark and distinct against the brightening sky. The creature’s tracks steered away from the garrison and headed toward the tower.
“Maybe it’s thirsty after all that killing,” Amaranthe said with grim humor. “Though
“No,” Sicarius said. “That is its destination.”
Amaranthe eyed the tracks, wondering at his certainty. “Why a water tower?”
“It’s strategically important.”
“And this would be relevant to the creature because...”
“The tower is always guarded by a couple of men,” Sicarius said.
“Oh,” Amaranthe said. And then, “Oh,” as the true meaning poured over her. “Two targets with no one else around.”
“Precisely.”
A crumbling wall and scattered chunks of brick and concrete littered the hilltop, remains of the original water tower, Amaranthe guessed, likely built before the Turgonians mastered steel production. Four metal columns and a central stem supported the new structure, a gleaming cylindrical tank more than fifty feet high at the top. A squat, windowless hut sat beside it. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and the rumbling of a steam pump reverberated from the walls.
A throwing knife in hand, Sicarius stayed low as he advanced, hugging the ruins. Amaranthe tried not to make noise as she trailed him. If the soldiers on guard were still alive, she did not want to draw their attention. If they were dead and the creature lurked, she did not want to draw its attention either.
Her foot snapped something brittle beneath the snow. Sicarius looked at her.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
After that, she went her own way. He would not appreciate her giving away his position.
She skirted the other side of the ruins. Prints tracked through the snow—first only boots, but soon familiar massive paw marks trod across them.
The only thing we’re going to find up here is more dead soldiers.
The wall ended in a crumbled heap. When Amaranthe moved around the end, she almost stepped on a mauled body. Before stopping to inspect, she glanced around, searching for the killer. The still, white landscape showed her nothing.
This body was worse than the others. An arm and leg had been ripped off, and the face was shredded beyond recognition. Brain matter spilled from the shattered skull and steamed in the chill air. Several yards away, a musket stuck out of a drift, its barrel warped and the stock missing. A dusting of black powder scattered the snow.
“This just happened,” Amaranthe called, struggling for detachment.
“Another body over here,” Sicarius said from the other side of the ruins. “Still twitching. We should leave before—”
The primal screech clutched Amaranthe’s heart like a vise. She whirled toward the source. Down the hill, across the field, at the edge of a copse of alders, two eyes reflected the pink rays of dawn. They were looking straight at her.
In the next heartbeat, the creature charged out of the trees. Though panther-shaped, it reminded her of the blocky vagueness of a clay statue sculpted by a child. But there was nothing childlike in the way it moved. Power surged beneath those muscles. It soared toward them, covering twenty yards with every bound.
“The shed.” She ran to the building. A lock hung from the door, barring entry. “Need the key. Search the bodies.”
“There’s no time,” Sicarius said. “Climb!”
He leapt onto the nearest column and scaled it like a squirrel running up an oak. Amaranthe searched for a ladder. There was not one.
She grabbed the icy steel with both hands. The edges cut into her hands, and her boots slipped off the smooth metal rivets. Her progress was slow. Too slow.
The unearthly shriek came again, much closer. The beast surged over the crown of the hill, snow churning beneath its paws.
Amaranthe was less than half way to the bottom of the tank. Surely the creature would leap and tear her from her perch. She would probably be dead before she landed.
Stop thinking. Climb!
Fingers scrabbling for grips, she tried to pull herself up faster. The beast bunched its muscles to jump. Amaranthe braced herself.
A flash of silver spun down from above. The throwing knife struck the creature in one yellow eye. The weapon bounced off as if it had hit steel. It landed in the snow, blade glittering uselessly.
Fortunately, the attack distracted the beast. Instead of leaping, it bounded past Amaranthe’s pole.
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 p
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 cannons.
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.