Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (26 page)

Chapter 11

Sicarius was making Basilard nervous.

He kept stopping and gazing back the way they had come, up a trail following a stream flowing through the center of the canyon. For most of the trip, Sicarius had been scouting ahead of the group, but every mile or so, he returned and looked thoughtfully behind them.

Do you believe we’re being followed?
Basilard asked.

“No.”

Basilard stopped.
Then why the long looks toward the rear?

Amaranthe and Corporal Jomrik had been walking behind Basilard, so they, too, stopped. Amaranthe did not appear confused or mystified by Sicarius’s gazes. Maybe he had confided something to her.

Sicarius didn’t answer immediately. Indeed, he looked to Amaranthe, as if she could articulate the answer more clearly than he could. Or perhaps he was wondering if he needed to answer at all. The man was known to simply stare emotionlessly in response to questions.

“He’s not sure we made the right choice in sending Mahliki with Ashara,” Amaranthe said.

Oh.
Basilard had always considered Amaranthe the better of the two at reading people, but maybe he had some insight into Ashara that they had not considered.
You believe she might try to do something malicious?

“I have no reason to trust her,” Sicarius said. “I also have no reason to believe she would be an adequate bodyguard for Mahliki if they run into trouble.”

She’s a capable archer and fighter,
Basilard signed.
We saw evidence of that numerous times on our way here.

“But would she risk herself on Mahliki’s behalf?” Sicarius said. “Does she have a reason to?”

“Mahliki can take care of herself,” Amaranthe said firmly. “We discussed this.”

Sicarius’s expression did not change much, but Basilard had the impression that he was not pleased.

I did not know that Mahliki’s welfare was a concern of yours
, Basilard signed, trying to find a tactful way to point out that Sicarius usually didn’t care one way or another whether people lived or died, with Amaranthe and his son being the rare exceptions.
Is it because she is the president’s daughter?

Sicarius
did
regard Starcrest highly. Even if the old emperor had been training him from birth to be an assassin, something that had left Sicarius with more than a few personality quirks, apparently, he had read Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s books on strategy in his youth and idolized him.

Sicarius cocked his head. “Sespian has chosen to mate with her.”

Jomrik made a choking noise. Basilard did not know if it was because this wasn’t a usual topic of conversation for the taciturn assassin or because Jomrik had been entertaining mating thoughts involving Mahliki himself.

“Ah, it all makes sense now,” Maldynado said with a wink toward Basilard. “Sicarius is playing the role of overprotective father-in-law.”

Sicarius gazed coolly at him and did not comment. As far as Basilard knew, Mahliki and Sespian were simply dating, so notions of in-laws seemed premature. But Amaranthe smiled slightly and nodded.

“But are you sure they’ve actually
mated
?” Maldynado asked. “Sespian is the gentlemanly type, someone who might take matters slow with a lady. Or so I assume. He always refuses to answer my questions on the topic.”

“Good,” Amaranthe murmured, waving that they should continue down the trail.

“Does he answer
your
questions on the matter, Sicarius?” Maldynado resumed walking, but his mischievous grin said he wasn’t ready to give up the conversation.

“My questions?” Sicarius said flatly and uninvitingly.

“Yes, fathers and sons are supposed to discuss women, work, and drinking. He’s led a sheltered life. He may need your advice on womanly matters.” Judging by the gleam in Maldynado’s eyes, he did not truly believe this statement.

Amaranthe gave him a warning glare over her shoulder, but Maldynado chose not to notice.

“I only give him advice on matters related to combat and fitness,” Sicarius said. Basilard thought that would be the end of the conversation, but he looked to Amaranthe, as if wondering if Maldynado’s words held truth and he was failing at some familial duty. Sicarius might be a killer with few feelings toward humanity in general, but he always did seem interested in doing right by his son. Given that Sespian was twenty now and that they had interacted little during Sespian’s upbringing, Sicarius didn’t always know what
right
was. Sadly, Basilard imagined himself interacting with his daughter someday, when she, too, was grown, and feeling just as awkward and inept.

“That’s fine,” Amaranthe said. “I’m not sure he even wants that advice.”

“When I have attempted to interject on other matters, he has appeared uncomfortable,” Sicarius said.

“Such as?” Maldynado asked.

“I suggested that his adopted daughter, as a Nurian living in Turgonia, should learn self-defense.”

“Isn’t she seven?”

“I offered to make her a wooden training sword,” Sicarius said. “Sespian gave her a paint set instead.”

“Odd,” Maldynado said.

“Yes.”

Basilard had resumed walking, but he increased the pace. They were close enough to the Kendorian encampment that they should be paying more attention to their surroundings. Besides, he felt a kinship to Sicarius in the matter of children, and he did not wish to see him teased. Not that Maldynado’s teasing would likely bother Sicarius—if it did, Sicarius would batter Maldynado senseless in a “sparring” session along the way.

They came to an area where the trail was muddy, the grass growing alongside saturated. The river had backed up for miles with the water spilling over the banks. Eventually, they saw the reason.

A briar patch of logs, branches, and mud thrust outward from each bank, causing the river to narrow. It continued to flow between the barriers, but the water was higher behind the partially constructed dam than in front of it.

Amaranthe stopped to tap her thigh and consider the blockage.

Beavers
, Basilard signed, though he suspected that was obvious, even to his city-dwelling comrades.

“They’ve been busy,” Amaranthe noted.

Basilard expected her to continue on—they were nearing the end of a wide loop they had made so the group could enter the Kendorian camp from upriver, and so that Amaranthe could, as she had requested, see the area. The canyon walls rose to either side of the river, but fertile green earth stretched along both banks. There would have been room enough to graze sheep, not that Basilard thought the Kendorians had any intention of raising livestock here.

The canyon narrows farther downriver
, Basilard signed.
Where the Kendorians are, there isn’t much grass. Just rocky ledges, rocky ledges that now lead to new mine shafts.
He wondered how much progress the intruders had already made. Were the tunnels in their incipient stages, or did a huge maze of them already wind through the cliffs?

“Does it?” Amaranthe nodded, still tap-tap-tapping with her fingers.

Sicarius had gone ahead again, scouting for Kendorians who might be standing guard on a perimeter, but he jogged back to check on the delay. He glanced at the logs, glanced at Amaranthe, and seemed to know right away what she was thinking, because his lips thinned ever so slightly. Disapproval? His face was always so stolid, so hard to read, but Basilard thought he had it right.

“What are you thinking?” He handed her something wrapped in brown paper.

Amaranthe eyed the offering. “Another one?”

“You did not eat breakfast.”

“I was hoping Basilard would make us something sumptuous.”

That morning, Basilard had been too nervous to think of foraging or cooking. Like the others, he had eaten dried Turgonian trail rations.

“The Kyattese doctor suggested one bar a day,” Sicarius said.

“Yes… I haven’t forgotten what she said. Or the utter feeling of betrayal that came over me when she suggested that.”

“What’s this?” Maldynado asked.

“You remember how we went to the Kyatt Islands before starting our missions for the intelligence office?” Amaranthe asked.

“About the, ah, womanly issue?” Maldynado waved in the general direction of Amaranthe’s abdomen.

“If having one’s innards half ripped out by a makarovi can be called womanly, yes.”

“Well, they were your womanly innards, weren’t they?”

“Something like that. Anyway, she was, indeed, more experienced than Turgonian doctors—thank her ancestors, there wasn’t a single suggestion of leeches to exhume the evil vapors.”

Basilard blinked. He remembered that Amaranthe had been wondering if she would be able to have children after that mauling she had taken the year before, but he hadn’t heard about the leeches. Or evil vapors. For all of the engineering and metallurgy knowledge Turgonians had, they could be quite primitive in other areas.

“She was able to heal the womanly innards, as you call them,” Amaranthe said.

“What did
she
call them?” Maldynado asked.

“Fallopian tubes and ovaries.”

“Ew.”

Amaranthe snorted. “She did, however, recommend waiting a couple of years before trying to have a baby. And to spend those years eating foods that promote fertility.”

“And Sicarius’s nasty bars are on the list?” Maldynado asked.

Sicarius’s eyes narrowed slightly, though it may have simply been a defense against a gust of wind that came down the canyon.

“She said to limit tarts, pastries, and anything that actually tastes good,” Amaranthe said. “And to eat oily fish, eggs, and some kind of seaweed they have there that tastes like a mix between rancid octopus and the inside of a soldier’s boot.”

“She also recommended liver and other organ meats,” Sicarius said.

“Yes. The secret ingredients in Sicarius Bars.”

“I’m glad we haven’t seen any makarovi out here,” Maldynado said. “I’d hate to get mauled and have to eat those nasty bars.”

Basilard shuddered, more at the idea of makarovi than of eating Sicarius’s travel rations. Makarovi could make grimbals look cuddly by comparison, and they sought human woman above all other prey, preferring the taste of their organs. Normally, Basilard would never consider natural animals sinister, but makarovi were an exception. He hoped that the Kendorian shaman didn’t know how to find any.

Amaranthe sighed and unwrapped Sicarius’s bar. “You should team up with Basilard and see if you can improve these.”

“Improve? They are shelf stable, compact, and contain all of the nutrients necessary when traveling.”

“I’m talking about the taste. Basilard?” Amaranthe held up the pinkish-gray meat bar. “Please introduce Sicarius to seasonings.”

“They are salted to assist with preservation.”

“Please, Basilard,” Amaranthe implored again.

Basilard spread his hands. He had sampled the bars before and agreed that they were not overly palatable, even to someone who had grown up on traditional hunter-gatherer foods, rather than the “civilized” foods preferred in Turgonia. They did lack seasoning, and some of the organ meats Sicarius chose had a pungent taste that not everyone cared for. However, when Basilard had once suggested that a garlic chili pepper or basil citrus flavor might be well received, Sicarius had only given him that flat, unfriendly stare of his.

“How far away are we from the Kendorian encampment, Basilard?” Amaranthe waved toward the beaver dam.

Three miles.

“And you said the canyon narrows as you go deeper?”

Basilard held his hands up parallel to each other and a couple of feet apart to demonstrate their current position, then narrowed his hands to six inches apart.

“I’m guessing a flood would be unpleasant for them,” Amaranthe said.

Basilard snorted.
A good flash flood would wipe away much of their equipment. Maybe them too. But this is not the rainy season here.

As Basilard finished signing the words, he realized what she must have in mind. Indeed, Amaranthe smiled and looked toward the blocked river.

“If we improved upon this dam,” she said, “stretching it all the way across the waterway, maybe it could be our backup plan. It might be a challenge to build in a floodgate or a reliable way of loosing the water all at once, especially when the base is made from mud and sticks, but…” She shrugged and looked around. “Does anyone think they could engineer something more clever than what the beavers made?” Even though she said ‘anyone,’ her gaze settled on Sicarius.

“Not me,” Maldynado said.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have sent away the scientist,” Corporal Jomrik said.

Sicarius stood with his arms folded across his chest, his expression cool.

“Do you think you could rig something?” Amaranthe asked him.

“You intend to leave me here while you go into a camp full of armed Kendorians? Kendorians whose trigger fingers could be unreliable since they’re in enemy land and know they could get in trouble if they’re caught?”

“I always intended to leave you behind while Bas, Maldynado, and I did that,” Amaranthe said. “You’re our backup plan.”

“Really.”

“What about me?” Jomrik asked.

She smiled at him. “You can help Sicarius with the dam.”

“Uh.” Jomrik eyed Sicarius warily, who eyed him back with something between distaste and indifference.

“Don’t let all of the knives fool you, Corporal,” Amaranthe said. “He’s very well-educated. I’m quite certain he’s at
least
as good of an engineer as a beaver.”

When Sicarius shifted his gaze toward Amaranthe, his expression did not grow any warmer. Oddly, she grinned at him. She was either a fearless woman, or when she looked at Sicarius, she saw, as Basilard had long suspected, something much different than everybody else did.

“I don’t know,” Maldynado said. “Beavers are pretty bright, aren’t they?”

Nobody looked at him.

While Amaranthe and Sicarius were staring at each other—or glaring, as the case was for Sicarius—Basilard debated whether he approved of the dam plan. Since Amaranthe had led their group back when they had all been outlaws seeking to clear their names, it was easy to fall into the old habit of letting her take charge. Indeed, a part of him
wanted
someone else to take responsibility, someone who had a talent for leading people and a record for making crazy plans turn out. So little in Basilard’s life had turned out well that he doubted his own ability. But nobody could care more about his homeland than he did, so he must do everything he could to ensure they were following a course that would lead to victory.