“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 canons.
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.
• • • • •
Sespian strode down a windowless passage in the back of the Imperial Barracks. His six guards clanked and clattered behind him. Long periods of shadow lay between the unadorned gas jets; their pipes ran along the outside of the old stone walls. No one else walked the hallway. Few knew of its existence.
He clutched birthday invitations for diplomats of eight nations. Should Hollowcrest learn of this jaunt, Sespian hoped the invites would provide a plausible cover for his sudden interest in visiting the headquarters of the Imperial Intelligence Network.
At the end of the hall, he opened a door and entered a windowless room ordered with numerous tidy desks and tables. Wooden file cabinets lined three of the four walls, while shelves full of books and maps rose along the last. A couple doors led to tiny interrogation cubicles.
Eight men worked in the office, though Sespian knew they represented only a portion of the intelligence network. Some wore army uniforms and others bland civilian attire, though all were soldiers.
“Room, attention!” someone barked upon spying Sespian.
Each man dropped his paperwork, stood, and thumped a palm to his chest in salute.
“At ease,” Sespian said, feeling silly as soon as the army lingo came out of his mouth. These men knew he had never commanded a squad at physical training much less led soldiers into battle. Given their intelligence-gathering manifesto, they probably also knew each and every excuse a younger Sespian had used to escape Weaponsmaster Orik’s lessons. Still, he figured they’d be more likely to listen to a confident, commanding emperor, not the inexperienced idealist Hollowcrest claimed Sespian was. “Colonel Backcrest, see me, please.”
The keen-eyed head of the intelligence office hustled forward, snapping his heels as he assumed a rigid attention stance. His black uniform included polished boots, gleaming brass buttons, and creases so perky one wondered if he ironed with a steam roller.
“Colonel, I’d like you to check up on these diplomats.” Sespian handed over the invitations. “Make sure they’re not a likely threat, and, if they pass muster, deliver these messages before my birthday celebration.”
“Of course, Sire. Can we be of any other assistance? Would you like to see our most recent reports?” Backcrest asked, eyebrows rising hopefully.
Sespian guessed officers cloistered back here rarely received the recognition of field soldiers, men constantly tried in battle and drills that let them shine in front of their comrades and commanders. These men were probably all hungering for praise. Maybe Sespian didn’t need to act like an experienced commander after all; maybe he just needed to give them attention.
“Not just now,” he said, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d start sending weekly updates to my office.”
The colonel brightened.
“Hollowcrest only takes bimonthly reports,” a voice in the back murmured, not with displeasure but with excitement.
Sespian felt a guilty twinge. He should have been back here previously, talking to these people, learning from them. His father had demanded Sespian go over imperial reports with him, but when Hollowcrest took over… Hollowcrest had always given the impression he preferred it when Sespian took no interest whatsoever.
“I’ll have the first copy on your desk by dawn,” the colonel said. “Anything else, Sire?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you might spare somebody for a couple weeks for a special assignment.” Since Sespian knew Hollowcrest also talked to these men, he made his request vague.
“Of course, Sire. Anyone in the office would be honored to serve you personally.” The colonel extended an arm to encompass his men, who straightened further under Sespian’s gaze. “Choose any you please.”
Sespian knew from their files they were all competent—they had to be to work in the Imperial Barracks—but he needed more than competence. He needed someone unlikely to have developed an allegiance to Hollowcrest. A younger man seemed best, and it would be good to have peers his own age with whom to work. Sespian hoped he was not making his choice based on personal feelings instead of logic.
“Lieutenant Dunn,” Sespian said.
“Sire?” Bright, hopeful eyes met his. The twenty-two-year-old officer was less than six months out of the academy, his record said, where he graduated at the top of his class. Though not of the warrior caste, he had already impressed his superiors and earned numerous accolades.
“Care to work with me for a couple of weeks?”
“Absolutely, Sire.”
“Let’s talk.”
Sespian pointed to one of the cubicles. They went inside, closed the door, and sat across the table from each other.
Dunn fidgeted in his chair. Sespian felt nervous too. Had he chosen the right man?
“You’ll report only to me,” he said. “If your superiors ask you for details, tell them you’re under secret orders.”
“I understand, Sire.”
“You usually focus your efforts on the empire’s borders and beyond, so this will be a different type of task for you. I need you to investigate every soldier working in the Barracks.”
Dunn tilted his head. “Sire?”
“Hollowcrest has been poisoning me for the last year. I’m sure he’s had help.” Sespian watched Dunn’s face intently.
The shock that widened the lieutenant’s eyes seemed genuine. “Why?” he asked. “Why would he dare?”
“To keep me and my ideas out of his way. He grew comfortable as regent, and he didn’t want to give up that power.”
“Despicable,” Dunn whispered.
“Quite.” Sespian held Dunn’s eyes. “That’s why I need your help. I think you’re a man I can trust.”
“Of course! What can I do, Sire?”
“Find out who’s with me and who’s loyal to Hollowcrest. I wish I could lead the investigation myself, but people have a tendency to be on their best behavior when I’m about.”
When they’re not trying to drug me….
“Quite.” Dunn smiled as he echoed Sespian’s earlier comment. “On the other hand, who would notice a young lieutenant in one of the ubiquitous soldier uniforms around this place?”
“We’re thinking alike already. Your skills will serve you well in this. One other thing…” Sespian cleared his throat. “Find out everything you can about a female enforcer named Amaranthe Lokdon. In particular, I want to know if she’s dead or alive. Hollowcrest says dead, but I’ve decided it’ll be best for my health to question everything he’s ever told me.”
“Yes, Sire,” Dunn said.
“That’s all. Report to me daily before breakfast.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Sespian sat in the cubicle for a few minutes after Dunn left, wondering if he could trust the man. Even if he could, this was only a start. He would have to round up Hollowcrest’s minions and do something with them—all before Hollowcrest figured out Sespian was off the drug. He hoped he had enough time, but feared he did not.
“Y
our name?” the sergeant asked.
Perched on an uncomfortable wooden chair, Amaranthe flirted with making up an identity, but with her wanted posters plastering the city, the soldiers would figure it out sooner or later. Besides, her interrogator would probably see through her lies.
Hard, experienced eyes studied her from beneath graying eyebrows. A scar ran down his cheek, tugging his lip into a sneer that made it look as if he had eaten something unpleasant for breakfast. His last prisoner perhaps.
“Amaranthe Lokdon,” she said.
No one sat at the lone desk, but two armed guards stood by the office’s only door. It was open, and a man wearing captain’s pins leaned against the frame and further blocked the route. At least the soldiers were questioning her here instead of some dank interrogation chamber, though the vertical iron bars securing the sole window offered little hope of escape. No one had bound her hands, but with so many soldiers around, she failed to see how it mattered.
“Occupation?” the sergeant asked.
Counterfeiter of money, plotter against business coalitions, and all-around hindrance to Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest.
“Enforcer.”
“What district?”
“Commercial.”
The sergeant strolled around the room, hands clasped behind his back. His boots alternately clacked or thudded as he crossed back and forth over a thin rug. It did little to cover the web of cracks marring the concrete floor, evidence of the building’s age.
“A female enforcer,” he said. “There can’t be many. It’ll be easy enough to check your story.”
“I imagine so.”
“Women warriors. Ridiculous notion. You can’t beat a man in a fight.”
“Depends on the man,” she said. “Why don’t we leave the fort, just you and me, and we can test your theory?”
The sergeant steered a frosty look her direction. “Who’s your friend that ran?”
Amaranthe hesitated. In the doorway, the captain’s eyes narrowed. She shifted on the hard chair. The sergeant dropped his fists on the desk, leaned on them, and glared at her.
“My partner,” she said.
The sergeant snorted. “That man is no enforcer. He evaded our soldiers slicker than a greased fish.”
“Did he kill anyone?” Amaranthe asked.
Please, no more deaths on my hands.
“It depends on how much you two had to do with the men who were murdered by the lake and under the water tower.”
“We had nothing to do with that,” Amaranthe said. “We were only following the trail to see what
did
kill them.” She leaned forward and gripped the edge of the desk. “And we did. We saw it, and we fled from it. Your men need to be very careful. It’s not a bear or panther, like the papers said. It’s much worse.”
“Oh?”
Amaranthe frowned. The sergeant sounded more skeptical than interested. Was he not concerned about his lost men?
“Yes,
oh
,” she said.
“What did you see?”
“It was like a cougar but much bigger. It was strong, but it wasn’t graceful. It was ugly and blocky—like something molded out of clay. It’s not of natural origins.”
The sergeant exchanged significant glances with the captain, who was apparently content to let his man do the questioning while he observed. A part of her wanted to tell them about everything: Forge’s assassination threats, Hollowcrest’s drugging of the emperor, and her suspicions about the creature. But they would never believe her. Still, if there was a chance she could get them in on the monster hunt, she had to try. After seeing Sicarius’s knife clank uselessly off the beast’s eye, she knew killing it was beyond her team.
“What do you mean not of ‘natural origins?’” the sergeant asked.
Amaranthe leaned back and felt the hard edge of the chair against her shoulder blades. She considered her next words. If she simply said the beast was a magical Nurian creation—something imperial subjects were supposed to know nothing about—she would find herself thrown in a cell as a conspirator. She had to lead them to make their own conclusions.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never heard of anything like that monster. My comrade threw a knife at its eye, and the blade didn’t penetrate.”
“The weapon must have spun and hit with the hilt,” the sergeant said.
Amaranthe shook her head. “The point struck true. Right in the eye. It clanged off as if it had hit steel.”