“How could she fall for a slimy Nurian wizard?” Maldynado asked.
“Even an intelligent woman can be taken in by a pretty smile,” Amaranthe said.
“Really?” Maldynado asked. “Because every time I try my pretty smile on you, you put me on watch or give me work.”
“Not now, Maldynado,” she said. “Let’s focus.”
“Been wondering if I should be looking for a girl for you,” Maldynado grumbled.
Akstyr snickered.
“Perhaps her interests are simply elsewhere,” Books said. “Remember, she thinks Sicarius is mellow.”
“Mellow,” Maldynado said. “Oh, sure. Throw a girl in his bed, and he’d probably start doing push-ups on her breasts.”
The snickers intensified to guffaws, and not just from Akstyr.
“I’m glad everyone’s enjoying this dungeon bonding time,” Amaranthe said, “since we’re probably going to be tortured to death in a few hours.”
That stilled their guffaws. Silence descended on the cell. Amaranthe was glad for the darkness, since her cheeks felt a tad warm again.
“Think there’s any chance of Sicarius coming to break us out?” Akstyr asked.
Amaranthe felt a similar hope, but... “Now that we’ve executed the plan and failed, he has no reason to risk himself for us. It would be more logical for him to try something on his own, and he is nothing if not logical.”
Maldynado snorted. “Why don’t you just say we’re of no more use to him, so he’s leaving us to be tortured?”
“I think I did say that. Regardless, we’re going to have to get out of here ourselves.” Amaranthe stood up and groped around. If she could find a puddle of water or something slippery, maybe she could loosen her bonds. “Anyone have any ideas?” She bumped into somebody’s head.
“Certainly,” Maldynado said from beneath her. “Come sit on my lap and we’ll discuss them.”
She paused thoughtfully.
“Amaranthe.” Books sounded scandalized at her silence. “Please assure me you’re not considering succumbing to this troglodyte’s advances.”
“Well,” she said, “I was debating the merits of certain fluids as a means of loosening ropes, but let’s, ah, explore other possibilities first.”
Footsteps sounded beyond the door. Frowning, Amaranthe turned. She had hoped they would have longer.
The lock thunked as a key turned in it. She shuffled forward, tensing to spring if an opportunity arose.
The door swung open. Basilard stood in the hallway. Alone.
Amaranthe held her breath, barely daring to hope. She studied his face, searched the eyes behind all those scars.
Basilard pulled a knife from one of numerous sheaths. Maldynado jumped in front of her, lowered into a defensive crouch.
Never breaking gazes with Basilard, Amaranthe stepped to the side and extended her arms. He carefully sliced through the ropes and waved her into the hallway. After an indecisive pause, he cut Maldynado’s bonds as well. Books and Akstyr lined up for the same treatment. As soon as they were free, the men charged for the stairs. Amaranthe hesitated.
Basilard lowered his knife and stared forlornly at the shreds of rope on the floor. Surely, his choice tonight had condemned him. Originally, Amaranthe had only hoped to talk him into freeing them. After his act of kindness, she felt compelled to see him to safety. But then, she was not going anywhere safe.
“Do you want to come with us?” she asked.
He rotated his head, turning sad blue eyes on her. He shrugged ambivalently but followed when she headed for the door.
They caught up to the others on the floor above where the stairs bisected a hallway. Books and Maldynado had stopped to argue.
“The exit is this way.” Maldynado pointed one direction.
“We can’t just leave; we have to do something.” Books pointed the other way.
“I am doing something,” Maldynado said. “I’m leaving.”
Amaranthe pushed past them and into the hall leading deeper into the house. She was surprised when all of the men followed.
“Do you know where we can find Larocka?” she whispered to Basilard. “I just want to talk to her, see if she’ll reveal what’s been set into place as far as the emperor’s assassination.”
Basilard lifted a shoulder but took the lead.
The group climbed a dark staircase and entered a short hallway. At one end, black night pressed against a frost-rimmed window. They had reached the ground level. A door marked the other end of the hall. The sound of voices and a staccato of footfalls came from behind it.
Surely, their escape couldn’t have been detected already.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Amaranthe whispered to Basilard.
He shook his head.
She eased the door open and peered into a vast, dimly lit kitchen. When she spotted no one, she led the men inside. They passed multiple fireplaces and stoves. Storage bins, mixing bowls, and giant cauldrons cluttered rows of tile counter tops. On the other side of the kitchen, light leaked under a second door. The voices grew more pronounced as Amaranthe neared it. Though she could not make out words, a definite urgency edged them. Different speakers seemed to be moving in and out of the area.
When she hesitated, Basilard moved past her and slipped through the swinging door. She hoped that meant he was bringing back information. In the meantime, she considered looking for another staircase leading up, since the one she had used on her previous visit was in the midst of the commotion. Although, if something important was happening on the ground floor, Arbitan and Larocka would likely be the middle of it.
Amaranthe cracked the door and peered through. Someone blurred past her narrow angle of vision.
A loud crunch came from behind and she jumped. The door swung closed and almost smacked her on the nose. She turned to find Maldynado eating, practically in her ear.
She glared at him.
“What?” Maldynado stuck a hand out, displaying a row of crackers. “You want one?”
Books grabbed the crackers out of Maldynado’s hand. “This is not the time for snacking.”
“This could be my last meal,” Maldynado said.
“And you chose crackers?” Akstyr said around a full mouth.
They turned to find him noshing on a piece of frosting-drenched cake.
“Oh, excellent,” Maldynado said. “Is there more?”
Amaranthe leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door jamb. Maybe she should have asked Basilard to leave them in the cell.
Basilard reentered, clutching a pen and paper. He scrawled a note:
Hollowcrest brought a shaman to break through the wards and has surrounded the house with a company of soldiers. He is waiting to negotiate with Arbitan in the Upstairs Parlor.
“What about Larocka?” Amaranthe asked.
More scrawling. No one knows.
“We could escape in the chaos,” Books pointed out.
“Probably, but where does that leave us?” Amaranthe asked.
“It leaves us escaped,” Akstyr muttered.
“And the emperor still in danger.” She turned back to Basilard. “Would it be possible to spy on the meeting in the parlor without being seen?”
Basilard’s hand rocked in a ‘maybe’ motion.
“Let’s try.”
Basilard found a lantern, led them back to the hall behind the kitchen, and eventually to a spiral staircase. Two floors up, they entered a series of attached rooms and a closet that turned out to be a secret entrance to a narrow passage. Dust-cloaked and cobweb-draped, it twisted through the house like an abandoned mine shaft. Amaranthe pinched her nose to stave off sneezes.
Basilard stopped at a wall comprised of wide wood panels. He put a finger to his lips for silence. He slipped a knife into a seam in the wall, then turned down the lantern. Blackness swallowed the passage, but the seam soon expanded as he eased the panels apart a couple inches.
Amaranthe pressed her face to the gap
.
Hollowcrest stood by a large window, looking out at something—his troops perhaps. Gaming tables, sofas, and club chairs stood between him and the secret entrance. Kerosene lamps illuminated his side of the room, but no lights brightened the back half, and Amaranthe hoped she could observe without drawing attention.
No one else occupied the parlor yet, and only the crackle of a wood fire in a hearth on the far wall broke the silence.
Amaranthe chewed on her lip. Maybe she should talk to him, see if she could turn him into a temporary ally. He had men, a magic user, and every reason to want to stop Arbitan and Larocka.
A dark figure stepped out of the shadows behind the main door. Sicarius.
Amaranthe twitched with surprise. Hollowcrest, still facing the window, did not notice the movement. Sicarius glided around the furniture and stopped on a shaggy rug in front of the fire. His reflection appeared against the dark window. Hollowcrest’s startled jump was impressively high considering his advanced years.
“Sicarius,” he blurted.
Hands clasped behind his back, Sicarius regarded him without expression. Back to the fireplace, he had positioned himself so he faced Hollowcrest, yet kept the other door within view.
“Where have you been?” Hollowcrest said. “Didn’t you get my message? Did you know what that enforcer girl was doing? Why didn’t you kill her when I sent her to you? Never mind. That’s not important now. It’s good that you’re here. Forge must be eliminated. I want the whole insidious group terminated, Arbitan in particular.”
Amaranthe felt hope that Sicarius had not run straight to Hollowcrest after receiving that letter. Whatever the exact nature of their estrangement was, it seemed Hollowcrest’s promise of forgiveness had not alleviated it. She wondered who had originally broken whose trust.
“I do not work for you anymore,” Sicarius said.
Good.
Hollowcrest patted the air. “Just because we had a...disagreement a few years ago doesn’t mean we don’t still need you. I’ll drop the charges Sespian placed on your head, remove the bounty. The boy won’t be a problem.”
“Yes,” Sicarius said softly. “I understand you’ve been drugging him.”
“All we need you to do is help with Forge,” Hollowcrest said. “And then it’ll be as it once was. Simple, efficient times where the—”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Sicarius vaulted over a sofa, landed without a sound, and blended into the shadows behind the door again. When Arbitan entered, he gave no indication of realizing Sicarius was in the room.
“Hollow.” Arbitan poured a glass of brandy from a decanter. “I thought I told you to get out of the city.”
“I don’t take orders from common-born sewer rats.”
“Common. I assure you, I am anything but—where I come from.” Arbitan sniffed the brandy, took a sip, and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. He did not offer Hollowcrest a glass. “You’ve brought quite a few soldiers with you, I see. Wherever did you find a shaman gifted enough to slip your men past my wards?”
“You forced this on yourself,” Hollowcrest said. “Did you really think I would stand aside and let you replace my emperor and dictate policy for Turgonia?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t plan for your every contingency?” Arbitan smiled, a frigid smile that sent a chill through Amaranthe even though she was not the recipient. “This house is protected by more than wards.”
The creature.
“Your shaman is insignificant, and your army will not survive the night,” Arbitan said.
Hollowcrest snorted. “You’re bluffing. There’s no—”
Outside, someone screamed.
“Run!” multiple voices cried.
The smiling, superior expression that branded Arbitan’s face left little doubt to who was responsible.
Hollowcrest turned back to the window. His fingers came up and pressed against the glass, and his jaw dropped. More screams pierced the walls of the house, cries of pain and terror. Amaranthe’s stomach sank. Without looking, she knew what carnage Hollowcrest witnessed.
Curses in a foreign language rose over the din. The voice switched to screams, which broke off abruptly.
“Oops, was that your shaman?” Arbitan asked.
“What is that...thing?” Hollowcrest demanded.
“A pet.” Arbitan sipped from his glass. “I instructed it to eat your shaman first, but it’ll chase down and slay all your men shortly.”
Amaranthe wondered if this might be the best time to make a move. The creature was distracted, and Arbitan might not be prepared for an assault. Too bad the guards had taken her team’s weapons.
She scanned the room, searching for inspiration. Her gaze landed on the shadows by the door. Maybe if she charged out of the hidden passage, it would distract Arbitan—break the concentration he needed to weave his defenses—and Sicarius could sink a knife into his back. Of course, it might also see her incinerated by wizard fire or whatever magic Arbitan could throw.
She had to take the risk.
Only Sicarius’s eyes moved, watching the interplay between the two men. She willed him to look her direction, but as Arbitan lifted his glass again, seemingly oblivious to any threat, Sicarius blurred into motion.
One of his throwing knives whirled toward Arbitan’s back, and a second weapon appeared in his hand instantly. He raised his arm, poised to strike again.
Arbitan was not as defenseless as he appeared. Like the crossbow quarrel, the knife stopped before it sank into his torso.
It bounced away as if it had struck a stone wall and landed on the plush carpet with a soft thump. Amaranthe sagged against the panel. She, too, had hoped he wouldn’t have his defenses up here, in his sanctuary.
Sicarius’s arm drooped. He did not throw the second knife.
“Your pet is not as effective as mine, Hollow,” Arbitan purred. He glanced over his shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, assassin.” Arbitan turned his head to look at Amaranthe. “And the escaped prisoners lurking in the passage may as well come out too. Along with my treasonous Basilard.”
Scuffles of surprise sounded behind Amaranthe. After recovering from the shock of being discovered, she considered fleeing instead of obeying, but Arbitan’s sure gaze conveyed the futility of such an action. She pushed the panels farther apart and stepped into the parlor. Her team slunk after her. Basilard hung his head like a beaten hound.
Arbitan pointed for the group to join Sicarius.
Amaranthe ended up in front of the fireplace, its burning logs warming her back. Hollowcrest stared out the window doing nothing useful. She felt a stirring of disgust; he could at least try to barter for the lives of his men.
And what am I doing that’s so helpful?
She eyed a set of fireplace tools next to the hearth. Maybe she could still provide the distraction that would lower Arbitan’s defenses. Her hand drifted toward the poker.
“Well, my dear.” Arbitan’s gaze pinned her and she froze. “The counterfeit money would have been fun to play with, but you’re too troublesome to keep around.” His eyes flickered toward Basilard and back to her. “You’d probably subvert the torturer I sent to interrogate you.”
Amaranthe swallowed. She recognized a death sentence by now. Time to take a chance.
She grabbed the poker and leapt for the wizard.
And was flattened to the floor. The rug mashed her cheek. It felt as if the ceiling had fallen on her, compressing her torso, her head, and every limb. She could scarcely breathe.
The poker pulled free from her hand and returned to its place amongst the tool set.
Out of the bottom of her eye, she saw her comrades similarly flattened. All except Sicarius. He was on one knee, knuckles pressed against the floor.
Fight it! Amaranthe wished she could. She exerted every muscle, trying to press her chest up from the floor. She couldn’t budge.
Sicarius managed to rise from his knees, though his back bowed from the effort.
Jaw clenched, face reddened, he glared at Arbitan and inched higher.
She needed to help him. Somehow.
Amaranthe stopped struggling. It was getting her nowhere, and if Sicarius were rising on muscle strength alone, Maldynado, with his powerful bulk, should have been able to force himself up as well. This was a mental battle, she realized, remembering Sicarius’s history lesson on the Hunters. Too bad she had no such training to call upon. Suspecting the effort in vain, she tried to will herself up.
Sicarius staggered forward a step. Amaranthe sensed the wave of force lessening around her as Arbitan shifted more of his focus toward Sicarius. She wished she could see the wizard’s face. Was he tiring? At least sweating a bit?
She closed her eyes and imagined herself swimming in the lake during the summer. She slipped under the surface and stroked to the depths, cutting through the water’s resistance with ease. Her head inched off the carpet. Her shoulders and neck trembled under the weight. In her mind, she skimmed along the lake bottom, algae-slick pebbles passing beneath her. Then she angled for the surface, and the buoyant water carried her toward the sunlight. She wedged one elbow under her chest to prop her torso up, and then, with a gargantuan effort, lunged to the side and grabbed a burning brand from the fireplace.
Embers seared her flesh. The pain gave her a jolt of energy, and she used it to hurl the log.
It sailed at Arbitan’s head. He threw his arm up reflexively, and in that instant his magic dissipated.
Amaranthe surged to her feet in time to see Sicarius ram a dagger into Arbitan’s chest. It glided between the ribs and pierced vital organs. Shock widened Arbitan’s eyes and stole the arrogant smile from his face. He crumpled to the ground, fingers clutching uselessly at the dagger hilt.
Amaranthe slumped against the fireplace mantel. Sicarius looked at her.
“Good to see you,” she said.
His mask had returned, but he inclined his head. “I believe he is an undercover Nurian wizard, sent by their government to create chaos and plant a compliant heir on the throne.”
“Amaranthe figured that out in the dungeon.” Maldynado sent a smug look at Books.
“Really.” Sicarius regarded Amaranthe with...respect?
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 77