The Emperor's Edge (The Emperor's Edge, #1)

by Lindsay Buroker

story hour,” she said, “I really just need to know how to get in touch with him. Can you get word to him for me? I’ve heard you have a vast network of contacts in the city.” “I can get it out to my people. Whether it’ll reach his ears or not…” Mitsy shrugged.

“What do I owe you?” she asked instead. She reached into her purse and thumbed the bills Hollowcrest had

“Nothing, my dear,” Mitsy said. “I’ll do this favor for you, and someday mayhap, you’ll be in a position to do a favor for me.” Amaranthe winced. She would rather have paid.

“Who sent you?” Sicarius asked. Amaranthe considered carefully before answering. If he simply meant to scare her into providing information, he could have started with a knife against her throat. No, he had almost broken her neck. He had intended to kill her but stopped mid-motion. Why? And would he continue where he had left off if she answered incorrectly? “Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest.” Given the previous demonstration of how he could see through lies, the truth seemed a safer choice. Besides, she found herself reluctant to die to protect Hollowcrest’s anonymity. “Why?” “To kill you.”

“That I gathered. Why did he send you? What did you do to anger him?” “I… Uhm, what?” “It was a suicide mission. You must have suspected.”

“Hollowcrest thought you might be in town to kill the emperor,” Amaranthe said.

am not.”

He could be lying to her. Who would admit to such a plot? “How’d you find me?” she asked, trying to keep him talking while she puzzled through the situation. “I’ve been following you.” “Oh.” Of course. After she lied to him, he must have been suspicious. She had allowed his lack of emotion to lull her into believing he lacked interest as well. She sighed. As an enforcer, she should have been prepared for that. S...

“A shaman in the empire?” she asked. “In Stumps? You can be hanged for reading about magic. I can’t believe anyone would risk practicing it here.” Or that it existed. Even when the surgeon had casually discussed magic in the dungeon, it had failed to penetrate her long-held beliefs. Or disbeliefs rather. Amaranthe prodded her arm where the bug had bitten her. Nothing remained of the wound. Perhaps it was time to question those beliefs. “Most people in the empire either do not believe in the mental sciences or would not recognize them being practiced regardless,” Sicarius said. “Though this is not an easy place for foreigners to live, sometimes it is safer than what they leave behind, especially if they are hunted by fellow practitioners.”

Fugitive magic users? In her city? Amaranthe rubbed her face. “He must not have been too bad

She shook her head. She needed to adjust her thinking. No general ever won a victory by pitting his weaknesses against the enemy’s strengths. It had to be the other way around. What were her strengths? Since she would soon be labeled a criminal, she supposed there was no need to be

constrained by the law. She found that thought unsettling, but it inspired creativity. Criminals did all sorts of unorthodox things to get what they wanted from each other. What could she do? Use force? Steal? Blackmail?

Sicarius cleared his throat. The gamers and the student looked at him. “Leave us,” he said. Amaranthe was glad the cold voice was not directed at her. The four men considered him, and the small armory he wore, for only a second before obeying.

Making no effort to greet—or even acknowledge—Books, Sicarius walked over to a window overlooking the street. It seemed Amaranthe was on her own.

he was thinking about killing me just for daring talk to him.” Sicarius, whether curious about something he had seen outside or just aware he was crimping story hour, chose that moment to walk out of the room. Books lunged forward and startled Amaranthe by grabbing her arm. “What are you doing with him? Do you have a death wish?” The concern on the older man’s face surprised her, and she kept herself from pulling away. “We have an agreement,” she said. “He’s helping me to protect the emperor and maybe get Hollowcrest

out of power.” “He is not helping you. If he hasn’t killed you yet, it’s because you’re helping him.”

“He says he never leaves enemies behind, and I got to see more evidence of that on our little adventure.” “He did save your life,” Amaranthe said. “And he let you live afterward.” “Because I was useful to him, and I wasn’t a threat. Don’t think we walked away friends. I was trying to mourn the loss of my son—actually I was thinking about killing myself—and he didn’t care, not one iota. In the end… Never mind. Just, listen to me on this: don’t ever let him think you’re a threat.” “I understand. Thank you.”

Elsewhere, gold and silver coinage is preferred over paper money, which is more susceptible to clipping than forgery. In any instance, counterfeiting is a huge liability for all governments, and they squash startups quickly. It has, however, been successful in the short term for various criminals seeking to enrich themselves and for governments seeking to undermine enemy nations. It’s not so much that your plan doesn’t have merit; it’s that it would take months to set up. The paper ranmyas are printed on is a proprietary blend of hemp and pulp, and it’s not something you can buy. And let’s talk about crafting the plates themselves. Do you know a crooked engraver who will help?” “See—” Amaranthe was more delighted than chagrinned at his logic, “—I knew you could help. You’ve already thought of more than I had. You’re perfect.”

Books snorted, but a smile peeked through that overgrown beard, and something more…. Pleasure at being needed again? Maybe that was it. “Your points are valid,” she said, “but, remember, we don’t have to successfully print billions of ranmyas and pass them to all the storekeepers of the city. We just have to make some convincing-on-the-surface copies, enough to concern Hollowcrest and Forge and bring them together to deal.” “We?” Books rubbed his lips. “Are you here for my advice or to enlist my aid?” She smiled. “Yes.” “I see. Well, this is the least tedious chat I’ve had in a long time, and I could use a distraction.” His eyes flickered toward the bottle. “It’s clear you desperately need my help.” “Desperately,” Amaranthe agreed. “And then there’s that landlady who’s on the verge of kicking you out.”

She glanced at Sicarius. “What do you think? Any chance he’ll come?”

“Perhaps. You found his vulnerabilities and exploited them.” Amaranthe winced. Was that what it seemed like to him? How could she relate to someone who saw everything as a battlefield?

“I see. And it’s important to have someone at your back?” “Unless you’re powerful good and can conjure up a bodyguard. The mental sciences take fierce concentration, and that makes you vulnerable to enemies while you’re working your art.” A couple bundled against the snow shuffled through the edge of the square, and Amaranthe lowered her voice. If she was not careful, she might find herself strung up next to this fellow for reasons that had nothing to do with her past actions. “Why do you call it science instead of magic?’ “That’s what it is: mastery of the mind. Using your brain to move and create things. It’s not about praying to gods or chanting no stupid rituals like ign’ant folks think. That’s just a show.” “What if I could offer you protection?” she said.

“You? Some businesswoman who doesn’t even carry a knife?” “I have a comrade who is gifted with weapons.” Amaranthe wondered how Sicarius would feel about her using him to sway people to her cause. Unfortunately, he was her only asset. “If you would be willing to work for me, I’ll see to it that you have food, a place to sleep, and someone to watch over you while you practice your ‘science.’” “Like I said, I’m not a wizard. And I’m not in a hurry to trust anyone like that. Trust is for fools who don’t know any better.” “My comrade would probably agree with you. But consider this: while you may not be able to trust people to do what’s in your best interest, you can always trust them to do what’s in their best interest. I need a couple of men to work for me, so I can reach my goals. That means I’m going to do everything I can to take

care of them, because without them, I fail. I’m giving you a chance to use me, and the comrade I can supply, to reach your own goals. We both win in this situation. No unwarranted trus...

“Who’s your friend?” “What?” She turned back. “The one you keep talking about. How am I supposed to know if he’s good enough to be some wizard’s bodyguard?”

“You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you his.” “Akstyr.” Amaranthe glanced left and right, then stepped closer to him. “Have you heard the name Sicarius?”

He tried to throw back his head and laugh, but the pillory restricted the movement. “Yes, and if you think I believe he’d be working with a nosey businesswoman, you’re dumber than the drooling lawmen who locked me up.” She wondered if there had been a long line of Black Arrows fighting for the pleasure of turning Akstyr over to the enforcers. “The icehouse on Fo...

don’t duel.” Amaranthe had expected refusal or reluctance but not that statement. She surveyed the array of weapons in front of him. Garrote. Dagger.

Throwing Knives. Dagger. Utility knife. Serrated jackknife. No swords. A flash of panic clutched at her chest. What if he had never used one? Maldynado, her only near-sure thing, might poke a thousand holes into her assassin, and where would her mission be then? “Surely,” Amaranthe said weakly, “you’ve some familiarity with swords.” Sicarius finished sharpening a dagger. “I can use a sword. I do not know the rules of sport dueling or much about it.”

highly ranked amongst the city’s duelists. You say you’ve never dueled?” “Never.” “This should be interesting then.” “I imagine so,” Sicarius said.

“Shall we begin then? Ado here will judge. First to five points wins.” Maldynado winked at Amaranthe. “And collects the reward.” “A point is what?” Sicarius asked. “Uhm, are you joking?” “No.” “Ah,” Maldynado said. “We use blunted swords and wear padded vests and helmets. Anything above the waist is a point. Anything below the waist is, well, no man should attack another man down there, eh? It’s off target, no point. You have to stay in the ring or it’s a penalty. Three penalties and you start losing points. Follow me. I’ll show you the communal gear.” Amaranthe tagged along. Maldynado led them to an equipment chest jammed with bent and rusty blades. Another chest held equally dilapidated armor. Apparently, the

serious folks had their own gear. Maldynado set down his saber and shrugged into a pristine padded vest and grabbed a monogrammed helmet. With a wave, he indicated Sicarius should select from the chests and arm himself. Amaranthe crinkled her nose. She could smell the stale sweat from several feet away. Yellow stains marked the armpits of the vests and several sported dried blood spatters. Sicarius selected a saber for his left hand and eschewed the armor. Amaranthe would have done the same, even if it meant death by impalement. So armed, he walked over to one side of a large circle and waited. Maldynado nodded to Amaranthe. “What’s his problem? He trying to get hurt? I thought you were bringing a serious contender.” “Oh, he’s serious.” As she watched Sicarius waiting,

“Ready?” the judge asked the combatants. Maldynado bounced on his toes. “Ready!” Sicarius gave a single nod. The judge clapped his hands. “Begin!” Sicarius charged like a locomotive, crossing the ring in less than a heartbeat. Maldynado side-stepped and stuck out his sword so his attacker would run into it. Sicarius anticipated the move and blurred past the weapon. He darted to the outside, coming up behind Maldynado. Sicarius grabbed Maldynado’s far shoulder, snaked

foot between the bigger man’s legs, and thrust up with his hips even as he pulled down with his hand. Maldynado toppled backward, accelerating to the ground. When he hit, his breath whooshed out, and his helmet spun into the air. Sicarius went down with Maldynado, albeit in a more controlled manner. Sicarius pinned his opponent and jammed the blunt blade against Maldynado’s throat. Both combatants froze in tableau. Maldynado’s helmet hit the ground, clattering as it bounced several feet. Blunt weapon or not, Sicarius could have killed his opponent easily. Amaranthe read the fear in Maldynado’s eyes, a reflection of what she had felt in nearly the same position. The judge choked out a series of protests. “Warning for illegal use of the feet, body, hands. Out of bounds. No point!”

Sicarius rose lithely and returned to his side of the ring. The judge launched into a lecture on the rules while Maldynado groped for his helmet with a shaking hand. Sicarius listened without expr...

Perhaps sensing more than a practice bout, other men drifted over. Amaranthe resumed nibbling on her fingernail and watched the crowd. This was far too public. She should not have let Maldynado choose the meeting area. Two of the onlookers whispered and pointed at Sicarius. Making bets or discussing the number of wanted posters they had seen him on?

This time Amaranthe watched. Sicarius charged across the ring again. Maldynado skittered aside, but not before Sicarius tapped him on the ribs with his saber. Maldynado’s attempt to parry came too late. He was rattled. Sicarius’s opening strategy became clear. What man could concentrate on a game when he was afraid his opponent would kill him?

One hand braced against his back, Maldynado hobbled to the wall and removed his gear. He waited—at some distance—while Sicarius returned his blade. Maldynado’s gaze never left Sicarius. To his credit, it was not a glower of hatred, but one of wariness. At least he did not seem to be entertaining notions of vengeance. Amaranthe knew many men would be if they perceived their pride damaged.

“My…comrade rattles everyone,” she said to the judge. “It’s not Maldynado’s fault.” “I wish I could have awarded Maldynado a few points, at least,” the judge said. “He has superior style and technique.” “If he hadn’t been shaken in the beginning, do you think he would have won?” “No, your man is too fast. It might have been a more interesting match, but…” The judge massaged his bald pate. “Technically speaking, Maldynado is the better fencer. Your man is the better killer.” Amaranthe nodded. The accolade certainly did not surprise.

Sicarius went outside with spectators moving far aside to let him pass.

“Two weeks starting tomorrow at dawn.” Amaranthe gave Maldynado the address to the icehouse. “Agreed?” He sighed. “I’ll be there. Will he be there?” “Yes, but he won’t bother you if you don’t bother him. We’re all working toward the same goal.”

Maldynado rubbed the back of his head. “I’m going to be reliving those opening two seconds over and over for a long time, trying to figure out what I should have done there.” He met her eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m…I mean, I know how to fight. I’ve been in real brawls, not just dueling matches. He…caugh...

breaking my neck before we reached an agreement.” “Huh. And you trust him now?” Maldynado asked. “As long as we’re angling toward the same ends and can benefit from each others’ skills, I believe we can work together.” “So, the answer is no.” Amaranthe smiled faintly and shrugged. “What happens after yo...

She hissed at it in frustration. On the landing, she glanced around, hoping Sicarius would step out of the shadows. The vastness of the dark warehouse mocked her tiny light. The floor was not visible from the landing. When Amaranthe leaned over the railing, her light reflected off exposed ice, mimicking dozens of yellow eyes staring at her. Another inhuman screech cut through the walls of the icehouse. It echoed through the streets and alleys outside, surrounding and encompassing. In the distance, dogs barked. The hair on her arms leapt to attention. She shivered and clenched the handle of the lantern more tightly. “Help!” came a male voice from outside. “Anyone!” The nearby cry startled Amaranthe. It sounded like the speaker was directly in front of the icehouse.

She crossed the landing, her boots ringing on the metal. A pounding erupted at the double doors below. “Is someone there?” the voice called. “On my way!” Amaranthe hustled down the stairs. He had to be trying to escape whatever was hunting the streets. The doors rattled on their hinges. “It’s coming!” he shouted. Amaranthe took the last stairs three at a time. She slid on sawdust when she landed at the bottom, recovered, and ran to the doors. She reached for the heavy wooden bar securing them. A deafening screech sounded right outside. Amaranthe jerked back. On the other side of the door, the man shrieked with pain. She wanted to help, to lift the bar, but fear stilled her hand. Armed only with a knife, what could she do? Coward, you have to try.

She yanked her knife from its sheath. Outside, the cries broke off with a crunch. She reached for the bar again. “Stop.” She froze at the authoritative tone of Sicarius’s voice. “Someone’s dying out there,” she said, more out of a sense of obligation than a genuine desire to open the door. Sicarius walked out of the darkness beneath the stairs. If he had been sleeping, it was not eviden...

slow and listened for activity. She had a feeling Sicarius was right. Footsteps crunched on the snow outside, but they did not sound human. They were too heavy. The crunching stopped, and snuffling replaced ...

backed away. The snuffling came again, louder and more insistent. She continued backing up until she stood beside Sicarius. “Are we safe in here?” she whispered. “No.” “Oh.” Better to know now than later, I suppose. The door shuddered again, loude...

“You coming?” she asked over her shoulder. “It’s cramped down there; a poor place to make a stand.” Sicarius’s gaze drifted toward her, then toward the windows and up the stairs, as if he sought an alternative. The creature slammed against the door. A hinge popped off. Wood splintered. Only the bar kept the door standing. And that would not hold long. “Fine,” Amaranthe said. “Let me know how it goes up here.” She grabbed the lantern and climbed down the ladder.

close the grate. Sicarius appeared and caught it before it fell. He waved for her to continue down, then slipped in and secured the grate behind him. “I thought you might change your mind,” she said. A crash came from above—the sound of the bar shattering and the door collapsing. Feet or paws or something like padded through the sawdust.