The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 4 Part 1

“Top floor, eh?” Amaranthe followed Sicarius to one of only two doors in a short hallway. The one they stopped in front of was made of stout oak and featured a hand-carved image of a spear-toting man hunting a bear alongside a tree-lined river.

“Yes,” Sicarius said.

Since Mancrest was warrior caste, it made sense that he would have the resources to own a flat that took up half of the floor. What surprised her was that he lived in a neighborhood full of university students and modest-income families, in a building that lacked a doorman in the lobby to keep out riffraff. Maybe as a journalist, he favored being in the heart of the city.

Amaranthe took the grocery bags from Sicarius. “Thank you. Do you want to wait outside while I—”

“No.”

“No?”

“He may have a limp, but he’s a former officer. He’ll be a dangerous opponent.”

“No doubt,” Amaranthe said, “but I’m not planning to fight him. Also, I find it difficult to...sway people to my way of thinking when you’re holding knives to their throats. That tends to render one unwilling to believe my entreaties of friendship.”

Sicarius’s only response was to knock on the door.

“You have an amazing knack for being almost personable one moment and, er, yourself the next.”

He said nothing.

Uneven footsteps and the rhythmic thump of a cane on a hard floor sounded on the other side of the door. Sicarius took up a position against the wall. She wanted to tell him not to jump out and put a knife to Mancrest’s throat, but the door opened too soon.

Amaranthe had a glimpse of short, wavy brown hair, a strong jaw, and spectacles before Mancrest realized who she was and reacted.

He jumped back, whipping his cane up. A click sounded, and the wood flew away from the handle. Amaranthe dropped the groceries and flung an arm up to block the projectile, but Sicarius blurred past her.

He caught the flying cane and tackled Mancrest. Something—steel?—clattered to the floor.

In the half of a second it took Amaranthe to realize she could lower her arms, the skirmish was over. Mancrest lay sprawled face-first on the floor with Sicarius on top, pinning him. She cringed. At least knives were not involved. Yet.

“Good evening, Lord Mancrest.” Amaranthe picked up her bags and the hollow husk of the cane. She spotted the handle attached to a rapier on the floor inside the threshold. Sword stick. “I thought we had a dinner date. Was my invitation received in error?”

Having his face pressed into the floor muffled his response.

“Pardon?” Amaranthe stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Sicarius, would you mind letting him up, please?”

Sicarius yanked him to his feet, keeping Mancrest’s arms pinned behind his back. A pained grimace twisted Mancrest’s face, and his spectacles dangled from one ear.

Amaranthe waved for Sicarius to loosen the hold. He did not.

“I apologize for being tardy at your proposed meeting place,” Amaranthe said, “but there appeared to be a squad of soldiers lurking inside. What do you suppose they were doing there?”

Mancrest glowered and said nothing.

“Maldynado seems to think you’re an honorable fellow,” Amaranthe said, “and even knowing that you arranged to have me captured, or killed I suppose, he still thinks I should talk to you.” Actually, according to Maldynado’s candle selection, he thought they should do more than talk.