The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 6 Part 1

Before they entered the boneyard, Sicarius stopped Amaranthe with a hand on her arm. He pointed at plumes of black smoke wafting into the sky ahead of them. Overgrown blackberry bushes and the rusted carcasses of locomotives hid the source.

“Bonfire?” Amaranthe guessed.

“No. Listen.”

Amaranthe closed her eyes and cocked an ear in the direction of the smoke. Despite the homeless and hunted that camped in the boneyard, quiet ruled there, except for the cicadas that favored the trees on the southern end. She and Sicarius were at the northern entrance, though, closest to the city, and she heard nothing beyond chirping birds. A working train rumbled by to the west, following the tracks along the lake and into Stumps. Wait. She listened harder. Maybe that was not a locomotive, and maybe it was not far enough west to be on the tracks.

“Steam carriage?” she asked. “No, I can’t imagine anyone wealthy enough to own one spending time here. Enforcer wagon more likely.”

Amaranthe took a step in the direction of the smoke, intending to check it out, but Sicarius had not released her arm.

“Don’t you want to investigate?” she asked. “Or did you want to stand here and fondle my arm for a while?”

He released her. “I was alerting you to the potential of trouble so we could avoid it.”

“So...no interest in arm fondling, eh?”

She expected him to ignore her or perhaps sigh. Instead, he said, “Were that my goal, your arm wouldn’t be my target.”

Amaranthe blinked. “Why, Sicarius, is it possible you have a playful side beneath your razor-edged knives, severe black clothing, and humorless glares?”

“I will lead.” Sicarius headed into the boneyard. “Make no noise.”

She was the one to sigh, but she followed him anyway. One day, after they finished their work and made peace with the emperor, she was going to drag him off some place where it would be impossible to train and the only acceptable activity was having fun. She had heard of tropical islands in the Gulf where the inhabitants welcomed everyone with bead necklaces and feasts. Even Turgonians were supposed to be allowed, so long as they did not come to conquer.

Sicarius did not choose a direct path to the smoke. He circled through weed-choked aisles between rows of boxy freight cars. Nobody stirred in the shadowed interiors, not with enforcers around.

Sicarius climbed the rusty side of an early model locomotive. Salvagers had torn away the siding, removed the wheels, and scavenged any engine parts light enough to carry.

Crouched in the shadow of the smokestack, Sicarius waved for her to come up. She clambered to the top. They were closer to the source of the smoke now, and she glimpsed the top of a steam wagon between rail cars a couple of aisles over. It gleamed with familiar red and silver paint. Enforcers.

Something clanged, like a baton striking the metal side of a car.

“See any more?” a man called.

“We probably got the wizard already,” came another male voice.

“The ones we’ve chained say it’s not them.”

“Of course they’re not going to admit it, patroller. Not when the punishment is death.”

“They’re all gang thugs. They’re probably going to get a death sentence anyway.”

“The lady said the wizard was young.”

Amaranthe mumbled, “What has Akstyr done?”