The Emperor's Edge 3: Deadly Games

The Emperor's Edge 3: Chapter 7 Part 1

Basilard urged his legs to greater speed, though the darkness made the footing treacherous. He snorted. Even by day, the footing was treacherous.

He reached the end of the swinging platforms, leaped onto the last wall, pulled himself over, and dropped the ground. He sprinted the last ten meters to the finish line.

A soft clack sounded as Akstyr stopped the watch. He held it up to one of the few gas lamps still burning. “Just over two minutes. Nice. You’re going to be a real competitor. Imagine how speedy you’ll be when it’s light enough to see.”

It will be easier to avoid the swinging axes, Basilard signed with a nod toward the dark, deadly shadows swaying back and forth.

Akstyr squinted, and Basilard could tell he struggled to read the hand signals in the dim lighting. When Akstyr had told Maldynado to take the night off, that he would work with Basilard on his “training,” Basilard had assumed the young man wanted to speak about Sicarius—perhaps he had some idea?—but thus far Akstyr had not mentioned him. Basilard should bring it up. This was his quest after all.

As if sensing his intent, Akstyr whispered, “I was thinking about that powder. If it’s what I think it is.... Am’ranthe tell you the details?”

Basilard drew closer to the light, so his hand signs would be visible. Yes.

 “If we could get some...”

A creak sounded behind them, and Akstyr jumped a foot, spinning in the air to face the sound. The maintenance fellow who manned the obstacle course’s furnace strode from a doorway in the stone wall below the first tier of seating.

Akstyr chuckled nervously. Basilard touched his arm and nodded, indicating they should walk. The man would be powering down the engine for the night anyway, so training was over.

You suggest finding the kidnappers and colluding with them? To get some of the powder? The thought did not sit well with Basilard. Though he had no reason to love the athletes attending the Imperial Games, he had no reason to wish them ill either, and he did not care for the idea of working against Amaranthe.

“No, I wasn’t thinking about that,” Akstyr said, keeping his voice low as they walked. “Am’ranthe wants me to go investigate apothecaries tomorrow, to see if we can find out if a local sells the stuff and if someone suspicious has been buying it up. If I get a chance, I’ll buy some while I’m there. Then we just have to figure out how to use it on Sicarius, and you can...” He sliced a finger across his throat.

Basilard swallowed. Even if he was no longer the model Mangdorian, he shrank from the idea of killing an unconscious man. But at the same time, he could not foresee downing Sicarius in a fair fight. He had never even drawn blood when they sparred. Basilard had a measure of talent when it came to knives, but Sicarius had...erkt mahlay. That was the Kendorian term for it, and one his people used as well. Literally, snake blood. Figuratively, the ability to strike, not just with the speed of a viper, but with a snake’s utter lack of hesitation and remorse. Even knowing what he knew about the man’s crimes, Basilard would hesitate. He knew he would. Sicarius would not.

Basilard massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re not backing out, are you?” Akstyr asked.

No. I’ll do it.

“Good.”