Deadly Games

CHAPTER 1

In the predawn light, Amaranthe Lokdoncharged up the worn travertine steps of the ancient stadium. Herthighs burned, her calves ached, and sweat streamed into hereyes.

“Idiotic,” she muttered to herself betweenstrained breaths. “Deranged…masochistic.”

A dark, round shape blurred out of theshadows. Instinctively, she lifted her hands and caught the heavy,sand-filled ball to keep it from slamming into her chest. Barely.She wobbled, the weight threatening to knock her onto the stonebenches, but she compensated and continued upward. With a lastburst of energy, she hurled the ball back to the shadowy figurethat had appeared at the top of the stairs.

Amaranthe kept her hands up, thinking hemight throw it again, but he propped it against his hip and waited.Legs trembling, she reached the top step and forced herself tostand up straight instead of collapsing in a sweaty, exhaustedheap.

“Dedicated,” Sicarius said.

“What?” she asked when she caught her breath.Stars still lurked in the deep blue sky, and she could not make outhis face, but it would not have hinted at his thoughts anyway.

“Your list,” he said.

Amaranthe waited for him to expound. He didnot.

“You think I’m dedicated for being here, anhour before dawn, training with you? Even though I told everyone totake the week off because we’ve been working so much lately?”

“Yes.”

Figuring her pride had kept her on her feet arespectable length of time, she sat down on the closest bench.

“You don’t think I should be following my ownorders and enjoying a relaxing week? I could be sleeping in ormaybe planning for a day at the beach. It is summer, after all, andthe weather is finally good. Yet I’m here with you, torturingmyself. You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“In general, or for training?”

She scowled suspiciously at him.

A clank drifted up from the sand-coveredfloor of the arena below. A yawning man in city worker’s overallsshambled out of a maintenance door carrying a lantern. He headedtoward the towering machine that controlled the Clank Race, asteam-powered obstacle course with a tangle of climbing walls,swaying nets, rocking platforms, and swinging axes. The contraptionoccupied half of the arena floor inside the running track, andboxing and wrestling rings took up the other half. The workerpatted his pockets, cursed, and walked back inside.

“The athletes will show up soon to starttraining,” Amaranthe said. As a junior, she had competed in asmaller version of the Imperial Games, and she missed training forsomething as innocent as medals and honor. “I suppose we shouldgo.”

“Yes.” Sicarius offered a hand.

Surprised, she gazed at it for a couple ofseconds before clasping it. He pulled her to her feet gently andheld the grip for a moment.

Amaranthe swallowed. A couple of monthsearlier, he had admitted he cared for her, but he had also said itwould be a bad idea for them to act upon such feelings. Outwardly,she had agreed with him; inwardly, she kept hoping he would beovercome by emotion-or she would settle for lust-and tug her intohis arms for a passionate kiss. Unfortunately, she could notremember having too many men overcome by lust because of herpresence. Perhaps it was because she always wore her hair in apractical bun and donned utilitarian clothing more suitable tomercenary life than an evening out. Anyway, Sicarius wasn’t thetype to be overcome by…anything.

He released her hand without a word and ledthe way down the steps. Amaranthe trailed him, wondering if she hadimagined that pause. They followed a railing toward steps leadingdown from the elevated tiers of seating.

Sicarius stopped before he reached thestairs. A young woman climbed into view, blond hair and freckledskin illuminated by a pair of gas lamps burning on the landing.Though she wore the loose white togs of one of the athletes, sheclenched a short bow in one hand and had an arrow nocked with theother. Her head turned from side to side, eyes searching the arenabelow.

A throwing knife appeared in Sicarius’shand.

“Wait,” Amaranthe whispered, slipping pasthim.

Fear whitened the woman’s knuckles where shegripped the bow-this was no hardened bounty hunter.

Amaranthe held her hands out, palms up, andwalked toward the landing. “Greetings.”

The bow jerked in her direction.

Amaranthe dropped to her belly, wincing asthe hard edge of a travertine step rammed her chest. A clinksounded as the arrow skipped off the railing. Amaranthe sprang toher feet, hoping to reach the woman before she could reload.

Sicarius was already behind the woman, aknife pressed against her throat. The bow clattered to the stonefloor.

Amaranthe flung her hand out, saying,“Don’t,” but Sicarius had already paused, waiting to see what shewanted to do. A few months ago, he would not have. He simply wouldhave killed someone-anyone-who dared lift a weapon in hisdirection.

Amaranthe straightened her shirt and walkedforward. “Care to explain why you’re shooting at the shadows? Inparticular, the portion of shadows I was occupying?”

Rings of white shown around the young woman’sblue irises. She opened her mouth a couple of times but did notmanage to speak. She could not be more than eighteen or nineteen,and with that pale skin she was not likely a Turgonian.

Amaranthe waved a hand toward Sicarius tosuggest he could loosen his grip. He did not.

“He’ll only kill you if you don’t talk,”Amaranthe said.

“Accident,” the woman whispered, a faintlilting accent marking the word. “I was tense. My sister…someonetook her.”

“Oh? Like a kidnapping?” Eagerness thrummedthrough Amaranthe, revitalizing her tired limbs even more thanbeing shot at had. Was there some trouble afoot? Something her teamcould handle? Something that could earn them attention-goodattention?

“Kidnapping.” The woman started to nod butwinced when the movement drew blood. Sicarius kept his knives sharpenough to split the hairs on a flea.

“Let her go, please,” Amaranthe told him. “Ido believe that’s a client.”

Though Sicarius had drawn the woman back intothe shadows, to stay out of the light on the landing, Amaranthe hadno trouble reading the cool expression he leveled her way.

“What?” she asked him. “It’s not as if youwere going to spend the week sunbathing at the beach.”

Sicarius released the woman, but he did notput away his dagger. As soon as she was free, the girl clasped ahand to her throat and lunged away from him.

“We might be able to help you,” Amaranthesaid. “My name is Amaranthe. What’s yours?”

“Fasha,” she said, still holding her hand toher neck. She eased closer to Amaranthe while throwing uneasyglances at Sicarius. “Are you…athletes?”

“We’re swords for hire,” Amaranthe said.

“Mercenaries?” Fasha tensed. “Lowlifedung-crawlers that work for the highest bidder? How do I knowyou’re not the people who took my sister?”

“We don’t work for the highest bidder, andI’m reasonably certain I haven’t mingled with dung lately. You?”Amaranthe raised her chin toward Sicarius.

He said nothing.

“He hasn’t either,” Amaranthe said. “He’squite fastidious.” When neither person commented, she cleared herthroat and got back on topic. “We work for the good of the empire,taking on missions that the emperor would approve of in the hopesof-” getting the cursed bounties off their heads, she thought,“-winning his favor. In fact we-”

Whistling came from the arena. The worker hadreturned, a box of matches in hand, and he was veering toward thefurnace.

“But perhaps we should discuss it elsewhere,”Amaranthe murmured.

She led the way into the shadows outside thestadium. Despite her criticism of mercenaries, Fasha picked up herbow and followed. Sicarius disappeared, but Amaranthe trusted himto stay nearby. More than anybody, he knew how good she was atfinding trouble.

Voices sounded-two male athletes walking pastthe stadium a few dozen meters away. Amaranthe chewed on her lip.The idea of a mission excited her, but it would be foolish tolinger at Barlovoc Stadium after sunrise. Though a week would passbefore the Imperial Games themselves started, enforcers werealready patrolling the barracks and training areas to keep thepeace amongst the athletes. That thought made her wonder why Fashahad not sought out the law for help.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Amarantheasked.

“My sister and I are here from Kendor tocompete. This is the first year your Games have been open tooutsiders.”

Amaranthe nodded. She had read the article inThe Gazette and knew Emperor Sespian was responsible forthat. Though monetary rewards had never been a prize in theempire’s biennial competition, every young citizen dreamed ofcompeting and winning. Also there had been instances of superbathletes sweeping the events and being granted a ticket into thewarrior caste, something usually reserved for outstanding wartimeperformances. A foreigner would not be eligible for that, but thenewspaper article had mentioned a citizenship prize for those whowished it-an offer that had traditionalists grumbling in ciderhouses across the city.

“She didn’t come back to the barracks lastnight,” Fasha went on.

Amaranthe’s shoulders drooped. That was it?The girl had only been missing for a few hours? “Maybe she found ahandsome young man and spent the night with him.”

“No. She’s been training too hard for this.She may celebrate after it’s all over, but for the last week she’sbeen in bed early and up before dawn to train. Keisha is good. Verygood. She’s won every race back home. She even beats the men inanything over a hundred meters. She’s utterly serious about winninghere.”

“Did you try going to the enforcers?”Amaranthe asked.

“Yes, late last night. I returned from myevening run, and Keisha wasn’t in our room. Right away, I knewsomething was wrong. I went to the men who guard the barracks, butthey were derisive. They said nothing got past them. And theythreatened to throw me in jail when I mentioned…”

Amaranthe straightened, her interestreturning. “The Science?”

“You…know about the mental sciences?”

“My team has had run-ins with practitionersbefore.”

“Oh!” Fasha’s clothing rustled as she brushedAmaranthe’s shoulder with a pat made clumsy by the darkness. It wasan enthusiastic pat though. “Maybe you can help. Theenforcers told me it’s forbidden to talk about magic-that was theirignorant word for it. Two breaths later, they told me magic doesn’texist. If it doesn’t exist, why would it be forbidden to speak ofit? Ignorant heathens.”

“Yes, the empire’s stance isn’t entirelylogical,” Amaranthe admitted. “What did you actually sense? Are youa practitioner yourself?”

“No, but there’s a shaman in our tribe, andyou come to recognize the Science being practiced when you grow uparound it. I sensed…a definite residue. I believe something wasdone to my sister so she’d be easy to steal away.”

Amaranthe tapped her fingers against herthigh. “I’d like to see your room. I used to be an-” she stoppedherself from saying enforcer, since that might not breed confidencein the girl, “-an investigator. Is it private, or are there othersstaying in there?”

“We paid for a private room.”

“Any windows?” Amaranthe supposed she wouldhave to admit she was a wanted woman at some point and that shecould not stroll past enforcers without risk of being recognizedand captured-or shot.

“No, it’s a little room on the inside of thebuilding.”

“Near a backdoor, by chance?”

“No….” Fasha sounded puzzled. “Does itmatter? We can bring guests in.”

“My comrade and I are wanted by the law.”

Fasha’s lips formed an “Oh,” but no soundcame out.

Amaranthe eyed the brightening sky. More andmore athletes were on the road leading past the stadium, and thebarracks would be an active place. “Don’t worry about it. I’llthink of something. Let’s go.”

Amaranthe had taken only a few steps when adark figure appeared at her shoulder. She jumped despite the factshe ought to know better by now.

“We’re going inside the barracks?” Sicariusasked.

Now Fasha jumped and sidled several stepsaway. The brightening sky revealed Sicarius’s unexpressive angularface, his fitted, black clothing, and the variety of daggers andthrowing knives adorning it. Fasha fingered her bow.

“It’s fine,” Amaranthe said. “He’s my mosttrusted ally.”

“That’d be more comforting if you hadn’t justadmitted to being wanted by the law,” Fasha said.

“You didn’t think you’d find a Science-savvymercenary team in the empire without a few eccentricities, didyou?” Amaranthe asked.

“The barracks,” Sicarius repeated, cuttingout whatever reply Fasha might have made.

“I’ll sneak by the enforcers and check itout,” Amaranthe told him. “I won’t be long. You can wait outside.If they try to drag me off to Enforcer Headquarters, you can benice and provide a distraction so I can slip away. Anon-death-causing distraction.”

“The last time you went into the enemy campwhile I waited outside,” Sicarius said, “someone threw a blastingstick at me.”

“As I recall it was at the positionyou’d recently vacated, but, thanks to your hyper-vigilance, fastreflexes, and quick mind, you evaded the attack and were long gonewhen the cliff top crumbled.”

Amaranthe smiled, hoping to tease a lightresponse out of Sicarius, something that might show Fasha he had aside that was not entirely dark and scary.

Birds twittered in the branches of treeslining the road. Thunks and whistles of steam came from within thestadium, signifying the Clank Race gearing up.

Finally, Sicarius spoke. “I see. Your plan isto flatter your way past the enforcers.”

Amaranthe’s smile did not fade. “If the plandoesn’t work, maybe so.”

She left Sicarius to the shadows and ledFasha to the athlete complex, a mix of permanent structures andbrightly colored tents set up to house visiting competitors fromacross the empire. Men and women jogged or bicycled past, someheading off to train, others stopping at the food pavilions first.A steam carriage chugged past, rumbling up a circular drive to themajestic travertine lodge reserved for warrior caste athletes.Enforcers guarded the front door of the women’s barracks. Amaranthemulled over how to get in and out before full daylight came, makingit easy to recognize faces.

Instead of veering in that direction, sheangled off the main road toward a pair of dome-shaped brickbuildings: men’s and women’s bathhouses. Smoke wafted from thechimneys, signifying the floors and pools were already warm.

“You wish to bathe before investigating?”Fasha asked.

“I could use it.” Amaranthe plucked at hershirt, still damp from the stair-running session. “But, no.”

She headed for the entrance of the women’sbathhouse-no enforcers guarded those doors.

Steam wrapped about them as they headed in,obscuring visibility, but Amaranthe had visited the complex beforeand knew the layout. She slipped into the dressing room, found noone inside changing, and plucked someone’s white togs out of aniche.

“You’re stealing people’s clothing?” Fashaasked.

Already changing, Amaranthe thought aboutspouting some justification about it being for the good of theempire, but she never would have bought that from a thief when shehad been an enforcer. Oh, well. “Sandals, too,” she said.

On the way out, she grabbed a few towels. Shewound one around her hair, draped another across her shoulders, andhanded Fasha a third. She found a satchel and hid her own clothingand her knife-the closest thing to a weapon she had brought for themorning training session-inside.

“Two lady athletes returning from the bathsto change before breakfast,” Amaranthe said.

Fasha sniffed at her. “Let’s hope theenforcers’ sense of smell is as poor as their sense of magic.”

“Your Turgonian is quite good,” Amaranthesaid instead of responding to the dig.

It occurred to her that this could be asetup. What if some early-rising enforcer had spotted Sicarius andher training and, knowing he could not take them on in the open,arranged a trap? More than one bounty hunter had attempted to getclose by feigning an interest in hiring them.

“I’m the daughter of a chief,” Fasha said.“I’ve been educated.”

“What did you say your sister’s name isagain?”

“Keisha.”

“And she’s how old?”

“Sixteen.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about your tribeand why you’re here competing,” Amaranthe said, heading toward thebarracks.

Fasha’s brow crinkled, but she complied.Amaranthe listened to the story and asked more questions as theywalked, seeking inconsistencies or hesitations that would suggestthe woman was making it up as she went. Everything soundedplausible, though, and by the time they neared the barracks,Amaranthe decided she was being paranoid.

Two men with short swords and crossbows stoodguard on either side of the front door. She did not recognizeeither-since Barlovoc Stadium was located on the southern end ofthe city, there was little chance of her running into someone shehad worked with-but that did not mean they would not recognize her.Though her wanted poster did not decorate the city as profusely asSicarius’s, it was out there.

Amaranthe adjusted her towel wrap and climbedthe stairs. “You didn’t run here last year, so you don’t know,” shetold Fasha, “but the sand on the track doesn’t feel very wellpacked. It might make it easy to lose your footing.”

“Uhm, yes, maybe so,” Fasha said. “Do youthink…”

One of the enforcers grabbed Amaranthe’s armas she tried to walk through the door. Cursed ancestors, she hadhoped to at least get inside to snoop about before beingcaught.

“What are you doing with her?” the enforcerdemanded.

Amaranthe blinked. “What?”

The enforcer, a young man who could not bemore than a year or two out of the academy, pointed at Fasha whilescowling so fiercely he threatened to snap a tendon in his neck.“She’s a Kendorian.”

Ah, of course. There must be quite a fewannoyed with the new policy, allowing foreigners into the ImperialGames.

Amaranthe shrugged. “She’s running in thesame events as I am.”

The second enforcer, whose rumpled uniformand bleary eyes might have meant he had been on shift all night,stabbed Fasha in the shoulder with a finger. “She was out here,spouting about magic last night. We ought to have thrown her in thewagon. And any imperial woman who colludes with her as well.”

Amaranthe groaned inwardly. She had neverseen Sicarius laugh, and she did not want the first instance tocome because she was foolish enough to get arrested for someoneelse’s crime.

Fasha lifted her chin. “I’ve done nothingwrong. You ignorant Turgonians should be ashamed of yourselves forheckling athletes.”

“Ignorant?” The first enforcer reached forthe handcuffs dangling from his belt hook. “You-”

Amaranthe pushed Fasha back and glidedbetween the enforcers. She lifted a hand to her lips and whisperedout of the side of her mouth, “I’m on it.”

“Er, huh?” The enforcers shared perplexedlooks.

“Watching the suspicious foreigner,”Amaranthe murmured. “She came to the track babbling aboutkidnappings and magic. As if either would happen at such awell-guarded venue.”

The wrinkled foreheads smoothed. “Oh. Ofcourse, that’s right.”

“You gentlemen can’t go inside the women’sbarracks,” Amaranthe said, “but I can. I can watch her andlet you know if she does anything suspicious.”

“Yes, yes, right,” they murmured. “You let usknow.”

They drew back and nodded for her to goinside. Fortunately, Fasha kept her mouth shut and did nothing toantagonize the men as they passed, entering an open bay dominatedby two long rows of bunk beds. A few held slumbering figures, butmost had been vacated. Women in various states of undress chattedand tended to their morning ablutions.

“That was embarrassing,” Amaranthe said, asshe and Fasha walked down the aisle.

“That your people are so ignorant aboutmagic?”

“That those enforcers fell for that. Academystandards must be slipping.” Amaranthe waved toward the bay.“Where’s your room?”

“Down there.” Fasha pointed toward a hallwayat the end.

Conversations ceased as they passed.Amaranthe wondered if she had made a mistake coming in with aforeigner. She might have acquired information more easily if shechatted with people independently. One of these women might verywell have something to do with the kidnapping. Another plot to oustoutsiders?

The sound of running water came from latrinesfarther down the hallway. Amaranthe would check that directionlater. The back door ought to be guarded similarly to the front,but perhaps someone could have escaped with a prisoner through awindow, especially if some magic had rendered the prisonerunconscious. She shook her head, reminding herself she had not yetdetermined if anything was truly amiss. Even if Fasha’s sister hadbeen a daughter of the warrior caste, the enforcers would not havestarted searching for her after only one night missing.

Fasha pushed open a door that lacked a lock.They walked into a simple room with footlockers, two narrow beds,and a chest between them doubling as a side table. Two tea mugs anda bag of nuts rested on top next to a low-burning kerosenelamp.

Amaranthe turned the flame up.

“I looked around to see if she left amessage.” Fasha lingered in the doorway. “But I didn’t touchanything otherwise.”

“What did you sense exactly to make you thinkthe Science was involved?” Amaranthe poked about, looking foranything out of place. She dropped to her belly to peer under thebeds, and her towel wrap flopped off her head.

“It’s hard to explain. Like a residue in theair.”

One of the tea mugs was half full. Amaranthesniffed the herbal concoction. “Is this hers or yours?”

“I’m not sure. They’re from yesterdaymorning, I think.”

“Hm.” That would be a slow-acting drug if ithad taken all day to go into effect. Amaranthe wished she had moreof a feel for what was and was not possible in the realm of magic.She might have to find Akstyr and come back to-

“Has anyone seen Anakha?” a woman asked inthe hallway.

A black-haired, bronze-skinned Turgonianwoman strode past the door, bumping Fasha without noticing. Shestrode out of sight, but Amaranthe followed her to the bay.

“Anyone?” the woman asked again. “Anakha?Tall woman with more muscles than the men.”

“Haven’t seen her since yesterday,” someonesaid.

“She never came to bed.”

Murmurs of assent came from others.

“Great grandmother’s bunions,” the originalspeaker growled and strode through the bay and out the frontdoor.

Amaranthe returned to Fasha. “Have you heardof any other kidnappings?”

“No.”

“This Anakha, she’s Turgonian?”

“If she’s who I’m thinking of, yes. There’reonly a few of us from outside of the empire.”

“Huh.” Amaranthe scratched her jaw. If thisother missing woman had disappeared in the same manner asKeisha…it would stomp out her theory of this being a plot againstforeigners.

She spent another ten minutes searching theroom, hoping to find something that would justify this trip intothe barracks, but she found nothing, not even dust balls. “I betterget going. I’ll come back tonight or tomorrow night and bring oneof my men.” Assuming Maldynado had not taken Akstyr to someweek-long brothel experience to celebrate their vacation. OnlyBooks had spent the night at their latest hideout. Even Basilard,not a notorious brothel-goer had been gone when Amaranthe awoke.“If you need help before then, you can find me in the locomotiveboneyard. It’s near the tracks, two miles south of here.”

“You live in a…junkyard? Is that whatboneyard means?”

“Temporary lodgings.”

Amaranthe took the towels, prepared to createanother bath-house-inspired costume, but, when she left thebarracks, nobody stood guard at the top of the steps. She did notsee the enforcers anywhere. A shout almost made her misstep andtumble down the stairs.

“Sicarius!” a male voice cried. “He went thatway! Enforcers! That way!”

Amaranthe groaned. What was hedoing?

The early morning sunlight brightening thecity did not reach the alley where Basilard stood on a half-rottedwood stoop before a door. Gang graffiti marked the chipped andbroken brick walls around it, and rusty bars protected a windowclosed off with oilskin rather than glass. A homeless man snored ona stoop farther down while a mangy dog pawed through excrementdumped on the ancient cobblestones. This old neighborhood was noton the city sewer system, as the smell attested.

Thanks to the knives at his belt and thescars covering his hands, shaven head, and face, Basilard doubtedanyone would bother him. He was more concerned about dealing withthe woman inside. A sign dangling from rusty hinges readApothecary.

Basilard lifted a fist to knock, but paused.A bushy tuft of greenery sprouting from a crack caught hisattention. Soroth Stick? Like dandelion and lizard tail, theTurgonians treated the plant as a weed, but he hopped down from thestoop and plucked several leaves. They made a tea that soothedcramps, and, given how much training the team did, such a beveragewas often necessary for replenishing the body.

Since he did not have the foraging satchel hecarried in the wilderness, he tucked the leaves into an insidepocket in his vest, with a mental reminder to wash them well beforeusing them. Given this dubious locale, they had probably been peedon. By multiple species.

Basilard returned to the stoop, but he casthis gaze about, wondering if the grungy alley might host any otheredible plants.

Stop it, he told himself. No moreprocrastinating. As grandpa used to say, “Cleaning a fish don’t getany more pleasant for having put the task off.”

He took a deep breath and knocked on thedoor.

A part of him hoped no one would answer. Notmany of his people lived in the Turgonian capital, and he had notsought any out since Amaranthe and Sicarius had killed the wizardwho had bought Basilard years ago. Nor had he had the freedom tovisit anyone during his tenure as a slave. He had never comeface-to-face with the Mangdorians that played a part in the citywater poisoning a couple of months earlier, so this would be thefirst he had met since… He swallowed hard at the memory of a youngman he had killed in a pit fight engineered by their owners. He hadkilled many in those forced battles, since it had been the only wayto preserve his own life.

The sound of footsteps came from within. Alock thunked, and the door opened.

A stooped woman with graying red hairsquinted at Basilard. An Eye of God necklace hung around her neck,and his breath caught. He had expected an apothecary, not apriestess. She peered up and down the alley before addressinghim.

“You must be here for my herbs,” she said inheavily accented Turgonian. Her gesture encompassed his scars.“Come in, come in. My services are very affordable. I don’t use nomagic though, so don’t expect that.” She glanced up and down thealley again.

Basilard guessed that meant she could use themental sciences, but would not risk it if there was a chance thelocals would find out.

He followed her into a one-room dwellingpartitioned into sections for sleeping, meal preparation, and work.The pungent aroma of dozens-hundreds? — of drying herbs thickened theair. She gestured for him to sit on a faded sofa, and he duckedbeneath bundles of leaves hanging from the ceiling to perch on theedge.

“What’s your problem?” She sat on a stoolbeside a desk piled high with flasks, tins, and tools. “You’re inpain from your scars? I’ve seen pin cushions less poked up.”

Basilard shook his head and touched the knotof scar tissue on his throat, the wound that had stolen his abilityto speak.

“No voice? I can’t fix that. No herb canrepair damaged vocal cords.”

He lifted his hands, but did nothing excepthold them in the air at first. As soon as he signed, she would knowhe was Mangdorian. As far as he knew, the hand code his people usedon the hunt-which Basilard now used to speak to his comrades-wasnot employed anywhere else in the world. He had brought pencil andpaper, too, because there were few female hunters amongst histribes, and she might not understand the code well. Maybe he shouldsimply write his message. But she would find out he was Mangdoriansooner or later, since he had come to discuss their people.

He signed, I seek information. Do youunderstand me?

Her eyes widened, and she drew back soquickly she almost fell off the stool. “You’re Mangdorian?” Sheeyed his scars. “Those are knife wounds, aren’t they? Did someonedo that to you…as punishment?”

He had not expected her to guess he was notresponsible for them, that he may not have violated God’s mandatesof peace and pacifism. Could he lie to her? And avoid hercondemnation? Maybe if she had been a simple apothecary, and notworn the necklace of a priestess as well. He could not lie to aholy servant. Besides, he told himself, this was a one-timemeeting. Her opinion of him did not matter.

I was a slave, he signed. I wasforced to fight for my life. Many times.

The priestess dropped her chin to her chest,clutched the bronze eye on her necklace, and whispered a prayer hehad not heard in a long time, but one that he remembered well. Itasked for God to pity him and give strength to his family becausehis actions had condemned him.

Basilard sighed. When she looked up, hesigned again, I seek to help our people. I need information on aman who might have wronged Mangdoria somehow.

“How would you help our people?” She frowned.“By killing this man?”

He hesitated. I would rather not, but ifhe has committed crimes against us, I feel it would be my duty toact.

Her frown deepened, and he realized she wasstruggling to follow his words. Over the last few months, he hadadded signs to his people’s sparse hunting code, so he could speakmore completely with Amaranthe and the others, but, of course,outsiders would not know the gestures he had made up.

I wish to do good, Basilard signed.If I…help our people, maybe God will forgive me.

The priestess straightened, her back as rigidas a steel bar. “God does not forgive killers. You havecondemned yourself to the darkest circle of Ethor, young man.Nothing you can do in this life can make up for it. That you wouldeven consider killing someone to avenge a wrong proves how far youhave fallen.”

Basilard closed his eyes. He had just met thewoman. Her opinion should not matter, but he knew it was areflection of the same opinion his family-his daughter-wouldshare should he ever return home. And it was an opinion he fearedheld far too much truth.

I need to know…. Have you spoken to anyother Mangdorians in the city? Have you heard anything about a mancalled…

He grabbed his paper, knowing she would notknow his made up sign for the name, and scrawled it for her. Hisfingers surprised him by trembling. Maybe he did not really want toknow the answer. What would he do if his suspicions provedcorrect?

Still frowning, the priestess read the name.“Sicarius? The assassin?”

Yes.

Her lips puckered in disapproval, whether forSicarius or for Basilard, he did not know. “What would you do withthis information if I told you. Attempt to kill him?”

His heartbeat quickened. There issomething to tell?

Her pucker deepened.

Basilard leaned forward. I mustknow.

“You should leave this place. The blood onyour hands taints my home.”

Basilard gripped the sofa’s faded floralarmrest so tightly his fingers ached. She watched his hand warily,perhaps anticipating violence from a man such as he. Condemned ornot, he would not threaten an old woman. He forced his fingers toloosen. How would Amaranthe talk this lady into giving up theinformation? By giving her what she wanted? What did she want?

If he has wronged Mangdoria, he shouldbe…dealt with. Our people cannot do it without damningthemselves, correct? If I am already condemned, then I’m thelogical choice to avenge the tribes.

In truth, Basilard did not want to pick afight with Sicarius. For one thing, he doubted he could win. Foranother, he did not dislike Sicarius, not the way Akstyr and Booksdid. Sicarius was cold and impossible to know, and he expectedeveryone to train as stringently as he did, but Basilard had notfound him cruel or vindictive. Hard but fair, he would say. But,that moment in the shaman’s cave, when Sicarius had destroyed thatMangdorian message before Basilard or Books could read it…. Thathad raised Basilard’s suspicions. Since then, he had thought oftenof the moment and wondered what the assassin was hiding.

“You do not treat your soul with respect,”the priestess said.

If nothing I do matters… Basilardshrugged.

“Very well. The rumor is Sicarius killedChief Yull and his family.”

Basilard flopped back so hard the sofathumped against the wall. Crumbled dust from the herbs dryingoverhead sifted down to land in his eyes. He barely noticed it.Good-hearted Chief Yull, the man Basilard had dreamed of workingfor as a boy, back when he had thought to become a forage leaderand chef. Basilard’s gut twisted. And there had been sons.Young sons. Jast and Yuasmif.

He closed his eyes. Why had he snooped? Whyhad he asked for this information?

And, now that he had it, how could he doanything but kill Sicarius? Or die trying.