Ice Cracker II (3 page)

"We'll survive."

A frustrated rant leapt to her lips, but,
cursed ancestors, there was no time for arguing. He said so
himself. Grasping for calm, she spoke evenly: "Let me go."

Even now, his face was unreadable. Only those
dark eyes held extra intensity. A heartbeat passed—it seemed like
hours—and he released her.

Amaranthe sprinted for the ladder. Ignoring
the rungs, she slid down to the bottom of the ship. Heat bathed her
as she stepped into the corridor. She expected to run into crew and
soldiers, but the lanterns on the walls illuminated an empty
passageway.

The chugging and clanking of machinery led
her to the engine room. At the hatchway, she passed the first body:
a man in a gray engineer's smock, throat cut, his blood pooled on
the deck.

Nine-tenths of the crew did not know there
was a problem; the other tenth was dead. Great.

She raced through the engine room, a jungle
of colored pipes, gauges, and machinery. A railing surrounded the
churning pistons of the engine. More corpses clogged the twisting
walkways.

Two blackened bodies blocked the hatchway
leading to the boiler room. Only the dead men's boots, which stuck
out toward Amaranthe, had not been marked. Such intense fire had
charred their clothing and features that little more than melted
lumps remained. The smell of roasted flesh rose above the odors of
machine oil and burning coal.

A hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped,
but it was only Sicarius. He did not say anything, but she would
have had trouble hearing over the machinery anyway.

He crouched, removed one of the dead men's
boots, and tossed it. A curtain of crimson flames flashed across
the hatchway. Heat poured out and light flared. Amaranthe stumbled
back, shielding her face with her arms. The boot was
incinerated.

When the flames disappeared, leaving only a
border of glowing red along the bulkhead and floor, she waited for
Sicarius to voice an I-told-you-so. He merely watched her.
Expectantly. He must think she had an idea, for why else would she
insist on racing down here? She smiled bleakly.

It took a few seconds for the crimson borders
to dim and wink out, leaving the bulkhead with no signs of a
trap.

"Huh," she muttered.

Amaranthe unlaced two more boots, forcing her
mind away from the grisly knowledge that she was disrobing some
poor engineer who had been living but moments before. She tossed
the first boot. The fire curtain burst forth. As soon as the
hatchway grew dark again, she threw the second boot. It flew
through and landed on the other side.

She and Sicarius exchanged significant
looks.

Only when the border faded, heartbeats later,
did the trap reset. Sicarius removed the last boot and nodded for
her to stand beside him. He tossed it, waited for the flames to
come and go, and they jumped through together.

Though she feared there would be other
traps—or they would run into the invisible saboteur—she ran to the
first pair of boilers. Pipes rattled, gauges quivered, and needles
pushed into the red. There was no time for caution.

Steel squealed just behind her. Amaranthe
spun, sword ready.

Sicarius landed in a crouch, a dagger in each
hand, and a pair of buckskin fringes wafted to the floor. The
Kendorian must have attacked.

"Find the blow off valves," Sicarius yelled
over the clamoring machinery. He glided into position at her back.
"I'm here."

How could one defeat—or even defend
against—an invisible foe? Especially here, where noise and smell
drowned out the other senses? He would have to figure it out.

She spotted the safety valve on the first
boiler, and her shoulders slumped. Warped and melted metal made the
handle inoperable. For a lost moment, she stared at the tangle of
pipes, gauges, and wheels. Heat roared from the furnace, and sweat
beaded on her forehead. Why couldn't there be a blessed engineer
alive?

Sicarius brushed her back, and someone cried
out. A bevy of Kendorian curses followed. She glanced back to see
Sicarius lunge. Despite his speed, he connected with nothing.

A nearby wall held another firefighting
station. Amaranthe spotted the axe.

"Back in a second," she said to Sicarius.

She sprinted over and grabbed the axe. If she
couldn't engineer a solution, brute force might work. She ran back,
tool raised. As soon as she reached the boiler, she smashed the
warped valve.

Steam burst free, and she barely threw
herself to the side before it blistered her face. It worked,
though, and the gauge's needle dropped out of the red.

"Got one," Amaranthe said.

She darted toward the second boiler, but
tripped over something she could not see. Lightning flashed and an
electrical force pounded her. Energy crackled about her. Agony tore
through her body, and she dropped the axe, crumpling to her
knees.

As abruptly as the pain came, it disappeared.
Sicarius rolled past, grappling with their invisible assailant.

Amaranthe shook off the attack, snatched the
axe, and launched herself at the second valve.

"Two of them," Sicarius barked.

Amaranthe smashed the valve. Again, steam
whooshed out, parting around an invisible figure. It lunged toward
Amaranthe.

She whipped the axe across, hoping to keep
the attacker at bay. The heavy blade slammed into flesh with a
moist meaty thump.

A scream buffeted Amaranthe's ears, and she
released the axe. The invisibility spell flickered out. A blonde
woman collapsed. She struck the floor, gasping, curling around the
axe head lodged in her gut.

Movement pulled Amaranthe's gaze to the side.
A Kendorian male lay on his back, a dagger protruding from his
chest.

Sicarius rolled to his feet with a second
blade in his hand. He sliced the woman's throat.

"The other boilers," Amaranthe remembered,
forcing her gaze from the dying Kendorian.

Sicarius tore the axe free and finished the
task. Legs rubbery, Amaranthe walked around to each boiler, double
checking gauges to make sure the threat was over. She pushed damp
strands of hair out of her eyes with trembling hands. Sicarius
appeared as calm as ever, though sweat dampened his hair. She tried
to catch his eye to give him a nod of thanks, but he faced the
other direction, a throwing knife in hand.

Amaranthe stepped around a boiler, and the
hatchway came into view. "Cursed ancestors," she groaned.

With the Kendorians' deaths, the trap had
disappeared.

The captain stood in the hatchway, pistol
aimed at Sicarius. A squad of men had entered and fanned out on
either side, swords ready, firearms raised. All weapons focused on
Sicarius.

Though she was not sure it would stop anyone
from shooting, she stepped in front of him, arms spread. She met
the captain's eyes. How much had the men seen? Did they know she
and Sicarius had saved the ship? Even if they did, would it
matter?

The captain closed his eyes for a long
moment, then told his men, "Lower your weapons."

"Sir?" a nervous corporal squeaked, his wide
eyes toward Sicarius.

"You heard me," the captain said. "Lower your
weapons and step aside from the hatch."

Amaranthe swallowed, emotion choking her
throat. With this many witnesses, there was no way the captain's
superiors would fail to learn he had let Sicarius go.

She waved for him to sheath his weapons, and
slowly, very slowly, they started for the hatch. For Sicarius to
walk past armed soldiers, leaving them at his back, must have gone
against every instinct ingrained in him, but he did. He and
Amaranthe made it to the captain without incident.

"Thank you," she murmured as they passed.

"Thank
you
." He looked at her, at Sicarius,
and back at her. "Just don't make me regret giving up..." A muscle
jumped in his jaw.

"I'll do my best, sir," she said.

* * * * *

Snow sifted from the heavens. A pile rested
atop the trolley stop sign. Amaranthe's watch promised they were in
time for the last run of the night. The flame in a nearby
streetlamp sputtered and hissed.

She watched Sicarius survey their
surroundings. Even with the streets empty and the city silent, he
remained vigilant. He had not spoken since the fight in the boiler
room, and she wondered what he thought of the night. Even his
'heroics' had ruined a man's career. Perhaps he never would escape
his past. Still, they had helped the city, and she had to believe
word would get back to the emperor one way or another.

To lighten his mood, or perhaps hers, she
waited until his back was to her, then swept the snow off the sign
and patted it into a tidy ball. She chucked it, grinning at the
thought of a satisfying splat.

Just before it hit, Sicarius blurred into
motion. She was barely conscious of him evading the projectile
before a snowball splattered against her chest.

"I asked for that, didn't I?" she groaned, a
wry smile tugging at her lips. "Cocky to think I could surprise
you."

Sicarius strolled over and leaned against the
post next to her. "You do know that whether you outrun, outfight,
or out-snowball-throw your men is irrelevant, correct?"

Amaranthe tilted her head toward him,
eyebrows raised.

"That you concoct, and lead the way into,
crazy schemes that not only succeed but make us look like better
men than we are... that is why we follow you."

She dropped her chin and brushed the snow off
her sweater in order to hide the flush creeping into her cheeks.
Hugging him for the compliment probably would not be professional,
so she merely said, "Crazy, huh?"

"Utterly."

The trolley chugged into view, a plow at the
head churning snow off the track.

"As far as the obstacle course is concerned,"
Sicarius added as it slowed for their stop, "strength exercises and
footwork drills would help more than endurance training."

"Oh? Perhaps tomorrow afternoon we
could—"

"Start at dawn."

She groaned again. "I asked for that, didn't
I?"

THE END

If you enjoyed this story,
try
The Emperor’s Edge
, a full-length novel featuring Amaranthe and
Sicarius.

* * * * *

Amaranthe woke in the middle of the night
with her heart slamming against her ribs. Fleeting memories of a
nightmare dissipated like plumes of smoke from a steam engine. All
she remembered was something dark chasing her, emitting a horrible,
unearthly screech.

The sound came again. She frowned with
confusion as dream and reality mixed. Had the screech been real or
was she still sleeping?

She sat up on the cot. The wool blanket
pooled around her waist. Darkness blanketed the room, though she
could feel heat radiating from the nearby stove. She sat motionless
and listened.

At first, she heard nothing. Deep in the
industrial district, the icehouse neighborhood saw little traffic
at night, and silence stretched through the streets like death.
Then another screech shattered the quiet. Amaranthe cringed
involuntarily; it jarred her nerves like metal gouging metal. An
eerily supernatural quality promised it was nothing so innocuous.
And it originated nearby, within a block or two.

Thinking of the bear-mauling story in the
paper, Amaranthe slid off the cot, reluctant to make any noise. She
managed to thump her knee against the desk. So much for not making
noise. She groped for the lantern and turned up the flame. The
light revealed her neat pile of boots, business clothing, knife,
and the box containing her savings. She tugged on the footwear,
then grabbed the weapon and lantern. When she opened the door, it
creaked. Loudly. 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.