The Assassin's Curse (2 page)

“Two people walked that way.” Sicarius
pointed south, toward the shoreline. “They were trying to hide
their tracks.”

“But not skillfully enough to fool you, eh?”
Amaranthe extended a hand, indicating he could lead. “Have I
mentioned recently that I’m glad you’re on my side?”

“Compliments will not get you out of the last
half hour of training,” Sicarius said and strode down the hill.

She groaned. “
Why
I’m glad you’re on
my side, I’m not entirely sure.”

They eased down a hillside that only a goat
could have navigated without slipping. A goat and Sicarius. For her
part, Amaranthe did her best to keep from knocking pebbles free,
pebbles that skittered and bounced down to the trail below, making
far too much noise on the way.

Sicarius paused now and then to check some
sign on the ground, but they reached the lake again without seeing
anyone. The trail wound past a vacant log cabin with more moss on
the roof than shingles before stopping at a beach. Sicarius lifted
a hand and crouched behind a copse of trees near the water. A
rickety dock stretched into the lake where waves glittered like
candles beneath the low-hanging afternoon sun. The brightness
almost made Amaranthe miss the rowboat gliding across the water
toward...

She groaned again. “Darkcrest Isle?”

Two figures sat in the boat, one male and one
female. The man rowed while the woman kept watch, her face toward
the mainland rather than the island. Did she know Amaranthe and
Sicarius were following? She didn’t seem to be looking at them
directly, rather her face shifted slowly from side to side, eyes
scanning the shoreline, but there was a wary tenseness to her
posture, as if she knew someone was tracking them.

“Nurians,” Sicarius murmured.

Amaranthe threw him a sharp look. “How can
you tell?”

From this far away, she could see they had
black hair and bronze skin, but most Turgonians had dark hair and
olive to bronze skin. Even Sicarius, with blond locks that were
rare in the empire, had the skin coloring of an imperial
citizen.

“Almond-shaped eyes,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe squinted, but without a spyglass
she couldn’t make out facial features, especially with the boat
drawing ever farther away. The pair wore Turgonian factory-made
clothing rather than the flamboyantly colored silks she associated
with Nurians, but they were in the heart of the empire, thousands
of miles from their homeland. Of course, they would have
disguises.

“I know you’re better than me at...
everything,” Amaranthe whispered, “but must you even have superior
eyesight to mine? I’ve been wondering if you’re entirely human.”
Even as she spoke, her mind was spinning at the possibility of
Nurians. The empire had spurned the development of the mental
sciences in favor of technology. It had used that technology to
dominate the Turgonian continent and thrust back Nurian attempts at
infiltration. The empire’s ironclad steamships and black powder
weapons had equaled the otherworldly resources those western
wizards commanded, but what if Nuria got some of that technology
and started developing it alongside their mental skills? Surely
that would tip the scales in their favor.

Sicarius bumped her arm, and she tore her
gaze from the boat. He held a collapsible spyglass in his hand.

“Oh, I see. You’re not inhuman; you just pack
better than I do.”

“Yes, are you scheming a plan?” He nodded
toward the island. The two Nurians had hit land and were dragging
the boat ashore.

“
Now
you’re interested in things,
eh?”

“They represent a threat to... the
empire.”

Amaranthe smiled. She knew he cared about the
emperor
, not the empire, but she wouldn’t correct him. “They
took the only boat. I guess we could swim over after dark and see
what they’re up to. Is someone meeting them there to pick them up,
or do they have another craft waiting? Their first plan must have
been to steal the steam tramper, and maybe march it all the way to
the Gulf where they could find a ride back home on a merchant
ship.”

“You want to set foot on Darkcrest Isle?”

“Yes...” She frowned at him. He was the most
unflappable man she knew. Surely, he didn’t believe the stories
about the place. “Are you concerned the island is haunted?”

Sicarius gazed steadily at her, his face an
unreadable mask. “Not haunted, cursed.”

If it had been anybody else, she would have
laughed. “What?”

“You’re familiar with the public story, that
a warrior-caste family lived there two-hundred years ago and
everyone on the island was slain during a surprise attack on the
city.”

“Supposedly leaving restless—and
angry—ancestor spirits roaming the island. Yes, I’ve heard the...”
Amaranthe frowned as she considered his words. “What do you mean
public
story?”

“Are you aware that forty years ago, Azon
Amar, a famous warrior mage and assassin from Nuria killed Emperor
Morvaktu?”

“Uhm, Emperor Morvaktu, father to Raumesys,
the supposed father of current emperor, Sespian—” they both knew
why she said supposed, but even out here, alone, she felt compelled
to keep the details vague, “—died in a hunting accident.” Or so the
history books said.

“Morvaktu died in his bed in the Imperial
Barracks after being poisoned by Azon Amar’s blade. An alarm went
up and the assassin fled the city with platoons of soldiers on his
heels. They destroyed the boat he planned to escape in, and he swam
to Darkcrest Isle. He made a stand here, wielding a pair of Nurian
scimitars and Science such as most of those soldiers had never
seen. In Nuria he was a legend for his skills and powers, and their
king hand-selected him to carry out the assassination in hopes of
throwing the empire into chaos. Raumesys was still quite young
then.”

Amaranthe was shaking her head through his
speech. “None of this is in the history books. I’ve never even
heard of Azon Am-whatever.”

“Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest, then
Lord General Hollowcrest, squashed the story and kept it out of the
papers. He led the charge that finally took down Azon Amar, and
they kept word of the assassin’s success from reaching Nuria. For
three months, they pretended Morvaktu was still alive, and claimed
an illness kept him from public appearances. Finally, so the state
could return to normal, they announced his death in a hunting
accident, burned the body at a funeral pyre, and appointed Raumesys
as emperor.”

It was the longest story Amaranthe could
remember Sicarius giving her. Though he did not always answer her
questions, he had never lied to her, and she could not believe he
was lying now. “How do you know all this?”

“If not for this incident, I never would have
been born.”

Amaranthe stared at him. She knew he had been
raised since he was a babe to be the emperor’s assassin, a position
he had held until Raumesys’s death six years earlier, but she
hadn’t realized the old emperor and Hollowcrest might have arranged
the mating that brought him into existence. “They wanted to create
an assassin of their own in case the Nurians tried again? To
protect the emperor?”

“More likely because they were impressed with
the devastation one man could cause. Azon Amar killed dozens that
night, some say hundreds, and with his dying breath, he left a
curse on the island, one designed to aid any Nurians who might one
day use it as a staging center to launch an attack on our capital.
It’s also supposed to work against Turgonians who set foot on the
beach.”

Amaranthe slumped against a nearby tree, the
bark rough against her bare arm. The pair from the boat had
disappeared into the foliage, and the sun was dipping below the
tree line.

“I do not know how those two found out about
the island,” Sicarius said. “The army sacrificed much to make sure
no word made it back to Nuria.”

“Maybe this warrior mage had an ally he
communicated with through some magical device. We’ve seen those
ourselves.”

“It is possible.”

“How potent is this curse?” Amaranthe
asked.

“Unknown.”

“Have you been on the island yourself?”

“No.”

“So it’s possible the curse is simply part of
the legend?” She lifted her eyebrows hopefully.

Sicarius hesitated. “That they’re
there
, seeking refuge, suggests there’s something to
it.”

“Let’s discuss our options,” Amaranthe said.
“One of us could stay here while the other attempts to get the
authorities, a proposition made difficult by the fact that the
authorities have orders to shoot us on sight.”

Sicarius said nothing, and it was probably
only her imagination that the look he gave her meant she was
deranged for listing that as an option.

“Or,” she went on, “one of us could stay here
and watch them while the other goes home to pick up the rest of the
team.” It was seven miles back to town and still hot enough that
she did not relish the idea of jogging the route; there was also
the question of whether the men would be at the hideout or, if with
the boss gone, they were out carousing. “Perhaps Books would know
more about the history of the island that could prove useful, and
Akstyr might be able to tell us about any magic being used.”

“Books will know no more than you did, and
Akstyr is a self-taught boy. He’d be of little use.”

“The thieves probably aren’t looking to stick
around for long either.” If
Amaranthe
had crashed a steam
tramper, she’d want to be out of the area by dawn. Or before.

“Agreed.”

“If you believe we can handle it ourselves,
you know I’m always game to go in and find trouble.” Amaranthe
smiled, thinking that might draw a retort from him. He
did
have a sense of humor, albeit one dryer than the tufts of yellow
grass sticking up near the dock. Sometimes, when there were no
other witnesses around, he’d show it to her.

This time, he did not.

“What if you and I swim across after sunset?”
Amaranthe suggested. “We can sneak up on those two, knock them out,
tie them up, and retrieve whatever stolen weapons they’re toting.
Then we’ll put everything in a tidy pile by the steam tramper,
scrape a nice note in the dirt—something along the lines of,
‘Amaranthe and Sicarius thwarted these criminals’—and send an
anonymous tip to Fort Urgot in the morning. What do you think?”

Sicarius gazed out at the island
pensively.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Amaranthe asked.

“About the island or in general?”

“About the island. I know there are all sorts
of things you don’t tell me in general.” She sniffed. “Despite the
fact that I’m the only person I’m aware of who finds you terribly
interesting and likes spending time with you.”

Though he continued to face the island, he
said, with a faintly affronted tone, “Many people find me
interesting.”

“No argument for the latter though?”

“No.” Sicarius nodded toward the isle. “I’ve
had some training in resisting the mental sciences. Perhaps we’ll
have no trouble.”

Yes, Amaranthe had seen him shrug off a
Nurian wizard’s attack that left her and the rest of her team
flattened, but it hadn’t been easy for him. And why did he bring
that up anyway? “Do you suspect one of those two of being a wizard?
They could just be common thieves.”

Sicarius rose from his crouch, using the
trees for cover so nobody watching from the island could see him.
“Did you bring poison for your crossbow bolts?”

“A little, yes.”

“I suggest you apply it,” Sicarius said. “You
may need it tonight.”

Before she could ask what exactly that meant,
he walked away. At first, she thought he might simply be heading
inland to settle down and rest for a while before darkness fell,
but he soon disappeared into the trees, leaving Amaranthe
alone.

“
Why
I enjoy spending time with the
man is a mystery,” she muttered and tried not to find his parting
words ominous.

Twilight bathed the lake, and shadows blurred
the features of Darkcrest Isle. Though the sun had set, humidity
thickened the air, and the temperature had dropped little.
Amaranthe stroked toward the island, cool water lapping at her
shoulders. She was too nervous to appreciate the reprieve from the
heat that swimming offered. While she stroked, she held her shoes,
sword, and crossbow overhead to keep them dry. Freshly applied
poison darkened the tip of the loaded quarrel, and four more waited
in the chamber.

Sicarius swam along at her side, but he had
said little since he returned from the woods. What he had been
doing up there, she could only guess, but he was more tight-lipped
than ever.

They swam toward a snarl of fallen logs that
would offer cover once they climbed out. One of Amaranthe’s kicks
scraped the pebbly shallows, and she maneuvered her feet beneath
her, staying low in case anyone was watching the beach.

A few steps took her to the end of the log
snarl, and Amaranthe crouched there, eyes probing the darkness. At
the head of the beach, evergreens rose, thick and densely packed
trees that had never seen a logger’s axe. Two dark shapes lay
side-by-side on the pebbles before the woods, and she squinted,
trying to guess what they were. The odor of rotting meat lingered
in the air. Just a dead fish washed up nearby, she told
herself.

“See any sign of our thieves?” she asked when
Sicarius crouched next to her.

He did not answer, or maybe he shook his
head. It was hard to tell in the gloom. Amaranthe put on her shoes,
grimacing at the sand stuck to her damp feet, then strapped on the
sword. Lastly, she grabbed the crossbow, tucking it into the crook
of her arm, so she would be ready to fire in an instant.