When the figures stepped out of the shadows of the hedges-in front of and behind them-it was too late to avoid being surrounded. An icy gust hustled down the street, swirling powdery snow about eight sets of enforcer boots.
Maldynado drew his sword. Amaranthe, though she feared the effort futile, held her arms up, palms out. She did not want a fight with enforcers.
One of the figures turned up a lantern. The light glinted off brass buttons and insignia, revealing the face of the bearer.
“Wholt,” Amaranthe blurted.
Sergeant’s rank pins shone at his collar. His face was grim, but an inkling of hope entered Amaranthe’s mind. This was his squad, his command. If she could convince him Hollowcrest’s charges were false, perhaps she and Maldynado could leave without a fight.
“I knew you weren’t happy about being passed over for promotion, Lokdon, but I didn’t think you’d turn criminal.”
“I didn’t. Listen, Wholt. I stumbled onto a plot against the emperor. It’s Hollowcrest. He’s the one-”
“Don’t listen to her, Sarge,” the enforcer at Wholt’s side barked. “Remember what the report said? Kill on sight. She’s a witch! She’ll turn our blood to stone!”
The annoying upstart rattled the others. The seven men lifted their sword arms, blades reflecting the flame of the lantern. A single word from their commander would send them charging.
“You know me, Wholt,” Amaranthe said, still not reaching for her knife. “We worked together for six months. If I knew anything about magic, you’d have seen proof surely. Besides, you have to know I wouldn’t betray the empire.”
“Also,” Maldynado said, “just to be clear before this all starts, no one has a poster out accusing me of magic use, so that kill on sight thing need not apply here.”
“Have your man drop his weapon, Lokdon,” Wholt said. “We’ll make your death quick.”
“No, thanks.” Maldynado sketched a fencer’s salute and dropped into a ready stance. He was probably a better swordsman than any of the enforcers, but they would not attack one at a time in a sporting manner.
“This isn’t your fight,” Amaranthe whispered to Maldynado. “If you drop your sword, they probably won’t hurt you.”
“No talking!” Wholt barked, his gaze shooting back and forth between them.
“My two weeks isn’t up, boss,” Maldynado said. “What’s the plan?”
Good question. Amaranthe searched her old partner’s face.
“You don’t have to do this, Wholt,” she said.
“I have my orders, Amaranthe,” he said. “I have to…”
Wholt didn’t want to do it. If there weren’t seven men standing behind him, he would have turned his back and let her walk away. She was sure of it. But if he let her go in front of them, his career would be destroyed. Wind gusted, tugging at her hair as Amaranthe sought a solution.
“Kill them, Sarge?” the most vocal enforcer asked.
“Why not just capture us and take us in?” Amaranthe ignored the others and kept her eyes locked on Wholt. “Let the chief put us to death if that’s the order.” And, with luck, she would have time to think of something else before that happened. “No innocent blood on your hands.”
“Kill on sight, Sarge! We shouldn’t be yapping.”
“Bet she’s weaving magic right now with her words,” another muttered.
“Witch,” someone behind Amaranthe whispered.
Boots shifted nervously and the circle tightened. The sword tips behind Amaranthe and Maldynado loomed closer. Another moment and whatever order Wholt might say would be lost in yells and clashes as fearful men attacked without waiting.
“Wholt,” she whispered. “Give the order. We’ll surrender if you agree to take us in. None of your men get hurt. You’re still doing your job.”
Wholt opened his mouth to speak.
A dark shape loomed behind him, and a dagger appeared at his throat.
“No!” Amaranthe shouted.
Too late. Blood gushed from severed arteries.
The lantern clattered to the ground.
A fast-moving head of short blond hair identified the newcomer. Amaranthe had already known.
“Back to back,” she barked to Maldynado. There was no way out of a fight now.
Chaos erupted, and swords slashed in multiple directions.
“Get the witch!”
“Watch out for-”
“Over there!”
Metal screeched behind her as Maldynado engaged someone. Amaranthe held her knife before her, but she only parried when a blade streaked at her chest.
How could she attack enforcers? They were on the same side as her!
Her opponent lunged again, slashing at her face. She ducked the blade and angled into his body. With her knife in hand, she could have finished the fight with a stab to his chest, but she struck with her free hand. She hammered a palm strike into his solar plexus and drove her knee into his groin.
His breath whooshed out, and he bent double. He reflexively brought his elbow down, clipping her shoulder. Wincing, she rammed the heel of her hand into his nose. This time, he pitched backward, hitting the street and curling onto his side.
All around her, deafening screeches of metal tore through the night. Darkness hid the details, and she struggled to tell friend from foe.
“Try not to kill them!” she called, wondering if Sicarius or Maldynado would hear.
An enforcer stepped out of the shadows of the hedge. “Witch.” It was the one who had egged Wholt on. “You die!”
He lunged and attacked, not with an efficient fencer’s stab but like a logger hacking at a tree. She leaped backward, then jumped in again while the enforcer was trapped by the momentum of his great swing. When he tried to recover, he bumped the foot of the man she had downed earlier.
His attention flickered to the ground, and she kicked his sword hand. The blade flew into the hedge. Branches rattled and snow flew.
“We’re not enemies!” she yelled. “Let me explain.”
He reached for the utility knife at his belt, but she darted around him. She pressed her blade to his throat, keeping her body beside and behind his, so he couldn’t easily kick or punch. She need not have bothered, for he froze at the first touch of cold steel.
“Witch,” he breathed.
Not sure what she could possibly say to sway him, she opened her mouth to try anyway. A throwing knife thudded into his chest.
Stunned, she could only gape as he went limp in her arms.
Sicarius appeared to retrieve the weapon before the enforcer hit the ground.
Amaranthe stammered a moment before finding words, and even then they weren’t elegant. “What did you…why… He couldn’t do anything!”
“Any you leave alive today will be after you tomorrow.” Sicarius wiped his blade on the enforcer’s uniform and sheathed it with his others.
She could only stare.
He reached out a hand. “Are you injured?”
“No, curse your ancestors, I was never-damn it, you can’t try to save the emperor on one hand and kill his civil servants on the other. It doesn’t work that way, you-”
She cut off further expletives. Her voice rang, far too loud on the suddenly silent street. Besides, this wasn’t his fault. It was hers.
All the enforcers lay sprawled all on the ground, dead or dying. Only a blurry Maldynado stood, sword drooping, chest heaving, as he watched her uncertainly. Everything was blurry. Amaranthe cursed and wiped tears
