“Where are you going?” he asked.
Was his voice less cool than it had been the day before? She wished she had offered that apology, but bringing it up now would feel awkward.
“To run the lake trail,” Amaranthe said.
“It’s too early. The creature could still be hunting.”
Which was the point. She needed a good look so she could describe this deadly mystery beast to Akstyr. If he could identify it, maybe he could also suggest how to kill it. She planned to run along the waterfront and out toward Fort Urgot, where copious mature trees lined the trail. If it did show up, she hoped to have time to climb out of reach.
All she said to Sicarius was, “You’re out here training every morning before dawn.”
“Very well. Let’s go.”
She blinked. Was that an invitation to join him?
Before she could ask for clarification, he trotted up the dock toward the street. A backward glance suggested he meant for her to follow.
She subdued a grimace and jogged after him, snow and ice crunching beneath her boots. A witness for her first day back, wouldn’t that be lovely?
They turned onto the street and headed for the trail.
“I’m usually a decent runner, but I’m sure I won’t be able to keep up with you today.” Amaranthe hated the idea of wheezing at a mediocre pace in front of him. “Not after being sick and missing so many days of exercise.”
When he did not respond, she forced herself not to utter more preemptive excuses. Why did it matter what he thought anyway?
They passed the first mile in silence, and the docks and warehouses of the waterfront dropped behind. Bare- limbed trees, evergreen shrubbery, and snowy hills marched past. No doubt Sicarius’s gaze absorbed it all. Amaranthe tended to use her running time for inward thoughts, but this morning her eyes probed the shadowy terrain as well.
“May I ask a question?” she asked when minutes drifted past with nothing jumping out at them. Since he was letting her set the pace, her words came out conversationally rather than in spurts and puffs.
A glance her direction was his only response. Not exactly a yes but close enough.
“What’s a Hunter?” She had not forgotten Akstyr’s question from that first morning at the ice house.
“Do you refer to the Nurian word, istapa?” Sicarius asked. “Wizard Hunter?”
“Uh, maybe.”
“How much do you know about Nuria’s history?” he asked.
“About what your average former-business-student-turned-enforcer knows.”
“Little, then.”
“Exactly.” Amaranthe jogged around a large broken branch stretched across the trail.
Sicarius glided over it without breaking stride. “Where we have a warrior caste, Nuria is ruled by a wizard caste. Those who cannot access the mental sciences-the majority of the population-are laborers and slaves. As with our system, there is friction between those with power and those without. Hundreds of years ago, an anti- wizard organization developed with the intention of usurping the government. They believed people could develop an immunity to the mental sciences, especially invasive telepathy, by conditioning the mind.” He spoke as easily as if he were sitting at a table rather than running, but then this pace could hardly challenge him.
“Is that possible?” Sweat dampened Amaranthe’s shirt and stung her eyes. She removed her mittens.
“To some degree. With decades of mental training, you can learn to defend against mind-control techniques. It does no good against indirect attacks, however. A wizard could still levitate a rock and hurl it at you. Nonetheless, the idea of creating a man who could resist mental torture and whose thoughts could not be read by telepaths appealed to many. The cerebral training was combined with combat training, and the organization called their warriors Wizard Hunters, which is often shortened to Hunters.”
“I assume they didn’t succeed in overthrowing the government.”
“No, the time and dedication needed to complete the training meant few finished it. Though Hunters have become legendary in Nuria-and feared by wizards-the organization never developed enough clout to threaten the status quo.”
Time to ask what she was really wondering: “Are you one of these Hunters?”
“No.”
“Akstyr heard it somewhere.”
“There are many rumors about me.”
“No kidding.” Amaranthe wasn’t yet panting, but carrying on a conversation was growing more challenging. Another mile and she would turn back. “One does wonder where Akstyr would have gotten that idea.”
He did not respond. Only the scrape of her boots on the sanded trail broke the silence. As usual, Sicarius whispered soundlessly over the earth, like a spirit. She couldn’t even hear him breathing, and only small puffs of fog appeared in the air before his face.
“Did you have any training for it?” Amaranthe asked. “I apologize for prying…but I’m curious because…if you have any special skills…that would help fight this creature…it’d be good to know.”
“I do not,” Sicarius said. “If that creature is some wizard’s spawn, it would be made from the mental sciences-probably crafted to be impervious to weapons-but it could not access them itself. A full Hunter may be able to harm the maker, but would be ineffective against the beast.”
Full Hunter? Did that imply he was a partial one? Maybe he had had some training-the same way he had had cartography training-but not as much as one needed to qualify for the title. Or maybe she was imagining hints that weren’t there. Still, he did seem to have a better idea what the creature was than he was admitting.
“Regardless, there are no Hunters in Stumps,” Sicarius said.
“Too bad.”
Before she could pepper him with further questions, a pair of soldiers clomped into sight on the trail ahead. With their black fatigues and training rucksacks, their occupation was unmistakable even in the dark.
Amaranthe’s breath caught. Wholt’s death reared in her mind again. Sicarius wouldn’t attack them, would he? Surely, he didn’t kill every enforcer or soldier he passed. Maybe he would veer into the trees to avoid them.
Sicarius’s gait didn’t falter, nor did he leave the trail, though he did speed up and move in front of Amaranthe. The soldiers passed on the left without a word, and she blew out a relieved breath. Several times, she glanced back, but in the darkness, they appeared not to have recognized either of them. The men soon disappeared around a curve in the lake.
Lights appeared on a distant hilltop, outlining the walls of the fort.
“This is far enough for me for the first day.” Amaranthe slowed and then stopped to grab a handful of snow. “We haven’t seen any sign of the creature, so there’s no reason for you to run back with me. I’m sure you’ll want to do some real training.” She chomped on the snow, rolling it around in her mouth to melt it. The water sent a chill down her gullet, but it felt good.
Sicarius looked farther down the trail. He probably ran twice as fast and four times as far on his own.
“Very well,” he said.
“Before you go, uhm. About the other night.” Amaranthe thumbed the clump of snow, sending powder to the ground. Why was it so hard to apologize for this? Because she wasn’t really sorry? Because Wholt had been her partner? “When I yelled at you, I didn’t mean… I mean, I did sort of, but you thought you were helping. You were helping, and-” Just spit it out, girl. “-I’m sorry.” There.
He said nothing.
She sighed, not really expecting anything else. Still, she had said it. Maybe it would matter to him in some small way.
Amaranthe turned back toward the city. Time to get moving again.
“Lokdon,” Sicarius said.
She looked over her shoulder, hoping for…she wasn’t sure exactly. “Yes?”
“Stay alert.”
Her lip twitched up and she gave him a soldier’s salute. It was a start.
She headed back.
