“And this would be relevant to the creature because…”
“The tower is always guarded by a couple of men,” Sicarius said.
“Oh,” Amaranthe said. And then, “ Oh,” as the true meaning poured over her. “Two targets with no one else around.”
“Precisely.”
A crumbling wall and scattered chunks of brick and concrete littered the hilltop, remains of the original water tower, Amaranthe guessed, likely built before the Turgonians mastered steel production. Four metal columns and a central stem supported the new structure, a gleaming cylindrical tank more than fifty feet high at the top. A squat, windowless hut sat beside it. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and the rumbling of a steam pump reverberated from the walls.
A throwing knife in hand, Sicarius stayed low as he advanced, hugging the ruins. Amaranthe tried not to make noise as she trailed him. If the soldiers on guard were still alive, she did not want to draw their attention. If they were dead and the creature lurked, she did not want to draw its attention either.
Her foot snapped something brittle beneath the snow. Sicarius looked at her.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
After that, she went her own way. He would not appreciate her giving away his position.
She skirted the other side of the ruins. Prints tracked through the snow-first only boots, but soon familiar massive paw marks trod across them.
The only thing we’re going to find up here is more dead soldiers.
The wall ended in a crumbled heap. When Amaranthe moved around the end, she almost stepped on a mauled body. Before stopping to inspect, she glanced around, searching for the killer. The still, white landscape showed her nothing.
This body was worse than the others. An arm and leg had been ripped off, and the face was shredded beyond recognition. Brain matter spilled from the shattered skull and steamed in the chill air. Several yards away, a musket stuck out of a drift, its barrel warped and the stock missing. A dusting of black powder scattered the snow.
“This just happened,” Amaranthe called, struggling for detachment.
“Another body over here,” Sicarius said from the other side of the ruins. “Still twitching. We should leave before-”
The primal screech clutched Amaranthe’s heart like a vise. She whirled toward the source. Down the hill, across the field, at the edge of a copse of alders, two eyes reflected the pink rays of dawn. They were looking straight at her.
In the next heartbeat, the creature charged out of the trees. Though panther-shaped, it reminded her of the blocky vagueness of a clay statue sculpted by a child. But there was nothing childlike in the way it moved. Power surged beneath those muscles. It soared toward them, covering twenty yards with every bound.
“The shed.” She ran to the building. A lock hung from the door, barring entry. “Need the key. Search the bodies.”
“There’s no time,” Sicarius said. “Climb!”
He leapt onto the nearest column and scaled it like a squirrel running up an oak. Amaranthe searched for a ladder. There was not one.
She grabbed the icy steel with both hands. The edges cut into her hands, and her boots slipped off the smooth metal rivets. Her progress was slow. Too slow.
The unearthly shriek came again, much closer. The beast surged over the crown of the hill, snow churning beneath its paws.
Amaranthe was less than half way to the bottom of the tank. Surely the creature would leap and tear her from her perch. She would probably be dead before she landed.
Stop thinking. Climb!
Fingers scrabbling for grips, she tried to pull herself up faster. The beast bunched its muscles to jump. Amaranthe braced herself.
A flash of silver spun down from above. The throwing knife struck the creature in one yellow eye. The weapon bounced off as if it had hit steel. It landed in the snow, blade glittering uselessly.
Fortunately, the attack distracted the beast. Instead of leaping, it bounded past Amaranthe’s pole.
She renewed her climb. Ten feet to go. A growl from below drew her gaze.
The creature jumped straight up. A claw slashed at Amaranthe. She jerked her leg up. The wind of the miss rustled her pants.
The beast backed up to get a running start. Without stopping, Amaranthe looked up. Five feet. Almost there. Sicarius had long since made the narrow access ledge surrounding the base of the tank. Doggedly, she kept going.
The creature leapt.
Time slowed. The beast arced toward Amaranthe. Its open maw grew level with her knees. The misshapen head was bigger than her torso. She lifted a foot, ready to kick at it, knowing it would prove futile.
Sicarius’s hand wrapped around her wrist. He yanked her up. The creature soared past the spot she had occupied. A frustrated howl tore from its throat as it descended.
On the ledge, Amaranthe collapsed next to Sicarius. She tucked her legs into a ball, ensuring no limbs hung over the edge.
“Was that a close enough look for you?” Sicarius asked dryly.
He was not even sweating. Bastard.
Amaranthe pushed hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand. It was a moment before she caught her breath and could answer. “I can describe it well for Akstyr now, so, yes. Do you know any more now that you’ve seen it?”
Sicarius watched the beast pacing below. Yellow eyes glared up at them from above a thick snout fenced with four-inch fangs.
“It’s Nurian.”
“Careful,” Amaranthe said, “you’ll overwhelm me with the details.”
The creature rammed into one of the support columns. A tremor pulsed through the structure. The columns were set in concrete. The beast could not possibly have the mass needed to knock the tower over. She hoped.
“It looks like it’s made out of clay, though obviously it’s stronger than your average ceramic…” She trailed off, remembering.
“What?” Sicarius asked.
For the first time, Amaranthe described to him the fire, the murders, and the shards scattered about the giant kiln she had been investigating the day she first came to Hollowcrest’s attention. “Would a magic creature like this be crafted from mundane materials? And would people need to die for the spell, ritual, or whatever to be completed?”
Sicarius looked at her sharply. “If it’s a soul construct, yes.”
“What’s the purpose of a soul construct, besides-”
The creature rammed the column again before turning its head and gnawing at the steel.
“-killing people and chasing us up water towers?” Amaranthe finished.
“Guarding its maker,” Sicarius said.
“And would that maker be nearby?”
“Perhaps not near the creature’s kills. These appear random, as if it’s simply replenishing itself with people’s souls, choosing victims unlikely to be missed-though the soldiers could have been a mistake. It is likely the maker is in the city.”
Amaranthe remembered Avery’s gossip about a creature seen leaping fences in the Ridge neighborhoods. “I have a hunch it’s Arbitan Losk.”
“Based on newspaper clippings in his desk?”
Before she could defend her hunch further, Sicarius pointed. A line of twenty armed soldiers marched toward the tower.
“At least they’ll see what they’re up against,” Amaranthe said, struggling for a positive tone. She wanted the soldiers to see the creature but feared it would attack them, leaving more dead scattered on the cold snow.
Sicarius rose to a crouch. “We can’t be captured.”
