beside Akstyr, who was propped in the back, scowling at his book. She returned to the campfire.
After a moment of sullen silence, Akstyr said, “Thanks.”
“Interesting tactics,” Amaranthe told Maldynado.
“Yes, I’m creative. Like a brilliant general inspiring his army to acts of greatness.”
“Or acts of mutiny,” Books muttered.
“Hush, or I’ll thump you up for Akstyr to practice on.”
Sicarius crouched next to Amaranthe. “Something is off out there.”
“What do you mean?”
He flicked his gaze toward the pond, where the frogs remained silent. Mist gathered amongst the ferns overreaching the filmy water.
Amaranthe strapped on her short sword and a pistol, then followed him to the water’s edge to talk privately.
“What is it?” She turned her back to the pond, preferring the view of the fire-and their lorry full of weapons. The coyotes and the mists had her thinking of stories her father had told her as a girl: tales of dark nights when people were haunted by deranged ancestor spirits resentful of their living kin.
A twig snapped in the distance. Amaranthe’s hand brushed her pistol before she caught herself. Just some nocturnal animal hunting for grub. Besides, Sicarius stood an arm’s length away. He could probably kill anything in the forest barehanded. Though the way something in the woods arrested his attention stole some of the comfort his presence usually offered.
“Sicarius?” she prompted.
“I’m as much a city-dweller as you,” he said, “but I had complete wilderness-lore training, and I’ve spent many nights in forests.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She shifted her weight. It was not like him to verbally defend his skills-there was no need.
“The coyotes sound…off,” he said. “Those aren’t their usual cries.”
“Off, how?”
“Fearful, distressed. I’ve been scouting, and many animals are displaying signs of agitation.”
“Maybe our presence is disturbing them,” Amaranthe said.
The coyotes picked up their cries again, closer now. This time, she did let her hand come to rest on the butt of the pistol.
“You stand first watch,” Sicarius said. “Let me sleep for a couple hours, then I’ll take the rest of the night.”
“We do have six people here,” Amaranthe said.
“Not that I trust to stay awake and alert.”
He strode back into camp before she could respond. She understood doubting Akstyr or Maldynado, but she had faith Books and especially Basilard, who seemed more comfortable in the forest than any of them, would stand a responsible watch. She had more faith in them than herself. In the city, she knew what to expect. Out here, how did a novice tell the difference between the innocent activity of nocturnal creatures and more sinister sounds?
Amaranthe poked around, looking for a good spot to stand watch. Meanwhile, Sicarius unloaded her repeating crossbow and handed rifles to the men.
“Sleep with your boots on and your weapons close,” he told them.
They accepted the rifles grimly. Sicarius applied poison to Amaranthe’s crossbow quarrels and headed over to where she had found her lookout position-a broad tree leaning over the pond. She could put her back against it and see in all directions except the water.
“One of my school friends said you can tell a man likes you when he starts doing you little favors,” Amaranthe said. “I wonder if she would have counted the application of poison to one’s weapons.”
Sicarius handed her the crossbow and pointed at her pistol. “You have powder and balls?”
“Yes. No comment on favors, eh?”
Sicarius handed her a cloak, threw a second around himself, and headed into the darkness. He skimmed up a tree with low branches and settled into a crook ten feet up.
“You are an eccentric and unique individual, Sicarius,” she said under her breath.
She tried to imagine him married and living in a house in the countryside with a passel of toddlers running around. The vision did not evolve far. If he ever married, it’d have to be to someone who would follow him into the woods and up a tree.
With dinner done, the men settled in. Maldynado talked Basilard into a Strat-Tiles game, proclaiming his interest in educating him in the ways of Turgonian military strategy. And perhaps he would like to wager a few coins as well? Basilard proceeded to beat Maldynado three times.
Once everyone was asleep, either in the tent or the back of the lorry, Amaranthe grew more aware of the night pressing in around her. The mist thickened, obscuring the surface of the pond, though occasional plops and splashes reminded her the water lay behind her. Now and then leaves rustled and branches rattled. Small creatures darting through the area, she assumed.
The forest seemed busy for night, but she did not have enough experience to know what was normal. The coyotes’ agitated wails continued to assault her ears, but she found a calm detachment after a while. A distinct eeriness pervaded the area, but nothing had bothered them yet. No need to worry.
A soft crunch came from her left, then another. Not like the passing of the earlier creatures, more like the soft malevolent step of something stalking closer.
Now there was a reason to worry.
Her grip tightened on the crossbow. She could shoot five rounds before reloading, plenty to handle a predator. She hoped.
Amaranthe cocked an ear, listening for a repeat of the noise. Though her vision had adjusted to the darkness, deep shadows turned bushes into indistinct blobs and trees into barriers that could hide a coyote-or ten.
Two green glowing spots appeared. Her breath caught. Eyes?
She blinked, thinking her own straining eyes were playing tricks. The glowing points disappeared.
“My imagination,” she breathed.
Heartbeats thumped past, and the lights did not reappear. She realized she had been gaping in the same direction for a long time and quickly scanned the rest of the area. Lastly, she craned her neck to peer around her tree backrest.
Across the pond, luminous green eyes stared at her.
Amaranthe forced her breathing to remain steady and calm, though sweat dampened her palms. This time, when the eyes disappeared, they tilted before winking out, like a head ducking sideways.
She fingered the trigger of her crossbow. Should she wake Sicarius? If this was some trick of her imagination, she would appear foolish in front of him. It shouldn’t, but his favorable opinion mattered more than most. Perhaps because he offered it to so few.
She decided to find out what lurked out there before waking anyone. It was not as if she had no combat skills to call upon if the moment required it.
Amaranthe strode to the lorry. The fire burned low with only scattered flames guttering amongst the red and gray coals. While keeping an eye toward the surrounding forest, she dug a few fire-starters out of the footlocker. Akstyr snoozed, so she took his lantern. The soft light showed no sign of the cuts and bruises he should have sported after Maldynado’s pummeling. Huh.
A low growl emanated from the underbrush on the other side of the road. Amaranthe hooked the lantern over her forearm, so she could hold the crossbow in one hand and a fire-starter in the other. She lit the incendiary ball and lobbed it onto the road. It burned heartily, illuminating the wet concrete for several feet around. Nothing waited within the light’s influence.
Trusting the fire-starter to burn for a few minutes, Amaranthe headed back to her spot by the tree. Another growl rumbled through the night. Ahead of her, green eyes glowed.
She lit another fire-starter and lofted it. The eyes flashed away before her projectile hit the ground, but not before she glimpsed gray fur and four legs.
“A wolf?” she whispered, thinking it too large for a coyote. Though it did not remind her of the killer soul
