“Nosing,” Amaranthe said.
The shaman grumbled under his breath in a different language. He stopped advancing and lifted a hand toward the bowmen.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in coin?” Amaranthe said, meeting the bowmen’s eyes. They seemed more likely to be persuaded by money. “Five thousand ranmyas if you simply tell me what it is you men are doing up here. Offer open to anyone.”
Snaggletooth grew thoughtful.
“Enough,” the shaman said. “Shoot her.”
“Wait.” Amaranthe lifted a palm toward each bowman. “You’ll be dead if you try it. Do you think I’d come out here alone?”
The shaman snorted and waved for his men to carry out his order.
Amaranthe touched her forehead.
A rifle shot rang out from a high ledge overlooking the canyon and the campfire. Snaggletooth flew backward, landing spread-eagle, a bloody hole in the center of his forehead.
“Cursed ancestors,” Amaranthe breathed. She had told Sicarius to fire a warning shot.
The dead man had a salutary effect on the remaining two. The second guard lunged behind a boulder. The shaman’s knife drooped, and he gaped about, searching for the source of the shot. Rock and scrub brush dotted the top of the ledge and provided copious hiding spots. Amaranthe saw no sign of Sicarius.
“As I was saying, I did not come out here alone,” she said.
The shaman muttered something under his breath. His eyes grew glazed.
Afraid he meant to hurl some magic at Sicarius, Amaranthe stepped forward, hand slipping inside her jacket for her pistol. The shaman snapped out of it and stopped her with a glare.
“ One man,” he said. “Only one man.”
“Only one, yes, but he’s very good. He can pick your people off one at a time from up there.”
“Not if I kill him.” The shaman turned his gaze toward the ledge again, focused, then sucked in a startled breath. “The assassin! Sicarius!”
Uh oh. How could he know that? Sicarius was under cover.
“He’s here,” the shaman breathed. “I didn’t think…I mean, they say at the end, they would show us where he was. That if we cooperate we could-” He snapped his mouth shut and glared at Amaranthe.
Though she had not yet removed the pistol, her hand gripped the butt, and her finger found the trigger.
“You work with this monster?” Accusation-almost a look of betrayal-hung in the shaman’s green eyes.
“If your people are responsible for Lord Hagcrest’s death, then you’re no better than he. What killed the old man anyway? Did you make that device under his skin?”
His stare did not waver. “Fifteen years ago, you know news? You know what happens in our country?”
“Kendor?” Amaranthe still did not know where the man was from.
“Mangdoria! Chief Yull unite tribes, make plans to negotiate for lands back from your empire. Your people think him a threat. Chief Yull was peaceful! Your assassin-that monster -kills royal family. All family. Mother and children also. He cuts off their heads to deliver to your emperor.” The shaman pointed a finger at Amaranthe’s chest. “For much time we no know who responsible. He enter and leave without nobody see. Like ancestor spirit. But we know truth now. Partners tell us, promise help us get his head. Even if we fail, now all Mangdorians will know this monster, what he do.”
The loathing in the shaman’s eyes stole any rebuttal Amaranthe might have made. If she could come up with one. She knew what Sicarius had been and what, in many ways, he still was. Just because he was nominally her monster now did not make him less of one to the rest of the world.
“Your partners told you?” she asked. “Partners who wanted you for some ends of their own? Like to kill Hagcrest and claim this land with your magic? How can you rely on their word? They could simply be using you.”
“That man is monster. You work with him, you must die.”
“I thought Mangdorians were pacifists.” Amaranthe slid the pistol out of its holster a couple of inches.
“Chief Yull was pacifist, and it get him killed. Old religion no good when empire for neighbor. You help Sicarius? Slay our chief? His family?”
“First off, it doesn’t sound like you have any proof that he did it. Second, I was a child then, so, no, I couldn’t have helped. Either way, this is history and has nothing to do with what’s going on here.” She hoped. “Unless you’re here as part of some revenge attempt on the Turgonian government.”
She watched the shaman’s face, but he did not seem to hear. His gaze had returned to the cliff top.
“Did they tell you to kill Hagcrest?” she asked, trying to draw his attention back to her. If he could detect Sicarius with his power, he might be able to attack him with it too. “To get his land? You must know you’ll be hunted for that. The emperor doesn’t appreciate foreigners coming in and killing warrior caste veterans.”
“They handle your emperor. They say-” The shaman snapped his mouth shut, eyes narrowing. “You a nose woman.”
“Nosey,” Amaranthe said. “I’m nosey, not a nose.”
“My people never want to fight. Only to find way to get land back. Hard life in mountains. Seasons too short for farming. Long winters. People hungry. Always hungry.” The shaman clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke, oddly unconcerned over his dead man or the weapon Sicarius likely had trained on him. Perhaps he could deflect a rifle ball, as the Nurian wizard Arbitan Losk had deflected crossbow quarrels and daggers. “Our people never want fight, but they are fools. Many have mastered the Science. Many could kill with a thought.”
“Or with a tiny device that burrows beneath a man’s skin?” Amaranthe asked.
“We will avenge the royal family’s death.” He said it calmly. His rage and his desire to kill her seemed to have vanished.
Amaranthe kept an eye on the canyon entrance and the second man, who still hunkered behind the boulder. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if the shaman might be stalling while someone crept up on her. Had he signaled to his workers when she had not noticed? Nothing moved behind her.
But she was not the main threat. It was Sicarius the shaman needed to worry about.
Her heart lurched. Did he have some magical attack planned for Sicarius?
Amaranthe stepped forward. “Perhaps Sicarius is not responsible for what you think. Why don’t we discuss things in your camp?”
“Yes.” The shaman lifted a finger. “You will come my camp.”
A boom thundered through the valley and echoed from the mountaintops. The earth rocked beneath Amaranthe’s feet. A cloud of dust mushroomed into the air on the plateau where Sicarius waited.
“No,” she whispered.
The ledge crumbled. Earth and rock sloughed down the cliff side, throwing more dust into the air at the bottom. Debris hurtled from the explosion, clacking to the stones around Amaranthe. A shard of rock struck her cheek. Blood trickled down her face, but she barely noticed. All she could do was stare at the cliff top, waiting- hoping-for some movement when the dust cloud dissipated. If her idiotic plan had gotten Sicarius killed…
The shaman lunged, reaching for her.
Acting on instinct, Amaranthe jumped back. She yanked the pistol free and fired. The ball thudded into his shoulder.
She whirled and sprinted toward the trees. Scree shifted and flew beneath her boots. She zigzagged and ducked around boulders, fearing an arrow would land between her shoulder blades any second. The bowman would not be worried about snipers on the ledge any more.
Something snagged Amaranthe’s legs, constricting them like a rope wrapping around her ankles. She pitched forward. She tried to turn the fall into a roll, but something rooted her feet. The ground came hard and fast. She barely managed to keep from smashing her nose against a rock.
Amaranthe shoved herself upright and scrabbled at her ankles. Nothing visible or tangible bound them.
The shaman strode toward her, pain and fury contorting his face. He gripped his shoulder with his free hand, and blood ran through his fingers.
The bowman followed. He stopped a few paces away, nocked an arrow, and pointed it her direction. Amaranthe gave one last yank to her legs, but they remained rooted.
