Though the small wound could not have hurt much, his eyes flickered with surprise. It was too small a victory to celebrate triumph, but first blood was often enough to rattle an opponent.
Attacking with more care, the soldier pressed her with additional strikes. He had reach and strength, but she had sparred often with Sicarius. Parrying his lightning strikes made everyone else’s blade thrusts seem molasses- like.
The soldier was careful not to leave himself open, and she parried and gave ground, studying him, waiting for an advantage. He cycled through a handful of combination attacks, and they soon became predictable.
Someone moved behind him, and she winced. Amaranthe had to finish this before the second soldier got back into the fray.
When the high slash toward her head came again, she was ready before he fully launched it. She ducked, tossing out a parry in case his blade came down, and darted in close. She sliced her cutlass against his ribcage, even as she continued past and came out behind him.
He grunted with pain and started to turn toward her, but she launched a sidekick that could have busted down a door. His boots left the ground as he sailed backward. His head struck one of the hanging lanterns. It broke, and he went down amongst shattering glass.
Amaranthe whirled, expecting the second soldier. The black-clad figure standing before her was no soldier though.
“I trust you, and you could easily set a trap for me?” Sicarius held out her short sword, eyebrows arched.
She grinned. “Even these two shrubs weren’t buying that. They must know you sleep with your knives.”
She dropped the cutlass, belted on the familiar blade, and glanced around him at the second soldier. The prone man was more unconscious than she had left him; she hoped he was not dead.
Amaranthe knelt to truss her soldier, intending to use his bootlaces to bind ankles and wrists.
“Don’t bother,” Sicarius said. “We have to go. Now.”
“Why? Did you find the-”
“The engineers are dead, the safety valves on all four boilers have been tampered with, and the Kendorian is down there shoveling coal into the furnaces.”
Amaranthe stared. “Why didn’t you-”
“There’s a trap at the door. I watched two soldiers run in and get incinerated by flames. There’s no way into the boiler room right now.”
“Show me.” Amaranthe started past him, heading for the closest ladder, but he gripped her elbow.
“This isn’t worth risking your life for,” Sicarius said.
She turned and looked him in the eyes. “Hundreds will die if this ship explodes. And what happens if the city can’t import food for the rest of the winter? There are a million people in the capital. Local stores aren’t enough to feed everyone.” Again, she tried to step toward the ladder, but he did not release her. She might as well have been bound by steel.
“We’ll survive.”
A frustrated rant leapt to her lips, but, cursed ancestors, there was no time for arguing. He said so himself. Grasping for calm, she spoke evenly: “Let me go.”
Even now, his face was unreadable. Only those dark eyes held extra intensity. A heartbeat passed-it seemed like hours-and he released her.
Amaranthe sprinted for the ladder. Ignoring the rungs, she slid down to the bottom of the ship. Heat bathed her as she stepped into the corridor. She expected to run into crew and soldiers, but the lanterns on the walls illuminated an empty passageway.
The chugging and clanking of machinery led her to the engine room. At the hatchway, she passed the first body: a man in a gray engineer’s smock, throat cut, his blood pooled on the deck.
Nine-tenths of the crew did not know there was a problem; the other tenth was dead. Great.
She raced through the engine room, a jungle of colored pipes, gauges, and machinery. A railing surrounded the churning pistons of the engine. More corpses clogged the twisting walkways.
Two blackened bodies blocked the hatchway leading to the boiler room. Only the dead men’s boots, which stuck out toward Amaranthe, had not been marked. Such intense fire had charred their clothing and features that little more than melted lumps remained. The smell of roasted flesh rose above the odors of machine oil and burning coal.
A hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped, but it was only Sicarius. He did not say anything, but she would have had trouble hearing over the machinery anyway.
He crouched, removed one of the dead men’s boots, and tossed it. A curtain of crimson flames flashed across the hatchway. Heat poured out and light flared. Amaranthe stumbled back, shielding her face with her arms. The boot was incinerated.
When the flames disappeared, leaving only a border of glowing red along the bulkhead and floor, she waited for Sicarius to voice an I-told-you-so. He merely watched her. Expectantly. He must think she had an idea, for why else would she insist on racing down here? She smiled bleakly.
It took a few seconds for the crimson borders to dim and wink out, leaving the bulkhead with no signs of a trap.
“Huh,” she muttered.
Amaranthe unlaced two more boots, forcing her mind away from the grisly knowledge that she was disrobing some poor engineer who had been living but moments before. She tossed the first boot. The fire curtain burst forth. As soon as the hatchway grew dark again, she threw the second boot. It flew through and landed on the other side.
She and Sicarius exchanged significant looks.
Only when the border faded, heartbeats later, did the trap reset. Sicarius removed the last boot and nodded for her to stand beside him. He tossed it, waited for the flames to come and go, and they jumped through together.
Though she feared there would be other traps-or they would run into the invisible saboteur-she ran to the first pair of boilers. Pipes rattled, gauges quivered, and needles pushed into the red. There was no time for caution.
Steel squealed just behind her. Amaranthe spun, sword ready.
Sicarius landed in a crouch, a dagger in each hand, and a pair of buckskin fringes wafted to the floor. The Kendorian must have attacked.
“Find the blow off valves,” Sicarius yelled over the clamoring machinery. He glided into position at her back. “I’m here.”
How could one defeat-or even defend against-an invisible foe? Especially here, where noise and smell drowned out the other senses? He would have to figure it out.
She spotted the safety valve on the first boiler, and her shoulders slumped. Warped and melted metal made the handle inoperable. For a lost moment, she stared at the tangle of pipes, gauges, and wheels. Heat roared from the furnace, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Why couldn’t there be a blessed engineer alive?
Sicarius brushed her back, and someone cried out. A bevy of Kendorian curses followed. She glanced back to see Sicarius lunge. Despite his speed, he connected with nothing.
A nearby wall held another firefighting station. Amaranthe spotted the axe.
“Back in a second,” she said to Sicarius.
She sprinted over and grabbed the axe. If she couldn’t engineer a solution, brute force might work. She ran back, tool raised. As soon as she reached the boiler, she smashed the warped valve.
Steam burst free, and she barely threw herself to the side before it blistered her face. It worked, though, and the gauge’s needle dropped out of the red.
“Got one,” Amaranthe said.
She darted toward the second boiler, but tripped over something she could not see. Lightning flashed and an electrical force pounded her. Energy crackled about her. Agony tore through her body, and she dropped the axe, crumpling to her knees.
As abruptly as the pain came, it disappeared. Sicarius rolled past, grappling with their invisible assailant.
