the second she watched, Pike dropped a final item and then stepped to the left. The air shimmered, defining the walls of a cylinder with him inside, then winked out, the view returning to normal. Not good. While Sicarius had been picking off his men, Pike had been creating some sort of protective cage around himself. One Sicarius wouldn’t be able to see unless he’d happened to poke his head above the weeds during that second when the “walls” had been visible.
The snake moved up to Amaranthe’s thigh. She shifted about as best she could-she needed to leave one hand gripping the branch, lest she plummet thirty feet-and lifted the rifle above her head. She angled the butt, intending to smash the snake between the eyes. It wouldn’t harm such a massive creature, but maybe it’d deter it.
The snake saw the blow coming. Its head whipped to the side, evading the attack easily. An angry hiss pierced the air. Its mouth opened and saliva-or was that poison? — glistened on its fangs.
Amaranthe swung the rifle, using it like a club. She connected this time, but the snake didn’t budge under the blow. It hissed again, the sound dripping with ire. Its head reared several feet in the air, then it darted for Amaranthe’s throat, quicker than lightning.
She swung the rifle back again, abandoning her grip on the branch to throw all her weight into the blow. It deflected the attack-barely. The snake’s fangs bit into the branch, inches from Amaranthe’s ear. Already off balance from the defensive move, she shifted too far to get away from those fangs, and she slipped from her perch.
Amaranthe would have fallen all the way to the ground, but the snake still had its body coiled around her calf. A jolt of pain lanced through her knee as all her weight came to hang from that leg. Her face smacked into a lower branch, and she lost her grip on the rifle. It fell several feet, landing in the crook of another branch. That left only the knife. Great.
As she yanked it from its sheath, the snake slithered down her body, its head angling for her neck again. Hanging upside down, Amaranthe gripped the knife like a lifeline, knowing she’d only get one chance.
The beast’s massive maw gaped open, again displaying that row of fangs. Amaranthe plunged the knife upward, stabbing at the flesh on the roof of the snake’s mouth, angling the blade toward its brain. The jaw snapped shut. She yanked her hand out before teeth closed about her wrist. The knife remained, wedged in the snake’s mouth.
Heart pounding in her ears, she stared at the creature. Had the knife done enough? Had she reached the brain?
For a long moment, the snake didn’t move. Then it slumped, head thumping against Amaranthe’s chest. Seeing that massive maw so close to her neck almost made her pee on herself-and wouldn’t that have wonderful implications when she was hanging upside down? — but a dullness had come over those vibrant yellow eyes, and she knew she could relax. Sort of. She still had to retrieve her rifle and check on Sicarius.
Amaranthe expected that, with death, the snake’s grip on her leg would loosen, but its muscles remained tight, and it held her fast. She swung her arms below her head and managed to reach the rifle. Then, with lack of a better idea, she used the snake’s body like a rope, climbing back up to her perch. It took precious time to pry her leg free. With its grip finally broken, the snake fell out of the tree, landing with a thud that sent birds flying. Bloody ancestors, she might as well have shot the thing if it was going to end up causing that much of a stir.
Amaranthe wriggled back onto her belly and was horrified but not surprised when she found Pike gazing straight at her. His knowing stare sent a chill through her, but, after surviving the advances of a woman-eating snake, she refused to act cowed. She didn’t know how many details he could make out over the intervening distance, but she gave him an insouciant smile and a cheery wave. Rude gestures might have been more appropriate, but she thought a bright attitude from a former captive might bother him more.
Pike lifted a long-barreled pistol, and Amaranthe dropped her hand, ready to scurry backward and use the tree trunk for cover if he aimed it at her. He bent his elbow and let the barrel rest against his shoulder, the muzzle pointing skyward. A man ready to fire, not at her but at whomever approached him. He gazed out at the clearing.
Amaranthe eyed the area as well. Even from her lofty perch, she couldn’t see through the grass and cattails to spot Sicarius on the ground. She searched farther about, in all the directions she could monitor from the tree. She’d best not forget that there were dozens of men out there hunting for her.
A dark spot behind a tree drew her eye. Sicarius. He wasn’t in the clearing after all, but some fifty meters away from Pike. He seemed to be… tying a shoe? No, when he stood, she spotted Pike’s partner. The man wasn’t dead but tied to the base of the tree with a gag in his mouth. The two other men Amaranthe had assumed Sicarius killed shared the spot. Huh. She hadn’t been certain Sicarius had heard her comment about only needing to take care of the wolf’s head, but he must have. This time he was going to do as she wished and not kill every enemy he crossed.
However inappropriate the timing, emotion swelled in Amaranthe’s throat. He was doing his best to please her when she’d utterly failed him.
Sicarius stood, using the tree for cover, and gazed toward Pike. Amaranthe wagered he hadn’t seen that protective cylinder flash into existence, not if he’d been busy dragging men away to tie to trees. She had to warn him.
Amaranthe scooted out farther on the branch and propped the rifle in a crook. She lined up the shot and, this time, had no trouble firing. A small burst of orange flashed a few feet in front of Pike’s head. He didn’t so much as flinch. It took Amaranthe a second to realize what the orange represented. Flame. Her bullet had been incinerated.
She glanced at Sicarius, hoping he’d seen. Still behind the tree, he lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Amaranthe jerked her gaze away, realizing she risked giving away his hiding spot. Indeed, she caught Pike glancing in that direction. Sicarius had already disappeared, though, back into the grass.
Perhaps Amaranthe shouldn’t have been watching him, for, as she refocused on Pike, he fired the pistol. At her.
A bullet tore off a branch above, and leaves and twigs pelted her. The pistol cracked again. Amaranthe scooted back and buried her face, one arm slung over her head for protection. If she let go with the other, she’d end up on the ground next to the dead snake. Of course, with someone shooting at her, maybe that’d be a better place to be.
Four more cracks sounded, somewhat muted by distance and the heavy swamp air, and bullets peppered the tree all around her. Fortunately, only leaves and broken twigs hit her. Given the hundred and some meters separating them, she ought not be surprised by the pistol’s lack of accuracy, but she thanked her ancestors for it nonetheless.
After the sixth shot, silence returned to the swamp. Absolute silence. Not so much as a mosquito whined.
Amaranthe lifted her head. Pike was reloading, his hands steady as he methodically slipped bullets into the revolving mechanism that held them. He wasn’t worried about Sicarius getting to him, and why should he be with that shield? If Sicarius even touched it, he might be incinerated. A quelling thought, that one. She was glad he’d seen her warning.
If she hadn’t been busy holding branches and weapons, she would have nibbled on a fingernail. Pike’s cylindrical barrier had flashed so briefly that she had a hard time remembering the dimensions. Six feet wide or so and perhaps fifteen feet tall. She didn’t know if it was open on top or closed. If it was closed, there’d be no way to get at Pike, unless Sicarius burrowed under like a gopher. And for all they knew, the barrier might extend underground as well.
Out in the field, not a blade of grass rustled, but Amaranthe knew Sicarius was somewhere nearby, studying Pike, figuring out a way to reach him.
Pike knew it too. His pistol again rested on his shoulder and he gazed around calmly. “I’m not the one you want, Sicarius. I’m not trying to kill Sespian. I don’t care if he lives, so long as he abdicates the throne.”
A new concern stampeded into Amaranthe’s mind. Had Retta volunteered what she’d learned? Or had Pike encountered her and, angered that his prisoner had disappeared, forced the information from her? Either way, Pike might be about to share his new knowledge with the whole world-or at least the one person that Amaranthe didn’t want to hear it. She would have told Sicarius that she’d let the information escape, but having an enemy tell him first… Her shoulders slumped and all the fight drained from her. She stared at her rifle, at the finger that had hesitated, giving the snake time to divert her. If she’d fired at that moment, Pike wouldn’t have gotten his shield in
