Ice Cracker II

ICE CRACKER II

by

Lindsay Buroker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 by Lindsay Buroker

* * * * *

Amaranthe ran alongside the frozen lake,
thighs weary, calves sore, ragged breaths steaming before her. The
short sword belted at her waist felt ten times heavier than it was.
An inch of fresh snow blanketed the trail, and thick flakes wafted
from the steely sky. They stuck in her lashes and melted down her
flushed cheeks.

The marker came into view, and she dug a
pocket watch free as she passed it. She groaned at the time,
shoulders slumping.

"Maybe I can blame the snow," she muttered.
"Or the cold. Or maybe I can blame—" She rounded a bend and almost
tripped over two bodies sprawled across the path, "—the dead
soldiers on the trail," she finished, voice cracking as the breeze
shifted and the butcher shop stench enveloped her.

The soldiers, recognizable by their black
uniforms and military-issue pistols, had died recently: slit
throats poured steaming blood onto the white trail. A tangle of
scuffs and footprints trampled the snow around the bodies, but no
trails led away from the scene.

Exercise forgotten, Amaranthe yanked her
sword free. She crouched and surveyed her surroundings, wondering
where the killer had hidden to launch the ambush—and wondering if
that killer might be there now, waiting to do it again.

Without their foliage, the skeletal apple and
maple trees lining the lake offered little cover. A hundred meters
ahead, the industrial section of the city began. Deep, dark alleys
ran between warehouses and factories whose smokestacks belched
black ribbons into the low gray clouds. Anyone hiding in those
alleys would have had to race across a field of snow to reach the
soldiers though. Closer to her, a gas lamp sputtered at the head of
the first of hundreds of docks lining the waterfront. The dark
hollow beneath the boards held her gaze. Between the snow and the
coming dusk, the lighting was poor; someone might well have hidden
beneath the dock.

Even as she watched, a crunch sounded.
Someone shifting weight on the snow? Her grip tightened on the
sword.

The self-preservation part of her mind
suggested returning to her jog and leaving this mystery to another.
But thanks to a frame job by a late enemy, she was wanted for
conspiring to kidnap the emperor. She wanted exoneration, and for
that to happen she needed to seek out noble—and
notice-gaining—tasks. This might be the opportunity she needed.

Amaranthe stepped off the trail. At first no
footprints marred the bank, but, six or eight feet off the
well-tamped path, fresh boot marks indented the snow. Quite a jump,
but not impossible.

She followed the prints down to the dock.
Anticipation quickened her heart, and quick puffs of breath
appeared before her eyes. The snow muffled the city sounds; the
waterfront stood eerily silent.

When she reached the dock, she crouched,
half-expecting someone behind the pilings. Nobody was there. A
couple of packs and bedrolls lay tucked in the shadows, however.
Had the soldiers chanced upon this campsite and been killed for
their discovery? She crept forward, intending to investigate.

Snow crunched behind her.

Instincts ruling, she lunged behind a thick
piling. The sound of a sword whistled through the air inches behind
her. But when she turned, using the piling for cover, she saw only
the emptiness of the bleak white shoreline.

She kept her sword ready. Magic, it had to
be. It was almost unheard of here in the heart of the empire, where
imperial mandates hypocritically forbade its use and denied its
existence, but she had bumped against it a time or two.

"What do you want?" Amaranthe did not know if
she addressed a person, or some wizard's minion, but it would
likely not hurt to ask.

Silence.

Clothing rustled behind her. She threw
herself to the side, rolled, and came up as a chunk of wood sheared
off the piling. Amaranthe swung at the spot the attacker should
have been, but connected with nothing.

Her gaze slid downward, though she lowered
her eyelashes so her foe would not see. Maybe she could spot prints
being made, even if her opponent was invisible.

There.

In the weak light, she had to strain her
eyes, but the snow depressed in slow, deliberate steps. She drew
some comfort from the normal boot-shaped prints; her attacker was
likely human.

She stepped toward the piling and poked
behind it, feigning clueless stabbing, even as she kept those
footprints in the corner of her eye. The enemy circled toward her
side, walking slowly enough not to make a sound. She continued
jabbing in front of her until the prints grew closer. The invisible
person lunged.

Amaranthe whipped her sword to the side,
raking the air.

A man cursed in a foreign language. Drops of
blood spattered the snow. Footsteps, loud and quick, announced a
hasty retreat.

Amaranthe lunged out of the shadows,
wondering how to stop the man.

A dark figure dropped from the top of the
dock, landing beside her. She brought her sword up, her heart
lurching, but she recognized the newcomer and almost laughed in
relief.

"Sicarius. You—"

He stopped her with an upraised hand. His
other hand held a throwing knife, and, after listening for a
second, he hurled it toward the trail. The steel blade zipped
through the falling snow.

A cry of pain ripped along the waterfront,
and a man appeared. He pitched forward, landing face-first in the
snow, the knife hilt quivering between his shoulder blades.

"Nice aim." Amaranthe nodded appreciation
toward her comrade.

If Sicarius felt satisfaction from the throw
or gratitude for her compliment he showed neither. As always, his
aloof, angular features remained masked, suiting the grim black he
wore from soft boots to wool cap. Only his armory of daggers and
throwing knives broke the monotony of his wardrobe. He was not the
type of person one wanted to run into in a dark alley. Unless he
was on one's team.

"You're late." His voice was as emotionless
as his face.

"How'd you know I'd be running the lake
trail?" Amaranthe asked.

"Books beat you on the obstacle course this
morning."

She grimaced. Though pleased he cared enough
to come looking, she was chagrined she was so transparent. Did the
other men know she trained extra to keep up with them at physical
feats?

"I expect to lose to you,"
Amaranthe said, "but if I can't even beat
Books
, then how can I..." She stopped
herself short of saying 'presume to lead the group.'

"Your words are what convinced him to train
harder."

"Yes, and I'm pleased at his progress. I just
wish his progress was a teeny bit behind mine."

"I see."

Too much, probably. If one whined about
whether or not one was fit to lead, one probably wasn't. She lifted
a hand to dismiss her comments and headed up the bank toward the
body. Sicarius walked beside her, somehow gliding across the snow
without a sound. He retrieved his knife, slipped a folded black
kerchief from his pocket, and cleaned the blade meticulously.

"Kendorian?" Amaranthe nodded at the
body.

"Yes. A shaman."

The foreigner wore buckskins rather than the
factory-sewn wool garments Amaranthe had on, and the thick blond
braid and pale skin were unlike the darker coloring of imperial
citizens. Tattoos of snakes and rats adorned the side of his cheek
and neck—the rest of his face was buried in the snow.

"He has a friend." She waved to indicate the
blankets and bags.

"I saw."

While Sicarius searched for other tracks,
Amaranthe knelt and rifled through the Kendorian's pockets. Nothing
identified him, nor did a handy
why-I'm-invading-the-empire-and-killing-soldiers note provide
illumination. She checked the belongings under the dock but again
found no identifying items. A small toolkit stirred her imagination
though.

Sicarius returned. "No other recent
prints."

"Hm. Any idea what Kendorians would be doing
down here?"

Other than the ice workers chiseling out
blocks for the summer trade, little activity centered around the
lake in the winter. The military's ice breaking ship kept the
transportation lanes open for imports and exports, but the fishing
boats and canneries lay dormant.

"Something important enough to warrant
killing soldiers to avoid discovery," Sicarius replied.

"Kendorians would kill our soldiers whether
discovery was involved or not. The empire isn't exactly loved by
neighboring nations." She stuck her hands under her armpits. Now
that her body had cooled, she noticed the chill air probing her
sweat-dampened clothing. "Still, most of them don't travel a
thousand miles in the middle of winter for random
soldier-slaying."

"We should go."

True. With the bounties on their heads, being
found loitering around murdered soldiers was not a good idea.

"Agreed." Amaranthe picked up a jog again,
heading for the broad street lining the waterfront. "We'll need to
hurry to have a shot at finding the second Kendorian before he
does... whatever it is he's planning."

Sicarius matched her pace, but the long look
he slanted her suggested that was not the "go" he had in mind.

As her mind whirred with possibilities, the
weariness from her run bled away. If the second man could turn
himself invisible, too, he could be anywhere. It would take some
lucky guessing to suss out his destination.

When they reached the
ice-free channel fronting the merchant and naval docks, she slowed.
Could one of the trade vessels be a target? Most ships sat dark.
The gathering night and the snowfall had sent folks home for the
day. Only one pier was lit up, its great steel steamship sending a
few black wisps from its stacks. The
Ice
Cracker II
must be heating the boilers in
preparation to leave in the morning. Soldiers paced the dock.
Crewmen strode about the deck, stowing cargo, and—

Amaranthe halted so abruptly she almost
tripped. "That's it."

Sicarius turned, watching her face.

"The ice breaking ship," she explained.

"You think that's the target?"

"What else would a Kendorian
be after at this time of year on the waterfront? The snow's already
too high in the passes for the locomotives to plow the rail tracks.
If the shipping lanes freeze over, the capital city goes without
imports for the rest of the winter. Not to mention we'd be unable
to get more troops in if something happened to the city. It'd be
especially bad this year, since the
Ice
Cracker I
was decommissioned last month.
There aren't any other ships in the Seven Lakes that can break
ice." She hammered a fist into her open palm. "That's it, it has to
be."

Sicarius pulled her into the shadows of a
dark warehouse. "You have no evidence."

"No, but I have this lovely hunch, and it'd
be downright uncivil to ignore it."

"We have no way of knowing
the Kendorian is on board," Sicarius said. "We
do
know there are a hundred soldiers
and sailors. Maybe more. Men who would be duty-bound to shoot us if
they saw us."

"I know."

"Even if the
Kendorian
is
in
there, he can turn invisible. We can't."

"I know that, too."

Two soldiers marched along the street, rifles
balanced on their shoulders. Amaranthe put her hand on Sicarius's
forearm and guided him into an alley.

"I know this is dangerous," she said,
"probably more dangerous for you than for me—my poster just says
wanted, yours says shoot on sight—but this could be a chance for
both of us."

For years, he had assassinated politicians,
warrior caste scions, and wealthy entrepreneurs, never for the
money, always for the challenge. While she had won many victories
in her adventures, her greatest might have been in convincing him
the most worthy challenge was in becoming a man the emperor might
one day be proud to know.

"But," Amaranthe continued, "you're going to
have to be seen doing some empire-saving heroics before the emperor
will consider lifting that mountain-sized bounty on your head."

"Heroics aren't my specialty," Sicarius
said.

"No, but I'm partial to them." She squeezed
his arm. "And I know when the current's too strong for my swimming
level. I need your help for this."

A trolley clanged in the distance. A clump of
snow fell from the gutters. Pale flakes gathered on Sicarius's dark
shoulders.