Hey, guys! After the lively discussion in the comments section of the Sicarius interview, one of the readers made a forum for chatting about the books. (I imagine you can chat about anything fantasy-related.) If you want to talk to other readers with similar tastes, check it out:

The Emperor’s Edge Forum

Also, we’re about to hit 1,000 Facebook “likes” and 1,000 email newsletter subscribers, so it seems like an appropriate time to do a contest or giveaway or something of that ilk. I’m hoping to have the paperbacks of Encrypted and Conspiracy done by the end of May, so maybe I can give away some signed copies.

But what shall the contest be based on? Design ideas for Maldynado’s next hat? Theme song nominations for our heroes? Casting calls for the characters (who should be so-and-so if there were a movie…)? Something else?

If you have any suggestions, shoot ‘em out. Thanks!

I was shooting for May 1st for a release date on the fourth Emperor’s Edge book, but it’s up and ready for you guys a couple days early. I’m posting the blurb and first chapter here, but if you don’t care about such things and just want to pick up a copy, EE4 is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords (look for it at iTunes, Sony, Kobo, etc. in a few weeks).

Blurb:

When you’re an outlaw hoping for a pardon, and the emperor personally sends a note requesting that your team kidnap him, you make plans to comply…

Even if it’ll involve infiltrating a train full of soldiers, bodyguards, and spies loyal to a nefarious business coalition that has numerous reasons to hate you.

Even if it means leaving the city right after you’ve uncovered a secret weapons shipment that might be meant to start a war.

Even if it’s a trap…

Chapter 1

The steel framework of the bridge trembled with the train’s approach. Amaranthe Lokdon crouched on a beam overlooking the tracks, steadying herself with a hand on a vertical support pillar. The train chugged closer, approaching the bridge at fifty miles an hour, black smoke streaming from its stack and hazing the starry sky.

Aware of the full moon shining into the canyon, Amaranthe hoped the engineer wasn’t watching the route ahead too closely. Her form might be visible against the dark sky.

When the locomotive reached the bridge, the vibrations coursing through its steel frame intensified. Amaranthe braced herself, ready to jump. She made a point of not looking at the moonlight reflecting off of the river hundreds of feet below, though her pesky peripheral vision refused to let her forget about it—and the long drop it signified.

The massive black locomotive passed beneath her, its smoke obscuring the view of the rest of the cars. The acrid air stung Amaranthe’s eyes. Nerves tangled in her stomach, but there was no time to worry about the view—or anything else.

As soon as the locomotive and coal car blew past, Amaranthe took a deep breath and jumped off of the beam. She dropped ten feet to the first freight car and landed in a crouch, softening her knees to touch down lightly—and quietly. Though she doubted the engineer would hear anything over the noise of the train, she wagered Sicarius was watching from somewhere, and he would have words for her—or a stern, expressionless stare—if she performed sloppily.

Amaranthe turned her head away from the coal-scented smoke in time to spot four figures dropping onto the four subsequent freight cars behind hers. Akstyr, Books, Maldynado, and Basilard, landing one after the other.

Akstyr straightened his legs too soon and flailed his arms for balance. Amaranthe lifted a hand, concern tightening her chest, but he recovered and sank to his hands and knees. Face pale, he glanced over his shoulder at the deep drop and the shallow river below. He raised two fingers in a rude gesture, suggesting the canyon and the train could engage in carnal activities.

Amaranthe snorted. No need for concern. He would be fine.

Akstyr noticed her watching and changed the rude gesture to one of Basilard’s hand signs, an arm wiggle and finger tap that meant both good and ready. She returned the motion. Further down, Basilard, Books, and Maldynado gave her similar signs.

So far, so good.

This might simply be training for the real mission planned for the following week, but the setting made the potential for injury, even death, quite real. Amaranthe had argued with Sicarius, suggesting they do this during the day, and in flatlands instead of on dangerous mountain terrain, but the discussion had been short-lived. She had given in under the force of his unrelenting glare. He had been demanding near-perfection from the team of late, driving them harder than ever, but she could understand why. He had more at stake than any of them.

Akstyr and the others were crawling off the roofs and onto ladders leading to the cars’ sliding side doors. Amaranthe pushed her thoughts away and got moving. After all, Sicarius was timing them.

She dropped to her hands and knees and slithered over the edge of her car, probing for a rung. Again, she had to force herself not to think about the drop.

Air thick with the scent of wet earth and fallen leaves railed at her, tugging at her clothing and making her eyes tear. Amaranthe descended with care, maintaining three points of contact at all times, just as if she were climbing down a sheer mountain face.

The short sword belted at her waist caught between the rungs, and she lost a few seconds extricating herself. Farther down, Basilard, Maldynado, and Akstyr had already entered their rail cars. Amaranthe forced herself not to rush or sacrifice safety for time, but tension tightened her muscles nonetheless. Though it was foolish and she knew it, she always felt the need to prove herself as capable as the men, especially when Sicarius was around to witness.

She leaned to the side of the ladder, reaching for the metal door latch. Her fingers brushed it. Grimacing, she lifted her leg and groped for a toehold on the inch-wide sill beneath the door, so she could lean out farther. This time, she caught the handle, though it wasn’t easy to open, and she struggled to find leverage without letting her foot slip.

The train had passed over the canyon and was chugging through a boulder-strewn valley, but a fall could still be deadly. If she landed under the wheels, they’d cut her in half faster than any weapon in the imperial army’s arsenal.

“Quit it, girl,” Amaranthe muttered.

She readjusted her grip and twisted and pulled the latch with determination. The handle released with a lurch, but she anticipated it and shifted her weight back to keep her balance. She reached inside, found something metal to grip, and clawed her way into the car. Only when both of her feet were on the textured metal floor did she release a breath of relief. She didn’t relax for more than a second though, not when she was silhouetted against the sky for anyone inside to see.

The freight car carried seeds, tools, and other agricultural supplies, so she didn’t expect anyone to be inside, but Sicarius had promised the objective would not be easy. She envisioned booby traps, but she had to be prepared for anything. She hoped her decision to split up the team had not been a mistake.

Amaranthe pressed her back against a stack of crates strapped to the wall beside the door. She pulled a satchel over her head and removed a small lantern and a wooden match nestled in a waterproof case at the bottom. Making a light was a risk, but she had little hope of achieving the objective, or dodging booby traps, in complete darkness.

The objective was, thanks to her questionable sense of humor and need to interject levity into the strenuous hours of training, to retrieve a fist-sized wooden ducky. Sicarius had said he’d place it in one of the first four freight cars, so it might not be in hers, but she had to check thoroughly. The team had only fifteen minutes to find it and meet him at the end of the train.

After lighting the lantern, Amaranthe eased into one of two lopsided aisles formed by crates stacked floor-to-ceiling against the walls and head-high piles of seed bags in the center of the car. According to Books’s research, much of the cargo had already been off-loaded at previous stops, and the train was on its way to its final destination in Agricultural District Number Seven, near the capital and home.

Amaranthe padded down the first aisle, hunting for places where one might stick a wooden duck. The tall piles of seed bags blocked her view of much of the car, and that made her uneasy. She alternated duck hunting and watching the floor, expecting trip wires at any turn.

Her first circuit revealed nothing, and she went around for another look, this time lifting the heavy bags on the tops of the piles to peek under them. One of sacks leaned precariously, throwing a shadow like a rearing bear against the crates on the other side. She set her lantern down to push the top couple of bags into balance, so the pile had a tidier look, then realized what she was doing and shook her head in disgust.

“Time frame,” she muttered. “This isn’t the place to clean.” She crouched to pick up the lantern. “Or talk to yourself.”

Something at the corner of her eye moved.

Amaranthe spun, her hand going to her sword hilt. Nothing was there.

A rectangle of moonlight bathed the metal floor near the entrance. It winked out as the train passed tall trees and then flooded the car again. That must be what she had seen. She drew her short sword anyway.

Leaving the lantern on the floor, Amaranthe returned to her search. She poked through an open crate filled with metal parts for some steam-powered farm implement. No wooden ducks. She shifted a few more seed bags aside to look under them, though her movements were rushed and less methodical than before.

Not only was she aware of time running out, but Amaranthe was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Something grated against her senses, like the wheels grinding on the rails below her. Though she had been all around the car, she had the feeling that something was watching her. Some animal perhaps? A rat? Or—a new thought occurred to her—it could be some person hiding, someone who had stowed away to avoid the pricy fare of a passenger train.

Amaranthe glanced down at the lantern. It would be highlighting her face, a face that adorned numerous wanted posters in the capital city.

“Time to get out of here.” She crouched and cut off the light, leaving a tang of kerosene in the air.

Before she could pick up the lantern, some sixth sense stirred the hairs on the back of her neck. She heard nothing, but instincts told her to move. Fast.

Amaranthe lunged forward, throwing herself into a roll. The lantern flew from her hands and skidded across the floor to clack into a crate. Not important. She kept her grip on her sword and jumped to her feet before the door.

Amaranthe didn’t glance back the way she had come—something told her she didn’t have time. She bolted out the door, jumping to the side and twisting in the air to catch the rungs. She flew up them with none of her earlier caution and only checked below as she was pulling herself onto the roof.

A dark figure jumped out of the car, somehow gripping the top of the doorway and swinging itself up to land in a crouch before her. Amaranthe scrambled to her feet and turned her sword arm toward the person, bending her knees in a ready stance.

The moon came out from behind the trees and shone on the figure’s short, pale hair and familiar angular features. Dressed all in black, he wore daggers to rival a porcupine’s quills, as well as throwing knives sheathed on his forearm.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe blurted, relief washing over her. “I thought you were—”

A cutlass appeared in his hand, an army officer’s weapon. His face held no expression, and his dark eyes bore into her. She might as well have been exchanging stares with some stranger who wanted to kill her. The training exercise wasn’t over.

Amaranthe had barely prepared herself for the idea of a fight when Sicarius darted toward her, a dark blur under the moonlight. Her instincts told her to leap back, so she had more time to think, but she stood her ground. There wasn’t much space to give up on the top of the rail car.

The cutlass clanged against her short sword, driving it wide. Amaranthe knew the follow-up would slice toward her gut, so she had to leap back, giving herself time to bring her blade back in. She tried to parry, but his second thrust had been a feint, and already the cutlass slashed toward the inside of her thigh.

Metal screeched as their swords came together. She blocked him—barely. The power of his blow sent a painful jolt up her arm, but she kept her weapon in place. If he forced her arm wide, her torso would be exposed, an easy target. Again, though, she was forced to back up, to give ground.

Sicarius didn’t offer her a chance to recover or think. She could only react. Their swords came together, a continuous peal of scrapes and clangs of metal that echoed off the mountaintops. With reflexes honed by months of training, Amaranthe blocked him again and again, even in the poor light, but she could not gain an advantage. Worse, she knew he wasn’t moving as quickly and unpredictably as he usually did, not even close—he knew her skills and her style better than anyone, and he knew how to put himself just out of reach. Usually, he’d stop and offer her advice, but not tonight. Relentlessly, he drove her back.

Amaranthe dared not glance over her shoulder to look for the edge of the car; that would be an eternity during which he could—he would—strike.

Sweat streamed down her face and stung her eyes. She couldn’t pause to wipe it away, not now. Amaranthe tried to think of something she could do, a way to distract him, so she could strike a blow, or at least earn an opportunity to take the offensive, but she had sparred so often with him that he knew all her tricks.

The cutlass dug into her ribs, and she winced, jumping back and banging it away with her sword. Sicarius had used the back of his blade, not the edge, but his point was clear. It was hard to think up strategies when taking her focus away from him and his weapon for a split second resulted in his weapon slipping through her defenses.

The train headed into a curve around a rocky hillside. The car trembled beneath Amaranthe’s feet. She kept her balance, kept parrying his attacks, but she could tell from the amount of roof behind Sicarius that she was getting close to the edge. She had to try something.

The next time she parried a slash toward her torso, she turned it into a riposte, feinting toward Sicarius’s chest, then advancing half a step to strike at his thigh. She made her attacks rapid—her muscles were weary now, relaxed, and she could move faster than at the beginning, when tension had tightened her limbs. Sicarius blocked her strikes easily, as she had assumed he would, but he didn’t turn the attack back onto her immediately. She sensed he wanted her to try something, so she followed her thrusts with a slash toward his sword hand with the edge of her blade. The hand wasn’t a fancy target, but it was closer and easier to get to than the well-protected torso.

Sicarius evaded the attack, but he backed up half a step. Finally. Amaranthe forced him to block three times, each strike as fast as possible without sacrificing precision, and she managed to get inside his arm. She angled her sword toward his shoulder, lifting her front leg with extra emphasis, to show she meant to lunge in and throw everything behind the attack. But she slowed the blade, striking at half of her previous pace, hoping that she’d set him up to expect speed, and that he would move to block too soon. Then she would glide in over his arm and find her target.

It might have worked against a lesser opponent, but Sicarius saw through her ruse.

His cutlass slammed into her sword, sending her arm wide, and she almost lost the blade altogether. Knowing she couldn’t yank her arm back in quickly enough to block his next attack, she skittered backward. Her foot landed halfway over the edge of the car, and, with her momentum going that direction, her heel slipped off.

Amaranthe’s sword flew from her hand. She pitched backward. Fear stole her thoughts, and all she could think to do was flail, to try and catch something, but there was nothing but air around her.

A hand clamped onto her wrist. Sicarius pulled her up and back onto the roof. He plucked her sword from the air before it dropped away.

Amaranthe stumbled against him and clenched her eyes shut. The image of her body being cut into pieces beneath the great metal wheels of the train flashed through her mind. She wiped sweat out of her eyes with a trembling hand and fought to bring her breathing under control. More than exertion had her panting.

After a long moment, she stepped away from Sicarius. He extended her sword, hilt first.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Amaranthe said. “Thanks for asking.”

A normal sparring partner would have apologized for nearly sending her plummeting to her death. Sicarius never bothered with social niceties, though. She had never heard words such as “thank you,” “you’re welcome,” “good morning,” or “sorry I almost got you killed” come out of his mouth. He merely stood there, waiting for her to accept her sword.

Amaranthe took it and sheathed it firmly, letting him know she was done with train-top sparring matches for the night.

“You were thinking too much,” Sicarius said.

“I like to think. It gives my brain something to do.”

“Think to stay out of a sword fight, not once you’re in it,” Sicarius said. “I drill you on routines over and over, so they become an automatic part of your unconscious memory.”

“I haven’t noticed that I can get through your defenses consciously or unconsciously.” Amaranthe waved to the cutlass that he had sheathed in a scabbard on his back. “You’re using an army blade, so I figured you’d be mimicking a soldier, but no soldiers move like you.”

“The emperor’s elite bodyguard is extremely well trained,” Sicarius said.

“You think I don’t know that?”

Amaranthe sounded bitter and frustrated, and she knew it. Taking a deep breath, she willed the feelings to drain away. She would never beat Sicarius in a sword fight, not when he had been trained to kill since birth. They practiced so that she improved enough to beat other, lesser foes. She had to remember that and be happy with the progress she made.

“I’m hoping to come up with a plan that involves taking them by surprise,” Amaranthe said, “not fighting them on the roofs of moving trains. If we can’t get Sespian out of his car without killing people…” She tucked escaped strands of hair behind her ear, though the wind simply whipped them free again. “Well, it’ll be hard to convince him we’re good people who want to help the empire—help him.”

It’d been more than two months since Sespian gave Basilard a secret note, asking to be kidnapped, and Amaranthe still had no idea what had prompted him to choose her team for the request. Did he realize that she had been wrongly accused of plotting against him the winter before, and he wanted to get the real story? Or had he simply been motivated by the fact that her men were the best outlaws around and the logical ones to work with? Or maybe Sespian was working with Forge to lay a trap for her and her team. Though nobody in that coalition had attacked her directly yet, the shadowy business entity had to be aware of—and annoyed by—Amaranthe’s existence by now.

With the exertion past, her body was cooling, and the chilly wind needled her damp skin. Amaranthe climbed down the side of the car and slipped inside for its protection.

When Sicarius joined her, she asked, “Where are the others?”

“Dead.”

“Only for the purposes of the training exercise, I assume.”

Sicarius pressed something into her hand. The duck. “You should’ve stayed together or split the team into pairs.”

“You gave us four cars to search, and there are four of us. It seemed logical.”

“It is difficult to search and watch one’s back at the same time,” Sicarius said.

“I was only expecting booby traps. I didn’t know you would be a player in the game.”

“It’s not a game.” His tone was cool and clipped.

Amaranthe sighed. The same night Basilard had been receiving that note at the emperor’s big dinner celebrating the winners of the Imperial Games, Sicarius had taken her for a stroll in the Imperial Gardens where he had surprised the words from her mouth by kissing her. Even though he’d made it clear he wanted to wait until everything with Sespian was resolved before pursing a romantic relationship with her, she’d thought… Well, she’d thought it might have changed something, that he’d relax more around her, maybe make a joke or even deign to smile once in a while. But he’d been more controlled and aloof than ever since reading Sespian’s note. Amaranthe hoped that had to do with concern over the emperor—his son, a fact that nobody knew about except her—and not because he’d realized the kiss had been a mistake.

The wind had tugged his short hair in a thousand directions, and her fingers twitched. She longed to brush it into a semblance of neatness. Sicarius, however, did not look like a man who wanted to be touched. He gazed out the door, into the passing forest, his jaw tight, his eyes hard.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go after him sooner,” Amaranthe said, feeling a need to break the silence. Shortly after giving Basilard that note, Sespian had left on a two-month trip around the empire to inspect the major military stations along the borders and coasts. There was a precedent—most emperors did such a trip once a decade—but Amaranthe wondered if someone had wanted Sespian out of the capital for a while. Books had spoken of an older woman who’d been there at the dinner with Sespian, acting like a chaperone. Since then, Amaranthe had tasked Books with researching Forge, trying to get names and addresses of key members, but it was a far-flung group, and her team had yet to pinpoint a leader. “I’m surprised you didn’t go that first week,” Amaranthe added, “and try to sneak into the Imperial Barracks yourself, to see if you could get him without our help.”

Sicarius’s eyes shifted toward her, and something lurked in their depths. Wryness? Chagrin? It was so hard to tell with him.

“Or did you?” Amaranthe asked.

“Wards.”

“What?”

“A new addition to the Barracks.”

Amaranthe arched her eyebrows. “Magic?”

The Imperial Barracks was not only the centuries-old building atop Arakan Hill where the emperor and his staff slept; it was also the headquarters for those that ran the satrapy and managed the affairs of Turgonia itself. Hundreds of people worked there. To imagine magic being used openly… magic in an empire that killed anyone suspected of employing it and, at the same time, denied its existence…

“It’s not apparent to anyone who hasn’t been trained to be sensitive to the Science,” Sicarius said, perhaps guessing her thoughts. “Even then, it’s well hidden.” He flexed his hand, as if in the memory of some pain.

“I’m sorry.”

Amaranthe lifted her own hand out of an urge to grasp his and offer some comfort, but she stopped before touching him. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate it. She’d known him for almost nine months now, and nothing she had learned in that time suggested he found human touch desirable. Amaranthe let her hand drop with an inward sigh. She did think too much.

“We’ll get him, Sicarius.” She clasped her hands behind her back and settled for standing side-by-side with him, gazing out into the night. “We’ll get him, and we’ll help him with Forge. Whether he thinks he wants our help or not.”

Sicarius said nothing. Amaranthe hoped it wasn’t only in her mind that he appreciated her efforts.

 

* * * * *

 

Akstyr leaned against the wall of the rail car, his head brushing the metal roof. He sat on eight feet of greenhouse kits with his book open in his lap, though he was struggling to concentrate on it. His lamp wobbled on his pack, threatening to tip over with every clickety-clack of the train. That was plenty distracting, but it was the thoughts bumping around in his head like drunken soldiers that made reading hard.

Across the way, Books didn’t seem to be having any trouble skimming his newspaper and scribbling notes in a journal. Farther back in the car, Maldynado wasn’t having any trouble napping—as the obnoxious snores proved. But those two didn’t have anything to worry about. They hadn’t been plotting with Basilard over the summer, thinking up ways to get Sicarius killed to collect on that bounty.

A trapdoor in the roof scraped open. Greenhouse frames and crates of glass covered the entire floor of the car, reaching to the ceiling in many places, and the only way in or out was through that door.

Basilard dropped inside, followed by Sicarius.

Akstyr stared at the pages of his book. After being the one to bring up the kill-Sicarius idea, Basilard had decided he didn’t want to do it after all. Akstyr didn’t figure Basilard had said anything to Sicarius—or Akstyr would have had a dagger shoved down his throat by now—but the simple matter of Basilard having that knowledge made Akstyr nervous. What if Basilard let something slip eventually? What if Sicarius figured it out on his own? Even if Akstyr hadn’t done anything, he’d been thinking of doing something, and Sicarius seemed the type to kill a man for having a notion against him.

Amaranthe dropped into the rail car last and pulled the door shut. Maldynado sat up with a start, thumping his head on the ceiling, but barely noticed.

“Hullo, boss,” he said.

Books lowered his newspaper and gave Amaranthe a respectful nod.

“Who’s hungry?” Amaranthe grabbed one of the group’s rucksacks. “We have a bounty of delicious ready-to-eat-without-being-heated delights.”

“So long as it’s not noodles and lamb chunks again,” Maldynado said. “A man shouldn’t have to eat anything with the word chunks on the label.”

“On that we can agree,” Books said.

Maldynado gave him a suspicious look, as if he expected an insult to follow. Books was busy eyeing Amaranthe’s rucksack, as if she might pull poisonous snakes out of it. Akstyr thought the others were wimps. He’d eaten far worse stuff when he’d been growing up. The winter when he’d lived on used cooking lard and skewered rats, sometimes cooked, sometimes not, came to mind.

“Uhm.” Amaranthe rooted through the bag, passed on a couple of cans, and pulled out a flat tin. “How about beans and sausages?”

Books’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that small print say?”

“That the sausages are chunked and formed.”

Books’s lips flattened.

“How is that better than the lamb chunks we already vetoed?” Maldynado asked.

“I wasn’t sure if it was chunks specifically you had a problem with,” Amaranthe said, “or all permutations of the word.”

Basilard lifted his hands and, in his Mangdorian hunting code, signed, I could make a real meal if we had access to a fire.

“Alas,” Amaranthe said, “I don’t think the engineer would have kind words to say if we showed up at his furnace with frying pans in hand.”

“He might if all he’s been eating are meat chunks dubiously made in some squalid factory.” Books lifted his newspaper again. “These are strange times we’re living in. Every technological advancement removes us further from nature.”

“Beans sound good to me,” Akstyr said, hoping to interrupt whatever lecture or diatribe Books might be working himself up to. The man had some gray at his temples, and was probably in his forties, but sometimes he acted like the doddering geezers who played Stratics in the park and whined about wayward youths.

Sicarius removed a package from his rucksack and unwrapped his supply of bricks. That’s what Akstyr called them anyway. They were some sort of dried fat and meat concoction Sicarius pounded into bars for traveling. Akstyr doubted the starving people on the streets where he grew up would eat them unless the rat supply was extremely low.

Sicarius offered a bar to Amaranthe. She glanced back and forth from the can of beans to the proffered brick while wearing the pained grimace of someone deciding between torture by branding irons and torture by toenail pulling.

Sicarius looked in Akstyr’s direction. Akstyr pretended to be engrossed in his book, but he could feel that stare upon him anyway, about as friendly and warm as a piss pot frozen over in winter. Sure, Sicarius always looked at people that way, but Akstyr couldn’t help but worry. Sicarius knew more about the Science than most Turgonians, and maybe he knew a few practitioners’ tricks himself. Like mind reading.

Though Akstyr appreciated that Amaranthe watched his back, and nobody here cared that he studied the mental sciences, he figured it would be better for his health if he got out of the area sooner rather than later. And far out. Far enough that Sicarius wouldn’t bother coming after him if he ever learned the truth. Some place like the Kyatt Islands. They were way out in the middle of the ocean, and they were known for their Science practitioners. Maybe Akstyr could even go to school at their Polytechnic and finally learn what texts alone couldn’t teach him.

“Huh.” Books’s paper rattled. “Look at this. We’re mentioned.”

“Oh?” Amaranthe had a couple of cans in her lap and was digging out an opener. “I thought you were researching links to Forge people, not reading the exploits of a heroic and wrongfully accused band of outlaws.”

“It’s a tiny piece,” Books said, “tinier, I see, than this editorial on a perceived cat overpopulation problem in the city. But listen to this: Eye witnesses claim that Amaranthe Lokdon and the group of mercenaries calling themselves the Emperor’s Edge defeated notorious murderer and gang leader Bloody Batvok last week, ending his illegal taxation-for-protection stranglehold on the merchants and grocers working along Thistlemount Avenue. Local enforcers offer no comment. The group consists of a former warrior-caste fop, Maldynado Montichelu—”

“Fop?” Maldynado asked. “Who wrote that?”

“—gang member, Akstyr, last name unknown,” Books went on without a glance at Maldynado, “former professor Marl Mugdildor, and a Mangdorian named Temtelamak.”

Basilard rolled his eyes at his moniker. Maldynado had entered Basilard into the Imperial Games with the name of an old war general who’d been known for his bedroom exploits. Apparently, it had stuck.

“The assassin Sicarius is also believed to have been there,” Books finished.

Amaranthe grinned and shared a long look with Sicarius. “Not exactly front-page fame—and it’s hard to compete with feline population problems for attention—but at least someone’s writing us up now. That’s not even The Gazette,” she said, naming the paper where she’d made friends with that journalist, Deret Mancrest.

Akstyr felt satisfaction of his own because he’d helped take down Batvok. The thug had been from a rival gang that had always been trying to stomp out the Black Arrows when Akstyr had been a member. Too bad he didn’t have any aspirations to be famous. Given his hobby of studying the illegal and forbidden mental sciences, it was best for him to be invisible in the empire. Fame would only—

His thoughts hiccupped.

Maybe this was his way out of the empire. Everyone knew about the million-ranmya bounty on Sicarius’s head, and now that Akstyr’s name had been mentioned alongside Sicarius’s, people might know that Akstyr ran with the infamous assassin. There was no way Akstyr would try to kill Sicarius himself, but what if he didn’t have to? What if he just sold information to someone on how to find Sicarius? Akstyr didn’t need a million ranmyas to get out of the city. If he had twenty or thirty thousand, that’d be plenty to buy a train ticket, a steamship ticket, and maybe even pay for his tuition at the Polytechnic. Hairy balls, it might even buy him food and a place to stay while he studied. His heart swelled at that idea of himself as… well, as a wizard. Sure, only Turgonians called practitioners that, but he had to admit it sounded brilliant. It sounded more than brilliant.

“Beans?” Amaranthe asked, touching Akstyr’s arm.

He flinched in surprise, and his elbow bumped against his lantern. It toppled, and he lunged to catch it. In the process, he lost his book and slid down the pile of greenhouse kits. He ended up wedged into a gap that left his knees pressed to his chin.

“Sorry,” Amaranthe said, though her eyebrow quirked in amusement. “I didn’t realize you were so engrossed in your book.”

“My book?” Akstyr asked blankly.

She lifted the tome and handed it to him.

“Oh, right. My book.” Akstyr swallowed. Idiot, he cursed himself. All he’d done was think about his plot, but he was already acting suspiciously.

“Maybe he’s just that excited over the idea of sausages chunked and formed,” Maldynado said.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Akstyr laughed. Did it sound nervous? Or forced? He hoped not. He accepted the book and the food.

Amaranthe smiled, but Akstyr felt Sicarius’s gaze upon him again. Emperor’s warts, Akstyr was acting suspiciously. He was no good at lies.

In that second, Akstyr decided he’d be a fool to actually betray Sicarius. Maybe he’d sell false information instead. False information on Sicarius’s hideouts and the best way to capture him. Thanks to the newspaper, people should believe he had that information. He still knew gang members who might put him touch with those who could afford to pay well for a chance at a million ranmyas, and by the time everyone figured out what he’d been up to, he’d be out of the city and on his way out of the empire forever. By winter, he’d be on a tropical beach on Kyatt, enrolled in school to learn about the only thing he truly loved.

What could go wrong?

* * *

Available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords (look for it at iTunes, Sony, Kobo, etc. in a few weeks).

Those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook know that I just sent EE4 off to my editor for proofreading and any final tweaks she may find. She said she’d be able to start working on it in a couple of days, and I’m hoping for a May 1 release date.

Here’s an excerpt for those who like little teasers. As usual, Amaranthe has talked Sicarius into exploring something fishy…

Excerpt

Amaranthe withdrew a tin of matches and a compact, nearly indestructible lantern. She lit the wick, and a soft bubble of light came to life, throwing Books’s shadow against the canvas covered cargo bed of the closest lorry. Sicarius had already disappeared into a rough square hole that descended… Amaranthe frowned and lowered the light. She couldn’t see him or the bottom.

“How far down is it?” she whispered into the hole.

“No more than fifteen feet,” came Sicarius’s voice in return, echoing softly in the narrow space.

“Ah, not so bad then.”

“So long as there aren’t booby traps, monsters, and nefarious men with guns down below,” Books said, a curl to his lip as he regarded the drop.

“Why don’t you stay here and stand guard?” Amaranthe suggested.

“Excellent idea.”

“Better not light the other lantern,” Amaranthe said as she swung onto the ladder. They didn’t need anyone noticing a flame in the carriage house and investigating.

“Understood,” Books said.

As Amaranthe descended, the dark, narrow hole imparted a feeling of claustrophobia. If she hadn’t left her rucksack up top, she might have gotten stuck in the tight passage. If this was indeed an underground manufacturing facility, the owners must have another, larger exit they used for toting out the big weapons.

Before her boots hit the ground, Amaranthe bumped into an obstruction. She reached out and found a head of short soft hair that was, as usual, sticking out in myriad directions.

“Problem?” Amaranthe asked.

“I haven’t been able to determine how to open the door,” Sicarius said without commenting on her groping hand.

“What? With me and Books up there blathering for so long, I thought you’d have picked the lock and vanquished whatever guard might lie within.”

“There is no lock.” Sicarius responded in his usual monotone, with no hint that he appreciated her teasing or knew it for what it was.

Business, right. Amaranthe squeezed past Sicarius to find the bottom. They could stand shoulder-to-shoulder, looking at the door opposite of the ladder, but not without pressing against the walls and each other.

“Not quite as cozy as the Imperial Gardens, eh?” Amaranthe murmured, not wanting Books to hear.

Sicarius ignored her and probed around the door with his fingers.

Under the light of the lantern, Amaranthe decided “door” might be an optimistic term for the flat cement wall before them. Vertical cracks at the corners were the only indication that the gray slab might be movable. It seemed to be designed to slide to the side somehow, but there was no lock, knob, or latch to be seen.

She put a hand on the cool cement and tried to push it. Not only did it not move, but Sicarius gave her a flat look.

“You already tried that, eh?” Amaranthe shrugged and shuffled in a circle to face the ladder. She tried twisting the rungs—they were the only ornamentation in the confining space—but nothing budged.

After a pat-down of everything around the door and on the floor, Sicarius reached over her head and climbed up the ladder.

“That man never wants to linger in dark nooks with me,” Amaranthe muttered. “Or explain where he’s going when he rushes off. It’s enough to damage a girl’s self-esteem. And cause her to start talking to herself.”

Up top, Books asked a soft question, but Sicarius didn’t explain anything to him either.

Left alone, Amaranthe reapplied herself to the task of finding a latch or trigger. She would love to locate one when Sicarius had failed to, but she wouldn’t hold her breath waiting for that to happen.

Amaranthe laid an ear against the cement, thinking she might hear some machinery ticking inside. The Imperial Barracks had doors controlled by steam engines that opened automatically when someone approached. One didn’t expect such sophistication from the basement of a farm’s carriage house, but maybe—

The door rumbled to the side.

Amaranthe skittered backward, clunking her shoulders on the ladder. Her first silly thought was that her ear had somehow triggered the door to open, but Sicarius soon reappeared.

“There’s a hoe on the wall that opens it,” he said, climbing down.

“Ah, how’d you find it so quickly?” Amaranthe told herself it wasn’t important that he’d located the trigger first. “There must be fifty farm tools hanging on the walls.”

“Closer to a hundred, but only one had all the sawdust worn away beneath it.”

“You saw which one he pulled, Books?” Amaranthe called up as Sicarius slipped past her, stepping onto a dark threshold.

“Yes,” Books said.

Sicarius removed his rucksack and withdrew a lantern of his own.

“If the door closes behind us,” Amaranthe said, “and we’re not out in fifteen minutes, open it again, please.”

“Yes, of course. Understood.”

Amaranthe followed Sicarius inside. He had only gone a couple of steps. His lit lantern rested on the floor while he crouched beside it, eying the room’s contents thoroughly before moving forward. When Amaranthe looked around herself, she decided “room” was a weak word to describe what stretched before them.

The small flame illuminated only their corner of the space, but it revealed rows of racks filled with rifles, shotguns, and other firearms Amaranthe couldn’t name. The underground chamber’s boundaries stretched well beyond the walls of the carriage house above. Beyond the rows of racks, at the far end of the rectangular space, dark blocky shapes—machinery?—loomed. Bland gray cement comprised the walls, floor, and a high ceiling, and Amaranthe decided no woman had been involved with designing the facility. It would take someone like Sicarius to choose such a monochromatic palate. He probably thought it was practical.

The door rasped behind them, cement rubbing against cement as it slid closed. Amaranthe stifled a surge of panic over the idea of being trapped inside. There ought to be a switch on a nearby wall—surely the workers had to be able to leave to pee whenever they wished—and, even if there wasn’t, Books waited up top.

“Shall we explore?” Amaranthe asked.

Sicarius rose from his crouch, but when she started to step forward, he stopped her with a hand. He pointed to the wall a couple of feet ahead of them. At first, Amaranthe saw nothing, but when he lifted the lantern, she spotted a tiny hole in the cement. It didn’t appear unnatural in the porous wall, until she realized there were five such holes, all in a vertical line. The first was at calf level while the top was over her head.

“Interesting,” Amaranthe said. “Booby trap?”

She drew a knife and waved it before one of the holes, figuring anything that popped out would be deflected by her blade.

A click sounded and shapes buzzed through Amaranthe’s field of vision. Before she could figure out what they were, Sicarius pulled her back and pressed her against the door behind him. Several items clinked off the walls and floors, but with her view smothered by Sicarius’s shoulder, it was hard to tell what they were. She did, with the projectiles bouncing off everything and skidding everywhere, belatedly realize that triggering the trap hadn’t been a good idea.

Sicarius stepped away before Amaranthe’s curiosity prompted her to try and wriggle past him. He gave her a head-to-foot check before kneeling to pick something up. A tiny bolt. Others lay scattered where they had landed after caroming off the walls. Something viscous gleamed on the tips. Poison?

Amaranthe swallowed. “Booby trap number one?”

“Yes. That was a foolish way to trigger it.” Sicarius slanted her a hard look.

“I know.” She thought of the conversation she had had a few months earlier with Books, the one where she had resolved to pursue prudence in dealing with enemies. She would need to adopt a policy of prudence for all deadly situations, enemies present or not. “Sorry, that was thoughtless.” Especially since one could have hit him.

Sicarius dropped the bolt, and Amaranthe patted his shoulder. “I do appreciate your willingness to throw yourself in front of ricocheting darts to protect me.”

Sicarius ignored her pat and turned his attention back to the chamber.

“And your ability to ignore the human need to socialize in order to remain focused on the mission,” Amaranthe added.

“This is not the time for burbling.”

A retort rose to Amaranthe’s lips, but she stopped herself. He was right.

After another inspection of the booby trap, Sicarius moved past it. He led the way down the first aisle, heading for a work table full of sketches. As he walked, his gaze roved about, probing every inch of wall, floor, and ceiling for signs of more traps. Though Amaranthe wanted to investigate the racks of weapons, she followed close on his heels. If he triggered a booby trap, he could probably avoid the consequences with those reflexes of his. She would likely trip and fall into the path of the poisoned dart.

When they reached the work station, Sicarius picked up a rifle with four barrels and examined it. Amaranthe’s fingers strayed toward the sketches scattered on the table, but she caught herself before her hands could rearrange the clutter into neat piles. As the men were quick to tell her, spies weren’t supposed to clean while they snooped.

Sicarius set the rife aside and pulled a crate off one of the racks. He slid his black dagger under a lid that was nailed shut. Using it as a crowbar was not likely to damage that blade. Amaranthe was still waiting for the story of where it had come from and what the indestructible material comprising it was.

Sicarius popped the lid off the crate. It was filled with rectangular brown boxes that read Brakhork D-1 Rifle Ammunition.

“Brakhork?” Amaranthe fished a notebook out of her pocket and wrote the name down. “That’s interesting. You wouldn’t expect someone to put the family name on something that’s going to be used for inimical purposes. Of course, it could simply be a made-up name.”

When Sicarius glanced at her, Amaranthe said, “I’m not burbling. I’m musing constructively.”

“I see.”

She tried to decide if he sounded amused while he opened one of the boxes and pulled out a long slender cartridge wrapped in a coppery casing. It had a pointed tip and three concentric rings circling the bottom.

Sicarius thumbed the rings.  “I’ve not seen a design like this before.”

“How many designs have you seen?”

“Many. Everything the army’s been working on for the last ten years,” Sicarius said. “They’ve had the technology to make repeating firearms, and there have been experimental trials, but they haven’t rushed to get production online.”

“Why not, I wonder? Surely, these repeating firearms offer significant advantages over flintlock and percussion-cap weapons.” Amaranthe found a rifle labeled D-1 and pulled it off the rack. She opened the lid on the side and peered into an empty chamber, guessing there would be room to load six or eight cartridges.

“With most of our enemies still using bows and crossbows, our existing black powder weapons already provide an advantage.”

“So, they’ve been waiting to upgrade until there’s a need?” Amaranthe asked.

“There’s also the warrior-caste mentality to deal with.”

“Ah, yes. Turgonian honor dictates it’s preferable to challenge the enemy to a sword fight rather than shooting him from afar.” She slipped a finger into the chamber, trying to figure out what roll those grooves at the base of the bullet might serve. “Want to disassemble a rifle?”

She checked the desk for tools, but it seemed to be the designer’s spot, and only sketches and drawing implements occupied the drawers. Sicarius took the weapon from her and simply used his knife to unfasten a couple of screws. He proceeded to remove the stock from the barrel and disassemble the loading mechanism, as if he’d done it hundreds of times.

“How are you familiar with all of the army’s weapons developments from the last ten years?” Amaranthe asked. “Didn’t you part ways with the throne when Raumesys died? And then worked as an independent without any ties to the emperor? In fact, Sespian put that bounty on your head before he even came into legal power, right?”

Sicarius laid the pieces of the rifle out on the desk as he continued to break it down.

“For the record, I’m still not burbling. I’m just…”

“Interrogating?” Sicarius suggested.

“Maybe so, but I’m not using hot irons or other torture devices, so it shouldn’t be objectionable.” Amaranthe wriggled her eyebrows at him, though he was focused on the rifle disasembly. “If nothing else, you could tell me why you chose to assassinate a satrap governor and other important lords and diplomats when you were out there working for the highest bidder. You must have known that would give Sespian more reason to hate and distrust you.”

Sicarius laid the last pieces of the rifle on the table. “This isn’t the place for this discussion.”

“No, I suppose not, but if I’m to help argue your case when we meet Sespian—which, if things go according to plan, will be soon— I need more of the facts at some point. Or at least, your version of the truth.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Maybe that hadn’t been the most tactful word choice. Before she could fumble an apology, Sicarius said, “They were plotting against Sespian.”

“What? Who?”

“Satrap Governor Lumous, Lord Admiral Antavak, the city officials, diplomats, and two warrior-caste officers. Lumous and Antavak headed a scheme to have Sespian assassinated the year after Raumesys died, before he’d even reached his majority and come into power. I killed them first.” Sicarius picked up the bolt and firing pin assembly to study. “It’s what I was trained to do. In reflection, perhaps I should have gathered evidence, so there’d be some record. Something to show to Sespian.”

Amaranthe stared at him with wide eyes. “All along you were acting on his behalf? Trying to protect him?”

“The fact that he has no heirs has always made him a target. You know that.”

“Yes, but I thought… I guess everyone thought you were just a rogue assassin available to hire by the highest bidder.”

Sicarius gave her one of his flat looks.

“I mean, I knew it wasn’t money that drew you,” Amaranthe said. He’d had little money when she met him—just enough to hire that shaman to heal her—and he certainly didn’t seem to have any vices that would require substantial funds. He didn’t even own more than three sets of clothing, all identical. “I thought perhaps you might be motivated by the challenge factor.”

“Rarely.”

“Sicarius, this changes everything. Your methods trample all over the idea of justice and having a fair say in front of the magistrate, but all this time you were working to help Sespian? For the good of the empire? You’re practically a hero.” She grinned at him, and, blessed ancestors, she was tempted to hug him.

Sicarius snorted. “The empire is nothing to me. If Sespian were some deviant crime lord, I’d still kill those who meant him harm.”

His words failed to steal Amaranthe’s grin. “It’s all right. I won’t tell the world you’re not quite the malevolent butcher everyone thinks.”

He looked like he might glare or otherwise object to this softening of his image, but he caught himself. Instead, he said, “Just tell one person.”

“I will.” Amaranthe took the rifle’s bolt from him and studied the interior. By the poor light of the lantern, it was hard to see inside, but she thought she detected raised bumps to fit the groves in the cartridge. It seemed like an odd addition from a functionality standpoint. Why not simply keep the bullet smooth? Wouldn’t it have better aerodynamics that way? Then something clicked in her brain. “It’s a proprietary design, isn’t it?”

“What?”

Amaranthe waved to the racks of weapons and crates of ammunition. “If they made all the rifles the same way as this one, then only these particular cartridges will work in them. No smith could simply reproduce these. It’d take a sophisticated facility like this one to duplicate the design. So, the buyers of these weapons will have to continue to order ammunition from the sellers for life.” She picked up one of the bullets and rubbed it between her fingers. “Maybe this is a Forge plot after all. That seems like the sort of quasi-shady business practice one of their people might try.”

Three thumps came from behind and above them.

“Books,” Amaranthe said. “Someone must be coming.”

Sicarius started toward the door, but Amaranthe caught his arm. “Wait, you have to put the rifle back together. We don’t want anyone to know we were here. Especially not if there’s a link to Forge.”

“I opened a crate,” Sicarius said, but he returned to the table and started assembling.

“Maybe they won’t notice that right away.”

While he worked on the weapon, Amaranthe slipped a handful of the cartridges into her pocket. Being able to show someone the unique bullets later might prove useful. She tucked the ammo box back into the crate, trying to hide the fact that it had been opened, and affixed the lid. She manhandled the crate back onto the rack.

Ker-thunk!

“Uhm.” Amaranthe lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. That had been much louder than the earlier thumps, and if she had to guess where the sound had originated, she’d say above them and outside of the carriage house. “I don’t think that was Books.”

Sicarius finished reassembling the rifle and returned it to the rack. He jogged toward the door, pausing briefly to test the booby trap and make sure it had not reset.

Amaranthe waved to the cement slab. “Can we open it from in here?”

Sicarius patted about the walls, but he didn’t find a lever.

“Maybe the hoe is the only way in.” Amaranthe thought about knocking on the door, but if Books hadn’t caused that second noise, she didn’t want to alert whoever had to their presence.

A long scrape grated at the rear of the chamber, in the dark back half they had not yet explored. Tendrils of unease curled through Amaranthe’s belly. That noise hadn’t come from above. Something was down there with them.

Maybe someone already knew about their presence.

Soft whirs and clanks emanated from the darkness. A grinding followed, and Amaranthe thought it sounded like wheels or treads rolling over the cement floor.

“Oh, good, it’s been a while since I’ve been chased by a machine. It ought to be good training, right?” Amaranthe smiled.

Sicarius did not.

 

I’ve had quite a few people asking when EE4 (Conspiracy) will be out, so I thought I’d do a quick post to answer that and other common questions (and, by the way, thank you for caring enough to email and ask!).

First off, I just finished the core editing of the manuscript and sent the last third off to beta readers. Once I get their comments back and have tweaked the story to my satisfaction, I’ll send the file off to my editor for proofreading (I’ll also be sending copies out to the folks who donated to my Kickstarter campaign at this time). I’m guessing that’ll be in the third or fourth week of April. My goal is to have Conspiracy live on Amazon, B&N, etc. in the first week of May.

Here are answers to other questions I’ve been getting:

Who will be the secondary POV character in EE4?

Akstyr. The plan is do to Maldynado in the fifth book and Sicarius in the sixth.

How many books total will there be?

I plan to wrap up the current storyline by the end of the sixth book. After that, we’ll see. I have another project I want to move onto, and I’d like to do a sequel to Encrypted eventually, but if people want more books with Amaranthe, Sicarius, and the gang (if they all survive, muahaha!), I might be open to doing further adventures at some point. I enjoy writing these guys.

You’ve been working on Book 4 FOREVER — how long is it?

Okay, nobody said forever (hey, I just published Book 3 in November), but it does feel like I’ve been working on 4 for a while. As I said on Twitter, it’s not a Robert-Jordan-length chihuahua killer, but it’s a good 10,000 words longer than the earlier books, or 125,000 total (though I might snip a few more words in the last editing pass).

When are Books 5 and 6 coming out?

Yes, some eager beaver asked. I’m not sure, but I will start in on Book 5 as soon as I’m done editing 4, and I probably won’t take breaks in between to work on anything else (unless I start going crazy and need a change). The last three EE books are going to be a trilogy of sorts, all part of one bigger story arc, so I want to get them out in a timely manner (so nobody comes after me with torches and pitchforks!).

That’s it for now. I’ll post the cover art soon. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask below. Thanks!

For those awaiting the third installment in the Flash Gold Chronicles, Peacemaker is officially out at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords (it’ll be available in other e-bookstores in a couple of weeks, but you can download any ebook format at Smashwords if you don’t want to wait).

I listened to those who asked for longer stories, and while Peacemaker isn’t a novel, at 40,000 words, the adventure is almost as long as the previous two combined.

For new steampunk readers who might amble by, the first adventure, Flash Gold, is free at Smashwords for a limited time.

Peacemaker Blurb:

Half-breed tinkerer Kali McAlister doesn’t care that the gold rush has stormed into Dawson and prospectors are flooding the north—all she wants is to finish construction of her airship, so she can escape the Yukon and see the world.

Unfortunately, the world keeps chucking wrenches into her machinery: a mysterious gambler is pumping her for information on her bounty-hunting business partner Cedar; the notorious gangster Cudgel Conrad is after Kali’s knowledge of flash gold; and a series of gruesome murders is plaguing Dawson. Someone—or something—is ruthlessly slaying tribal women, and, if Kali and Cedar can’t find the killer, she might be the next target.

I posted a short excerpt the other day, but I’ll give you another one just in case you’re on the fence.

Excerpt:

Low clouds hung over the Yukon River as Kali’s self-automated bicycle—SAB for short—rumbled along the muddy road, heading toward Moosehide. The fat, reinforced wheels navigated over and around roots, puddles, and horse droppings littering the trail. Kali curled a lip at the latter, not wanting excrement smashed into her treads.

Cedar sat behind her, and behind him smoke from the stack rose into the air, mingling with a morning fog that hugged the banks. Summer was still in hiding, but at least it had stopped raining. That meant a lot of prospectors were boating along the river, to and from Dawson. All of those people gaped at the strange bicycle when it passed.

Kali barely noticed. Her mind was focused inward, dwelling on the upcoming meeting with people she hadn’t talked to in eight years. Though she didn’t expect a physical confrontation at the camp, she’d brought a vial with a couple of her precious flash gold flakes anyway. They had proven useful to have on hand in the past, when she’d made numerous tools and gadgets, using the alchemical ore as an easy energy source.

Cedar touched her shoulder and pointed to a rowboat aground ahead of them. A few shards of wood floated nearby in the river. Nobody stood near the boat, but the grass and foliage along the riverbank obscured the view.

“Problem?” Kali peered up and down the river. At the moment, no other boats were visible.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Figuring he wanted to investigate, Kali slowed the bicycle. Cedar hopped off and jogged through the undergrowth to the boat. He stared down at something inside for a moment and then slung his Winchester off his back.

“Problem,” Kali confirmed.

She veered off the trail and set her machine to idle. Over its rumble, she almost missed the fact that Cedar was talking to someone. She jogged over to join him and found him crouching to help an older man lying in the bottom of the boat. Blood streaked his weathered face, and a bulbous lump rose from the crown of his bald head.

“Don’t need no help!” The man pushed Cedar away when he tried to help and clambered out of the boat by himself. “That boodle of mother-kissing lickfinger pirates got all my cussed gold. Shot my partner and knocked him into the river. Lowdown, thieving cutthroats.” The man clenched a fist and snatched a shotgun out of his boat. “Let them come back out of the clouds, and I’ll fix them. Pirates!” He spat, barely missing Cedar’s boot. “Got me wrathier than a treed coon.”

The old man took a step and tilted sideways, like he might topple back into the boat. When Cedar reached out a hand to steady him, he growled, “Don’t need no help,” again.

“Out of the clouds?” Kali asked.

“Air pirates,” Cedar said. “Must be a new ship. The Mounties said they shot down the last outfit preying on successful miners.”

This was the first Kali had heard about it, but it was hardly surprising. Not all of Dawson’s swelling population could strike it rich legitimately. She gazed skyward. Though pirates might know about the reward for her capture, and could be a lot of trouble, she found herself wishing to glimpse the airship. A completed, working airship. They were so rare in the Yukon. The last one Kali had seen, she and Cedar had been forced to destroy, and she’d never gotten a chance to view the engines up close.

“It’s not appropriate to look wistful right now,” Cedar murmured to her.

Kali blushed. The old man was still stomping about, cursing over his losses. The missing gold seemed to be upsetting him more than the dead partner.

“I’m not wistful,” she said. “I’m just being observant…checking to see if it’s still out there. That’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Cedar raised his voice for the old man’s sake. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to help you, sir?”

“Don’t need no help,” the man repeated.

Cedar shrugged and waved for Kali to lead the way back to the SAB. As they walked back, she gave the skies one last glance—and, yes, maybe it was a wistful glance. She didn’t expect to see anything, but a dark shape stirred the clouds. Kali froze, mid-step. She blinked and the disturbance was gone. Her imagination? Or simply an unusually shaped storm cloud? No, it had been too angular to be a natural part of the sky.

“I saw it,” Cedar said with another nudge for her back. “Let’s get out of here before they decide your contraption is something they’d like to steal.”

“Good idea,” Kali murmured, hopping on. Though she and Cedar had taken down a ship before, it had been luck that they’d had the right supplies. She hadn’t brought any kerosene for the trip to the Hän camp, although she did have her weapons, including a couple of—

“Go,” Cedar urged. He pointed toward the clouds.

The craft had come into view again, its shape distinguishable this time. Like a marine vessel, it had an open deck, but instead of having sails above that deck, a vast oblong balloon hovered overhead, dwarfing the ship with its size. At either end of the deck, enclosed weapons platforms rose like castle turrets poised over a moat. Open cannon ports ran along the wooden sides of the ship. Its size promised room for a crew of thirty or forty with plenty of room to spare for cargo—or stolen goods.

“Going is good,” Kali said. She shoved the lever that controlled acceleration, and the SAB surged forward. Cedar hung onto her with one arm around her waist, while he held his Winchester with his free hand, his torso twisted to watch the sky.

The airship was heading downriver, while Kali and Cedar were heading upriver. If it didn’t change its course, they had nothing to worry about.

“It’s coming about,” Cedar said.

“Figures.” Kali yanked her driving goggles over her eyes and pushed the engine to full speed, with a vague notion that they’d be safe if they reached the tents and cabins of Moosehide. At the least, the Hän would have weapons to help fight off intruders.

The wheels churned, slinging mud in every direction. She could get twenty miles an hour out of the engine on flat, even ground, but the Yukon River shoreline rose and fell, with the glacial rock beneath the dirt making navigation a challenge. The trail never ran more than ten meters without turning around a boulder or tree. Fog still hovering over the hallows added to the challenge.

“Are they after us?” Kali called over the breeze whistling past.

A boom cracked the air, and something slammed into the earth five meters ahead of them. Dirt and rock flew, and Kali jammed her heel against the brake lever to keep from careening into a newly formed crater.

“Yes,” Cedar said.

“Thanks, I got that.”

He fired a shot, though Kali was focused on steering the SAB around the ditch and did not see if it did any good. The river flowed past fifteen feet below, and they tilted and wobbled as she maneuvered past the crater. A big, black cannonball lay in the bottom.

“The artillery man is protected inside the turret,” Cedar yelled, “and I can’t see anybody else up there from this angle.”

Kali increased the speed again. It was only two more miles to Moosehide. Maybe they could—

Another boom sounded. This time the cannonball tore a hole in the riverbank, and the trail ahead of them disappeared in a rock slide. Dirt and stone sloughed into the river, and Kali had to brake again. They’d be lucky if they could climb past that. Driving was out of the question.

She stopped the bicycle and jumped off.

The airship had descended from the clouds, and Kali could see people in the turrets now, though the window slits protected them while allowing them to fire out. A few pirates scurried across the deck, though they were careful not to remain in sight for long. From the ground, the angle was poor for shooting at anyone up there. That didn’t keep Cedar from trying to keep them busy. He fired his Winchester, aiming for a slit in the closest turret.

Kali considered the wooden hull of the ship, wondering if she could find a weakness. The engines were protected, but twin ducted fans on the bottom propelled and steered the craft. Scenarios for disabling them ran through her mind, but she didn’t see how she could do anything from the ground.

Cedar fired another shot, but it only chipped at the wood on the turret.

Kali laid a hand on his arm. “That’s not going to do anything.”

“You have a plan?”

“I have some grenades.”

“Even better.” Cedar shouldered the rifle and held out his hand.

While Kali dug into her saddlebag, she kept an eye toward the ship. The gunner had to have them in his sights, but he did not fire again. A few men appeared at the railing, and one peered down with a spyglass held to his eye. Cedar promptly readied the Winchester again and fired.

The man ducked out of sight, and Kali imagined she could hear his cursing. A heartbeat later, he popped up again, this time with a rifle of his own. It cracked, and shards of rock sheared away from a towering boulder behind Cedar.

He grabbed Kali around the waist and pulled her behind the rock. Fortunately, she had what she needed in hand when he did it.

“What are those?” Cedar asked when she held up the fist-sized bronze balls.

“Grenades.”

“They don’t look like military issue.”

“No, they’re Kali issue. You press this, and it creates a spark, like with a flintlock and—”

Something clinked to the ground on the other side of the boulder. Kali leaned out, intending to check it out, but Cedar pushed her back. He was closer to whatever it was and had a better view.

“Smoke,” he said. “Up the hill.”

Though she debated on the wisdom of leaving cover, Kali figured he had more experience with being attacked, so she scrambled in the direction he pointed. The steep slope made it hard to keep her footing, and she had to stuff the grenades into her pockets. They clinked against tools, and she hoped she had made the triggers hard enough to pull that they couldn’t bump against something and go off.

“Faster,” Cedar urged, a hand on her back.

“I’d be faster if I knew where we were going,” Kali shot over her shoulder. The airship hovered in her periphery, no more than ten meters above them. Its engines thrummed, reverberating through the earth, and the fans stirred the ferns and grass on the hillside. “And if we weren’t leaving my bicycle behind,” she added under her breath.

“Just get away from—” Cedar coughed and pulled his shirt over his nose. He paused to loose another rifle shot at the airship, though it thudded harmlessly off a turret.

A sweet stench like burned honey trailed them up the hill. Not trusting it, Kali held her breath.

A copse of evergreens rose at the crest of the hill, and it seemed like as good a place as any to make a stand. The airship wouldn’t be able to maneuver through the trees, and Kali could throw a grenade at anyone who tried to steal the SAB.

A giant metal claw on a chain clanked onto the rocks to the left.

“Uh?” Kali said, for lack of anything more intelligent.

A second claw landed to her right, then a third one struck down a few feet ahead. As one, the devices swung toward her.

“Uh!” she blurted and scrambled backward.

Kali bumped into Cedar and was surprised he wasn’t moving more quickly. A glaze dulled his eyes, and confusion crinkled his brow.

“Move!” Kali tried to shove him out of the path of the claws, but he was heavy and didn’t help her at all. She didn’t seem to have her usual strength either. A strange heaviness filled her limbs, and numbness made her fingers tingle.

That honey smell. It had to be some kind of sedative.

The nearest claw scraped closer. It swung in, angling for Kali’s torso. She ducked and dove beneath it, but the lethargy in her limbs stole her agility, and she landed in an ungainly pile and skidded down the slope. Mud spattered her, and rocks dug at her through her clothing.

Something landed on her. Rope?

Kali tried to bat it away, but it was everywhere. Not just rope, she realized. A net.

Before she could reach for a folding knife in her pocket, the ropes tightened about her, scooping her up like a fish in the river.

“Kali!” Cedar shouted.

Now, he woke up. Great.

The net constricted movement, and Kali couldn’t get an arm free to dig into her pockets. It swung her into the air. In fits and jerks, a rope slowly pulled her up. Clanks sounded above her—someone winding a winch.

Kali snarled and thrashed without any strategy, aside from an overriding desire to damage something. She was angry at herself for running up the hill without a plan, and for being captured like some dumb animal. Her thrashes did nothing; the net merely tightened.

Then something rammed into her from behind.

“Tarnation! What now?” Kali demanded.

“Sorry,” Cedar said from behind her ear.

Kali twisted her neck—even that was an effort in the suffocating rope cocoon. Cedar clung to the outside like a spider. His eyes still had a glazed cast to them, but his jaw was clenched with determination.

He drew a knife and started sawing at her ropes. “I thought you might like to get down.”

“Yes, thank you.” Kali could be calm and polite when someone was working to set her free. So long as he finished before whoever was working the winch got them on board. Already, they were nearly twenty feet from the ground. The fall would not be pleasant.

“Get him off!” a man yelled from somewhere above. “Shoot him!”

“I believe someone is making plans for you,” Kali said.

Cedar’s swift cuts were opening up her prison, and she gripped the ropes above her head with both hands so she wouldn’t fall free when the support disappeared.

“Not plans I’m partial to,” Cedar said. “I’ll have you down in a second.”

Wood creaked above them, and Kali looked up, fearing they might weigh too much for whatever winch was operating up there. She wanted freedom, yes, but she didn’t fancy the idea of a long drop while still entangled in the ropes. A man wearing a black bandana around his head and holding a shiny steel six-shooter leaned out through a trapdoor…

* * *

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