An hour after the men left, Amaranthe headed up the hill toward the mine. A damp breeze tugged at her clothing, and the hem of her jacket flapped against her thighs. The noise did not matter, she reminded herself. She was not trying to sneak in.
The mechanical sentries waited, unmoving, on either side of the tunnel entrance. Their red eyes stared outward, burning into the night. Moisture gleamed on their metal shoulders. She supposed it was too optimistic to hope the rain had rusted the constructs’ innards, and they would fall over when they tried to stop her.
Amaranthe approached slowly with her arms away from her sides. She had a knife tucked into her boot, but otherwise carried no weapons.
When she closed to within ten steps, the constructs stepped forward as one to block her route into the mine. Each lifted a right arm, and gleaming harpoon heads pointed at her chest.
“I need to see your...” Boss? Creator? The Mad Shaman who had crafted them? She was not sure what title they might understand. She settled on, “Maker.”
They stared at her, inhuman eyes searing holes into her chest. At least the constructs were not shooting. Cold inhuman stares she could deal with. Thanks to Sicarius, she had all sorts of practice. She pushed him out of her thoughts.
“I have information your master will be interested in.” Or so she hoped.
One construct returned to its place beside the entrance while the other rotated and strode into the mine.
“Uhm?” Amaranthe pointed at its back. “Am I supposed to follow?”
The remaining construct did not move. She shrugged and eased past it. It did not halt her.
“Guess I’m invited in.”
Small, white globes hanging on support posts lighted the way. An ore cart track ran down the center of a rough-hewn tunnel high enough for the ten-foot-tall construct to walk without hunching. If it could hunch. Its broad, barrel chest did scrape the walls from time to time, causing a trickle of dirt to crumble free.
Other dark passages veered away at points, but her guide continued down the main, lighted tunnel. It sloped downward, and Amaranthe soon lost sight of the entrance. Eventually they turned into a side tunnel that dead-ended at a shiny copper door. It reflected the construct’s crimson eyes.
When several heartbeats passed with nothing happening, Amaranthe edged closer. Maybe she was expected to knock.
She lifted a hand. Before she touched the copper, the door swung open silently. Amaranthe followed the construct into a long rectangular space that resembled a room more than a cave. A room filled with workbenches and machines.
A row of sleek, metallic creatures stretched along one long wall. Some were bipedal, some animal-shaped, and some vehicular, though none had the size or mass of a steam carriage or lorry. They must have been built to navigate these tunnels. Tables, shelves, and desks lined the opposite wall. They housed a variety of smaller devices, some with glowing orbs. How many of those contraptions were weapons? Was this some stockpile that could be used against the empire?
Busy gaping at the devices, Amaranthe almost missed the blond man leaning against a desk near the far end of the room. He wore factory-weave wool garments and practical boots typical of the style sold in Stumps. If not for his long blond hair and fair skin, he might have passed for an imperial citizen.
“Have you come to bargain for your man’s life?” the shaman asked.
“Actually, I came to bargain for medical attention,” Amaranthe said. “Your monsters tried to lunch on my insides, and it appears they didn’t wash their paws before dining.”
YOU ARE READING
The Emperor's Edge 2: Dark Currents
FantasyIt's been three months since former enforcer Amaranthe Lokdon and the notorious assassin Sicarius thwarted kidnappers and saved the emperor's life. The problem? Nobody knows they were responsible for this good deed. Worse, they're being blamed for t...
