Lindsay Buroker - Deadly Games

She tugged her sword free, intending tosearch for a more vulnerable target.

Something wrapped around her leg. The othertentacle. She’d taken her eye off of it for too long.

Amaranthe tried to yank her leg free, but thegrip tightened, applying bone-crushing force that smothered herfrom calf to thigh. Her knee creaked, and she hissed in pain.

An image flashed through her mind of ashattered knee with her unable to walk for the rest of her life. Ifshe had a rest of her life. Where was the rest of herteam?

She twisted and slammed her sword into thetentacle. Though her blade sank in a few inches, the krakentightened its grip instead of releasing her.

Maldynado swam into view, but he carried onlythat thin rapier, not a harpoon launcher. What would that do?

He stabbed gamely at the creature, but thetentacle ignored him. The kraken pulled her from beneath thevessel, its movements slow, almost leisurely.

Amaranthe hacked at the appendage, no graceto her movements. She was like a logger hewing at a tree. A treethat wanted to kill her.

Something snapped in her knee, and shescreamed, the noise half pain, half rage. She tore into thetentacle with even more vigor.

Her breaths came in short gasps. She couldnot get enough air.

Under her rain of blows, the tentaclestiffened, then loosened. Had the creature finally had enough? Ormaybe it was only shifting its grip.

Amaranthe looked up, trying to spot thekraken’s eyes, hoping she would find defeat there.

It hovered, ten feet below the Saberfist . Her harpoon still protruded from the right orb,and the tentacles on that side of its body floated limply. Basilardand Sicarius were weaving between them, approaching the undersideof the creature. The keg was still in Sicarius’s arms.

Hurry, she urged.

He swam the last few meters, yanked somethingout of the keg, and thrust the poison into a dark orifice.

Amaranthe hoped that was it, the death blow,but a spasm coursed through the tentacle restraining her. Ittightened about her leg, and she gasped as fresh pain erupted fromher knee. She fought back tears of frustration. What if Sicariushad delivered the killing blow, but the kraken ripped her in halfin its death throes?

She hacked at the tentacle with renewedvigor, determined to free herself or die trying. Inside her helmet,sweat dribbled down her face, stinging her eyes. Dozens ofperforations marred the tentacle, and blood clouded the water, butstill it would not release her.

Finally, the limb relaxed. Amaranthe shovedat it to pull her leg free. She stroked away from it and almostlost her sword as lightheadedness overcame her. She was breathingtoo hard, sucking in more air than the suit was designed todeliver.

But the tentacle remained limp andunmoving.

Two suited figures and one naked one weretreading water a few feet away.

Problem? Amaranthe signed, cheekswarming with sheepish chagrin, knowing Sicarius had observed herwild hacks. Mercenary leaders were supposed to remain calm andrational during a crisis, not descend into an animalisticfrenzy.

It’s dead , Maldynado signed, but ifyou want to keep at the blade practice, we can wait.

She checked Sicarius’s face, wondering howlong it had been since he had taken a breath. He appeared fine, ifmore serene than usual with those hooded eyes.

No, she signed. That wassufficient.

Amaranthe started to swim toward the men, butthe first attempt at a kick sent fire flaring from her knee.Someone gripped her upper arm. She lifted a hand to sign that shecould make it on her own, but it was Sicarius, so she stopped. Nodoubt, he wanted to go up for air, not discuss her independentstreak.

She stroked with her arms, letting herwounded leg hang limply, and he helped her toward the surface. Heangled away from the Saberfist as they rose. Good idea. Noneed to tempt any marines by popping his million-ranmya head up inthe middle of the activity.

The top of the laboratory vessel was creepingout of the water. That ought to keep the marines busy for awhile.

When she broke the surface, sun blazed intoher eyes. Morning sun. It seemed as if they had been underwater allday, yet it must have only been a couple of hours.

Amaranthe squinted and tried to lift a handto shield her face, but, with her left leg dangling uselessly, sheneeded both arms to stay afloat. Her eyes adjusted, though, and shemade out the marines scurrying about on the deck of their ship,preparing their salvage crane and dinghies for boarding. The krakenwas floating on the surface now, too.

She struggled with the fasteners for herhelmet. She wanted the thing off, so she could breathe fresh airagain.

Sicarius caught her by the armpit with onehand and unclasped her helmet with the other. He had no troublestaying afloat using just his legs, but then both of his legs wereworking. As soon as her head was free, she flung the helmet aside,not caring if it floated away. She had had enough of suits andkrakens and underwater practitioners. Though she could not complainabout the outcome, she decided not to put subaqueous activities ontheir official list of mercenary services.

“Your knee?” Sicarius asked, his gaze rovingthe deck of the ship and the surrounding activity.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll be joining you for amorning run anytime soon.”

“Akstyr can fix it.”

“Surely, I’ll need to rest it for a couple ofweeks.”

“Days.”

Amaranthe spotted Maldynado, Akstyr, Books,and then Basilard closer toward the shore. She waved for them tohead inland. It was time for her team to disappear.

“Aren’t I entitled to a vacation now andthen?” she asked. “Look, there’s a nice beach over there. If weswim that way instead of meeting up with the men, we could enjoythe summer day.” She nodded at Sicarius’s bare shoulders. “You’redressed for it.”

“You are not.”

“True.” She plucked at the heavy suit. “ButI’ve been wanting to get out of this. Whether that’s back at thedocks or on a secluded beach doesn’t matter to me.” She smiledplayfully.

He did not answer promptly, and she thoughthe might actually be considering it. Until he said, “With Akstyr’shealing, two days should be sufficient rest for your knee. Thenyour training can commence again.”

Amaranthe sighed. “You’re an unrelentingtaskmaster.”

“Yes.”

A wave washed over them, and he wiped hisface. She eyed him, half-suspecting him of using the movement tohide the barest hint of a smile. But surely that would be toojovial for him.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

Something on the Saberfist caught hisattention, and he did not answer. Someone on the ship leanedagainst the railing, someone in civilian clothing and a hat.

Amaranthe lifted a hand toward Deret, thebest “thank you” she could manage at this distance. He started towave back, but glanced at marines jogging past behind him and kepthimself to a nod.

“Ready to go?” Amaranthe repeated.

“Yes.” Sicarius’s humor had evaporated, andhis unreadable facade returned.

Amaranthe straightened the crimson,braided-hide band across Basilard’s chest. Following in theTurgonian style, he wore it diagonally across a crisp white shirtwith silver piping. According to imperial lore, the band wassymbolic of the across-the-back sword scabbards the originalconquerors had worn, a throwback to the days when the size of aman’s sword had indicated…well, no man had dared carry one anyless than five feet long.

How do I look? he asked when shestepped back.

“Maldynado picked out your clothes anddressed you,” Amaranthe said. “How do you think you look?”

Fabulous?