Shadows Over Innocence Read Free

flagstones, and disappeared around the corner. Sicarius pushed the soldier aside and raced after the man. His prey sprinted down the street, running in and out of the influence of gas lanterns burning on the Imperial Barracks’ outer wall, and toward the trolley tracks and roadways of the city. He must have hoped to evade pursuit amongst the buildings and dark alleys. On the parapet above, guards patrolled—guards with access to muskets and cannons—but no one fired at the fleeing man. Of course not. He wore an army uniform. Sicarius might have yelled up and explained the situation, but it’d be more efficient to simply handle the spy himself.
    He increased his speed, arms pumping as hard as his legs. The spy’s boots thudded on roads slick with frost, and crystallized puffs of air drifted behind as he ran, his ragged breaths audible in the still evening. As he’d been so trained, Sicarius made not a sound. He closed the distance. Ten meters. Five.
    The man sprinted through a square at the base of the hill and glanced back, perhaps believing he’d outrun his pursuer. His eyes bulged when he spotted Sicarius just behind. The spy’s jaw firmed, and he whipped his sword from its sheath, turning around as he did so, holding it out, perhaps hoping Sicarius might impale himself.
    Sicarius shifted his weight and, between one step and the next, halted out of blade reach. A few passersby paused, heads cocked.
    “Criminal!” the soldier shouted, pointing at Sicarius with his sword.
    At the private’s proclamation, citizens opened their doors and came outside. Pedestrians murmured to each other. More than one person touched a sword or dagger. Without rank or uniform, Sicarius did not bother arguing. He kept the encroaching citizens in mind, but focused on his opponent.
    Falling into a ready crouch, the spy brandished his blade. A smug smile creased his face. Sicarius had no sword with him, and he had not drawn a knife.
    Certainly believing his opponent helpless, the spy lifted an arm to strike. Sicarius stepped aside, dodging the blow easily, then lunged in behind the attack. He grasped the man’s wrist and twisted it against the joint, catching the sword when it dropped. The man squawked in pain and tried to pull away. Sicarius snaked his leg behind his opponent’s knee, sweeping him off balance. Only the arm Sicarius wrapped around the man’s neck kept him from pitching to the street. The spy clawed at the grip, but Sicarius merely squeezed harder. Soon his opponent’s breaths came in wheezes.
    The approaching citizens hesitated. Without releasing his man, Sicarius lifted the soldier’s blade and eyed them with a cool stare. Their hands dropped from their weapons, and they backed away.
    “Who did you let through the gate?” Sicarius asked his prisoner.
    The soldier squirmed, but did not answer. Sicarius dropped the sword and gouged his thumb into the depression at the back of the man’s jaw. He dug at the point until the man whimpered.
    “Mangdorians…hired assassin…emperor.”
    Bone cracked as Sicarius broke the man’s neck. He dropped the body and raced back to the Imperial Barracks. He’d made a mistake. Someone had seen him on his mission; that was the only explanation. The Mangdorians were reputed to prefer peace and negotiation to conflict and war, but Sicarius had encountered more than one warrior from that nation; not everyone believed in their god’s tenets. If someone had hired an assassin, and if the man were successful…it would be Sicarius’s fault.
    The corporal at the gate had gathered more soldiers. His eyebrows rose at Sicarius’s approach.
    “There’s an assassin inside,” Sicarius said. “Sweep the grounds. Tell Hollowcrest.”
    Before the corporal could respond, Sicarius sped across the courtyard toward the entrance to the Barracks. He took the steps three at a time, tore open the massive doors, and ran down the gleaming marble corridors. On the third floor, he reached the