Brian McClellan - Return to Honor

Colonel Verundish was a striking woman with black skin and long, straight black hair. She wore a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and cuffs, her uniform jacket hanging over the back of her chair. She looked up over the top of her book as Vlora took the empty chair across from her and set both glasses of beer on the table.

“Hi, Verie,” Vlora said.

“That’s Colonel Verundish to you, Captain,” Verundish responded coldly. Her eyes went back to the book in her hands.

That hurt. Vlora closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting off the urge to leave. Would it be so bad to fail this assignment? Surely Tamas would have put more men on it if he really thought Wohler had intelligence of importance.

Would her success even gain her the approval she desired?

Giving up would be the easy way out. She would only fall even further in Tamas’s eyes and-perhaps more importantly-in her own.

“Colonel Verundish,” Vlora said. “I need your help.”

Verundish turned a page. “I’m surprised you’re showing your face around here after what you did to Taniel.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that there’s anyone in this Kresimir-damned army that doesn’t know?”

“That you cheated on the field marshal’s son? Everyone’s favorite powder mage, who just so happens to be on the verge of death?” Verundish snorted.

Vlora stared at her glass, feeling the anger boil in her blood. This was a waste of time. She had no friends here. “Not that it’s anyone’s goddamn business.” Her voice rose sharply at the end, and Vlora found herself gripping the edge of the table. She was trembling.

The outburst drew enough glances to make Vlora’s cheeks grow warm. She stood up. “But yes,” she continued calmly, “I did do that. It was a foolish, juvenile mistake that has cost me the respect of everyone I hold dear.” She turned to go.

Verundish sighed and set down her book. “Sit down.”

“No, it’s fine,” Vlora said. “Forget I was here.”

“Sit. Down.”

Against her better judgment, Vlora returned to her seat. She gripped her glass to keep herself from shaking with anger.

Verundish noticed the extra beer Vlora had brought her and picked it up. “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said, letting out a sigh, the cold demeanor softening a little. “I’ve made a few myself. What do you need?”

Vlora drained the rest of her second beer to give herself courage. “I’m looking for someone,” she said. “A Prielight guard by the name of Captain Wohler.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“It should. He was the head of Charlemund’s personal guard.”

Verundish turned and spit at the mention of the name. “Traitorous sack of shit.”

“Agreed,” Vlora said. “Wohler escaped the battle at the villa, and he’s got a whole case of army intelligence that he’s going to hand to the enemy. I have three-sorry, two days to find him and capture him.”

Verundish idly flipped the pages of her book with the fingers of her right hand, drumming the fingers of the left on her glass. “I don’t know where he is,” she said. “And believe me, I’d tell you if I did. Everyone in this room wants to get a hold of one of Charlemund’s men after what happened to Commander Sabon. Anyone who escaped has been keeping out of sight.”

“Shit,” Vlora said.

“My guess is the Prielight guards are hiding in some church cellar. Maybe even Kresim Cathedral. Any place that will give them sanctuary.”

“Think they’ll stick together?”

“Wouldn’t you, if the city suddenly turned hostile?”

“No,” Vlora said. “I’d ditch everything I owned and hide out in plain sight.”

“Yeah, well, you were tutored by Tamas. Normal people don’t think like that. Normal people are like sheep. They huddle.”

Vlora nodded unhappily. If Wohler was hiding out with a group of his compatriots, he might be easier to find, but capturing him would be a whole other story.

“When do you leave for the front?” Vlora asked.

Verundish shook her head. “No time soon. I’m on special assignment with a few squads. I’ll be staying in the city.”

“If I can find Wohler,” Vlora said, suddenly hopeful, “could you give me a squad of your men to help me bring him in?”

Verundish considered this for a moment, then reached around and pinched the shoulder of her uniform jacket. “See this?” The jacket had a pin with a chevron over a powder horn. Vlora had seen a couple of those around, but she didn’t know what they meant.

“I’m part of Captain Olem’s new Riflejacks,” Verundish said. “Special company that reports directly to Field Marshal Tamas. I can’t pull those men away from their duty.” She paused, barking a quiet laugh. “Not unless you’ve got seventy-five thousand krana on you.”

“Seventy-five?” Vlora asked. “That’s your price, eh?”

Verundish waved her glass. “Everyone has one.” She paused, waited a beat, then chuckled. “I joke, I joke.”

Vlora had the feeling it hadn’t been entirely in jest. But even if Verundish were serious, where would Vlora get that much money?

“Really,” Verunish said, “I wish I could help.”

Vlora swore to herself. Verundish had been her best shot. There was no one else around who would help her without a direct order from Tamas, and he had made it clear she wasn’t getting help. Which meant she had to locate a company of Prielight guards and then carve through them herself in the hopes of finding Wohler. Even for a powder mage, it sounded like a good way to get killed.

“Well,” Vlora said, tapping her empty glass. “Me too. I better get moving. Thanks anyway.”

“Wait,” Verundish said.

Vlora paused halfway out of her seat, then lowered herself back down.

“He probably won’t lend you any men,” Verundish said, “but if anyone can find where the Prielights are hiding, it’ll be Captain Olem. I’d suggest you see him.”

“Olem? He’s Tamas’s personal bodyguard. You think he’d help me ?”

Verundish shrugged. “Olem’s a good man. Try him. Never hurts to ask.”

Yes , Vlora said to herself. Yes it does . She lifted her head to scan the room. “Is he here?”

“Pit, no. Olem doesn’t like officers’ messes. They make him uncomfortable. He’ll be at the Giggling Pig over on Flatfoot Lane.”

“That’s the worst bar name I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not a bar. It’s a whorehouse.”

Of course. Where the regular infantry spent their time. Vlora opened her mouth to protest the earliness of the hour when she remembered that Olem’s Knack-his minor sorcery-was that he needed no sleep, a fact that made him an ideal bodyguard for Tamas.

Vlora was trying to think of another excuse to not ask Olem for help when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and then up some more into the bloated red face of a major wearing the red-striped Adran blues of a dragoon. The man’s jacket was undone, and he smelled of whiskey and sweat. Vlora sought to remember his name. Emerson. Major Emerson.

“Captain Vlora, you are not welcome here,” he said, pausing between words so that he didn’t slur.

Vlora opened her mouth. She had been about to say she was just leaving, but a spike of anger had broken through her carefully measured calm. She felt her eye twitch. She would take this shit from Taniel’s family and closest friends, but Emerson wasn’t one of them. Just some idiot trying to curry favor with the field marshal by publicly humiliating her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’m an officer in the Adran army. I am as welcome here as you.”

Emerson drew himself up. “I shall show you the door.”

“No,” Vlora said, looking pointedly at the hand on her shoulder. “You won’t.” She removed a powder charge from her pocket and bit the end, the sulfuric taste of the powder spilling out onto her tongue. She felt a surge of energy and a heightened buzz as her senses sought to take in every smell, sound, and sight in the room all at once. She mentally brought the powder trance under control and stared up at the major.