Brian McClellan - Return to Honor

Vlora didn’t pull the trigger-the powder in the pan was already soaked. She set off the dry powder in the barrel directly with her mind, then focused on the flash in the barrel, stabilizing the bullet with her sorcery, letting the energy of the powder charge carry it forward. It cut through the rain, covering the distance in a moment’s time, then blew through Wohler’s left ankle.

Vlora let the muzzle of her rifle drop and watched as Wohler gave out a cry and fell to the ground.

She wasn’t giving him the luxury of an easy death.

Vlora was awoken by the swish of her blinds being thrown open, and the cruel morning sunlight stabbed her eyes about half a day sooner than she would have liked. She wiped the drool of the side of her mouth and lifted herself onto her elbows, squinting over her shoulder.

“Who the pit is it?”

“Olem,” a voice said.

She rolled over, clutching the sheet to her chest, and held up a hand against the light. The smell of cigarette smoke pricked her nostrils. “Olem?”

“That’s what I said. Looks like you had quite a party last night.” Olem stood by the window, dressed in his uniform, hat under one hand.

Vlora looked around at the piles of clothes and discarded wine bottles. Her head pounded, and she couldn’t remember much of anything after dragging Wohler screaming through the streets and delivering him to the Adopest police. “It takes a lot to get a powder mage drunk,” she said.

Olem lifted one of the bottles and held it to the light. He swirled the contents and sniffed it, then took a swig.

Vlora tossed the sheet away and reached for her pants, pausing to smile when Olem turned hastily away from her nudity. She pulled on her shirt and boots, then stood up and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself presentable. Olem offered the half-empty wine bottle. She took it with a word of thanks and took a large gulp.

Foul.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “We caught Wohler, didn’t we?”

“That we did. Good work. The intelligence is secured and Wohler will be talking to our boys about any of Charlemund’s other secrets he may be privy to.”

“So, uh, what are you doing here?

“I thought you might like to go get some breakfast down the road.”

Vlora raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

Olem gave her a grin. “Indeed. You’ll want a full stomach. We’ve got a long way to ride today.”

“We?”

“I’m done with my recruiting, and my men and I need to be in Budwiel in four days. I thought you might want to come with us.”

Vlora blinked lazily, her mind still trying to catch up. That’s right, she had captured Wohler, which meant she was welcome back at the front. She gave a sigh of relief. Two days ago she had all but resigned herself to failure. Now she had succeeded, with Olem’s help.

To be honest, it felt like a hollow victory. It was all for what? To impress Tamas and go to the front, where she could get back to killing? No, she reminded herself. It was so Sabon could rest easy.

“Was this meant to be a test all along? Were you here to watch me?”

Olem looked around for someplace to ash his cigarette, then opened the window to do it outside. “No,” he said. “I was told to bring you if you succeed, leave you if you failed.”

“And you weren’t supposed to help me?”

“I was told not to, actually. But I figured that was just the field marshal’s mood talking.” Olem extended a hand. “Shall we?”

Vlora clasped the hand. “Breakfast first?”

“I don’t start the day any other way. Besides, there’s going to be a battle at Budwiel, and a damned big one. I figure it can wait for a good meal.”