Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

“Tamed,” Gwenna spat. “Speak for yourself.”

The assassin raised an eyebrow, and Gwenna colored, the memory of the pleading soldier bleeding into her memory, the feel of his flesh as he died. “At least I haven’t quit yet,” she muttered.

Pyrre shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever spent time in the Bend?”

Gwenna shook her head, confused.

“A pity. It’s a marvelously barbaric place. I watched a man in the killing pits there once. I studied him all afternoon. He fought animals-bears, bulls, wolves-and always just near the end, before he put them down, he’d turn his back, lay down his blade, and wave to the crowd.”

“Pointless,” Annick said.

“Maybe,” Pyrre replied, “but the crowd loved it. It made him seem fearless. Invincible. You couldn’t imagine him losing.”

“And we’re Long Fist’s wolves,” Gwenna said grimly.

“Funny thing about that guy, though,” Pyrre said. “Just before I left the city, he turned his back on a bear. He had to do it. It was part of the show, remember.”

“And…”

Pyrre smiled. “And the bear took off his head.”

* * *

Of course, talking about breaking free and actually doing it were two different things. As the night stretched on and the sun set, the three of them were still in the api . Whatever Pyrre said about wolves, Gwenna felt more like a ’Kent-kissing sheep-one waiting for the slaughter, at that.

“It has to be tonight,” she said, stabbing at the fire with a long stick. “We’ve waited too long already. The entire Urghul nation is riding on the frontier, riding to war, and nobody knows. Annur doesn’t. Valyn doesn’t.”

“I would imagine that,” Pyrre said, arching an eyebrow, “is exactly the point. I believe it’s referred to among militarily-minded folk as ‘stealing a march.’”

“I know what it’s called,” Gwenna snapped.

“Tonight,” Annick said abruptly, as though she’d made a decision, stuffing her cured meat into a pack. “It’s time to leave.”

Time to leave . As though they weren’t surrounded by the largest Urghul army in history.

Pyrre chuckled. “I like it, Annick. Focus on the big picture. Don’t get bogged down with the details.”

“I’ve considered what I can,” the sniper replied, cinching the pack shut, “but we don’t have time for anything elaborate. Every hour counts.”

“But they tend to count less,” the assassin observed, “if we spend the hours dead.”

“It’s a risk,” Annick said, nodding.

“And are you going to tell us,” Gwenna asked, burning with frustration, “what your risky plan is, Annick? Or are you just going to walk out of the tent and start killing people?”

“There’s something to be said for simplicity,” Pyrre pointed out.

Gwenna rounded on her. “And what the fuck do you want with it? Just a few days ago you were happy to drink Long Fist’s booze and lounge by his fires. Now suddenly you want to go charging off after Annick? I didn’t know you were such a ’Kent-kissing lover of the Annurian empire.”

Pyrre’s eyes hardened. “Annur can stand or burn. I have my own reasons for wanting to see Long Fist thwarted.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to share them?”

“Not particularly.”

Gwenna suppressed a growl. This was why Wings had leaders. Between the three of them they had enough experience to come up with something resembling the ass end of a plan, but Annick was about as communicative as a brick, and there was no telling what was going on in Pyrre’s murderous brain. This was the kind of shit Valyn had been dealing with since the Wing was established, but where Valyn was good at it, quick to find the strings that would draw the group together, Gwenna just wanted to hit someone.

She muscled down the urge.

“All right,” she said slowly. “We agree that we need to get out.”

“Consensus,” Pyrre said. “I love consensus.” She frowned. “Although I distrust it.”

Gwenna ignored her. “Annick, what’s your thinking?”

The sniper pointed up, through the smoke hole of the api . “Climb the poles and out.”

“Out where ?” Gwenna demanded.

Perching on top of the hide tent seemed about as useful as lying down in the ’Kent-kissing fire and hoping the smoke would carry her away.

“You know that Long Fist has people watching this tent, right?”

“I’m going to shoot them,” Annick said.

Gwenna stared. “With what?”

The sniper slid aside one of the skins to reveal a rough wooden bow and half a dozen arrows, the tips hardened in the fire.

Pyrre nodded appreciatively. “And the string?” she asked.

Annick gestured to the haunch she’d been butchering. “I used the tendon.”

Gwenna eyed the crude thing warily. She didn’t doubt Annick’s knowledge when it came to archery. The sniper had been making her own bows since before she arrived on the Islands, but she hardly had the required tools or the necessary time to do the job justice. “Can you hit anything with it?”

The sniper nodded. “At close range.”

“Define close range,” Pyrre said.

“Forty paces,” Annick said. “Fifty at the outside.”

Gwenna shook her head. At fifty paces, she herself wouldn’t be able to hit a house with the thing. On the other hand, she’d long ago learned to believe Annick when it came to sticking anything full of arrows.

“And you were going to tell us about the bow … when?”

All this time, the sniper had been working on her weapon and she hadn’t said a thing.

“When it was time,” Annick replied, meeting Gwenna’s glare with a flat, level look. “The fewer people who know about a thing, the safer.”

“We’re not just people,” Gwenna spat. “We’re your ’Kent-kissing Wing .”

Pyrre tsked from across the fire. “Just like Valyn,” she said. “Why is everyone so eager to recruit me for the Kettral?”

“Never mind,” Gwenna said. “The point is, we’re on the same side now, and if we don’t start acting like it, this is going to be the shortest breakout in the annals of the Eyrie, bow or no bow.”

She glared at each of them in turn, trying to slow down her breathing, to stay calm. Trying and failing.

Pyrre narrowed her eyes. “A lot like Valyn,” she said again. “Same conviction. Same intensity.” She turned to Annick. “Do you see it?” The sniper ignored the question, testing the sinew of her bow instead. The assassin smiled slyly. “You and Valyn would make a sweet pair, Gwenna. Well, maybe sweet ’s not quite the right word, but…”

“Leave it,” Gwenna growled.

The Skullsworn raised her hands. “Didn’t mean to touch a nerve. All right,” she said, sitting up, “enough gossip. We’re planning. We’re working together. Annick shoots a whole boatload of people, lays down a veritable plague of destruction. Good. Then what?”

“Horses,” the sniper said. “We get to the horses. Then the trees.”

Gwenna grimaced. It was madness, the whole thing. Unfortunately, she couldn’t come up with anything better. They needed to warn Annur. Which meant escaping. There was just no way around it. Unfortunately, escaping probably meant dying in the attempt. “And when someone notices three non-Urghul women strolling through the camp?”

Pyrre smiled. “Then we begin our offering to the god.”

Gwenna shook her head again. “You know we’re going to die,” she said. “This is a shit plan, and it’s going to kill us all.”

Annick eyed her with that icy stare. “Do you have another suggestion?”

“No,” Gwenna replied helplessly.

“Be comforted,” Pyrre said, her smile sharp as a knife. “Ananshael is not particular. Our lives, or theirs, the god will be pleased.”