Brian McClellan - The Girl of Hrusch Avenue

"Maybe we should just go get a meat pie." The cut down Vlora's arm had finally healed, leaving just a wide, pink scar behind it. She did want to do something to the baron, but she wanted to eat more.

"Wait here," Taniel said.

He returned a moment later with a long steel bar, like the kind Vlora had seen through the windows of the smithies that gunsmiths used to make musket barrels. Taniel could barely carry it, but he had a mischievous grin on his face.

"Watch this," he said.

The baron's coach was moving now, coming toward them down the cobbles. Taniel jumped into the street and, as the coach moved past, thrust the steel bar into the spokes of the back wheel.

The wheel suddenly stopped and several of the spokes snapped, the coach lurching forward and then coming to a skidding halt as the driver reined in the horse. The door to the coach burst open and Baron Fendamere appeared, his pock-marked face red with anger.

Taniel took off down the street.

Vlora was just three steps behind him when she felt someone grab her hair. Her legs came out from under her as she was roughly jerked backward.

She stared up into the baron's eyes, seeing the promise of violence within them. She tried to pull away, but he had her firmly by the hair.

He stank of sweat and strong perfume.

"Got you," the baron said.

He threw her to the ground and put his boot on the back of her neck. Vlora's face pressed against the hot cobbles, and she heard a whimper escape her mouth. Further down the street, Taniel had turned to look and now stood, mouth agape.

"You're next, boy," the baron yelled.

Taniel ran.

"Get another coach," the baron said to his driver. "Hop to it, man. Commandeer one if you have to, I'm not standing in the streets with these mongrels any longer."

Vlora felt the boot press down hard against her neck, and then the weight was gone and the baron jerked her to her feet.

"Don't think I don't remember you, girl," he said, tightening his grip on the arm that still bore the scar he'd given her. "You startled my horse and then threw shit at me, and now you've broken my carriage…"

Vlora screamed and bit his wrist.

The baron let go just for long enough to crack her across the jaw with the back of his hand. "Scream all you want, girl. No one is going to help you." He leaned in to her, close enough that she could feel his hot breath, reeking of wine, against her neck. "You're going to be great sport for my dogs, girl. I'm going to take you out into the country tomorrow and watch as they tear you apart."

A coach clattered down the street, the driver yelling for people to move out of his way, and pulled up beside the ruined coach. The driver leapt down and opened the door for the baron.

Baron Fendamere took Vlora by the back of her neck and threw her violently into the cab. Vlora immediately scrambled for the opposite door, fumbling for the latch, but the baron leapt in behind her and pushed her onto one of the benches.

"You've got spirit, girl. You're going to give my dogs a chase." He thumped his fist on the ceiling. "Maybe I'll cut off one of your feet first, and watch you hop across the field as they come after you."

The baron looked out the window, his eyes far away and a smile on his lips.

"Damn it, man," he said suddenly, thumping on the roof of the coach again. "Why aren't we moving?"

The driver said, "There's a boy in front of the horse, sir. He won't move."

"Run him down, then," the baron bellowed.

A voice called out from the street, steady and cold above the racket of the city.

"If you run over my son you'll be dead where you sit. Baron Fendamere, step out of the coach, if you please."

The baron leaned forward and slapped Vlora, leaving her ears ringing. "Stay here," he said, kicking open the door. He raised his voice to address the man outside. "Who the pit do you think you are?"

"You know me, baron."

"Oh," the baron said, stopping just outside the carriage. "You."

There was a noise at the opposite door of the coach and it suddenly opened. Taniel and Bo stood there, eyes wide. Vlora could have sobbed with joy.

"Come on, Vlora," Taniel said.

She ducked outside with them and crept away from the coach. When they'd gotten far enough, Vlora broke into a run, only to come up short at Taniel's shout.

"Wait!"

She stopped and turned. Taniel and Bo had hidden themselves behind a stack of musket boxes just to one side of the coach. Reluctantly, Vlora joined them.

"Sorry I ran," Taniel said. "But I went and got help."

"Who?" Vlora asked.

Taniel pointed into the street. "My dad."

Vlora's heart almost stopped when she looked.

It was the cold-eyed gentleman in the army uniform. He stood just a dozen paces from the coach, his hands clasped behind his back, legs planted firmly. The similarities between Taniel and this man were suddenly apparent-the dark hair, the serious faces, and the lean build.

"Do you need something, Tamas?" the baron was saying. He was still beside his coach, one hand resting on the hilt of his small sword.

"That's 'field marshal,' to you, baron," Tamas said, lips beneath his black mustache twitching. "We're not on a named basis." His cold eyes bore into Fendamere, as if the baron were beneath him in every way. It was the same look that Vlora had seen on the baron's face when he looked upon commoners.

"Leave off, field marshal," the baron spat the last two words. "If you need me, you can call upon me in the morning."

"Your coachman was about to run over my son," Tamas said.

"He broke my coach," the baron said, thrusting a finger toward the discarded coach on the other side of the road.

Tamas turned toward where Vlora, Bo, and Taniel were hiding. "Taniel," he called. "Come here. You too, Bo."

Vlora hesitated behind the musket boxes as the two boys joined their father in the street. What was she to do? Taniel stopped half way to his father and gestured urgently for Vlora to join them.

She stood slowly, composing her dirty skirts around her knees. Chin held high, she followed Taniel to his father.

Baron Fendamere sneered, stepping toward her, and she almost ran.

"Baron!" Tamas barked. The man stopped. "Now," Tamas looked at his son. "Apologize, Taniel."

Taniel swallowed, wilting under his father's gaze. "I'm sorry, baron."

Tamas nodded sharply and turned to Fendamere. "I'll have the coach paid for. Be on your way, baron."

"That girl," Fendamere said, pointing to Vlora, "is coming with me."

"No she's not."

"What?"

"She's not."

"And who is to stop me?"

Tamas lay a hand on the hilt of his small sword.

"I won't hesitate to kill you, field marshal," Fendamere said, "King's favorite or not. You may be the field marshal, but you're still a low-born commoner."

"Duel me, then."

The baron seemed taken aback by the calm with which Tamas spoke the words.

"If you win, you can have all three children. Set your dogs on them. Whatever you like."

"You think you're good enough?" Fendamere scoffed. "You've a reputation, field marshal, but you know I'm better."

Tamas spread his arms, as if welcoming the baron's challenge.

"There's no honor to be had dueling with you," the baron said slowly, as if sensing a trap. "You're a damned powder mage. I know your vile kind. You'd use sorcery."

Tamas raised a hand. "I won't. I swear it."

"When?" the baron spit at Tamas' feet.

"Now. I haven't had an ounce of powder all day."

"Seconds?"

"Your coachman can be yours. My son can be mine."

"You'd have me slaughter you in front of your boy?"

Tamas tilted his head to one side. "Taniel," he said without looking at his son. "Tell the baron the terms of the duel."

"Small swords," Taniel said, as if he were used to this, "in the street. No sorcery. Agreed?"