Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

She had Nohan out in the open. This had to end now .

Burt checked his pocket watch, then twirled it on the end of its chain. “It’s time, ma’am,” he told Vlora.

“Agreed.”

She and Burt went to the middle of the park, where they were soon joined by Jezzy and Nohan. Jezzy gave them both a toothy, charming smile. “My friends,” she began.

“Can it, Jezzy,” Burt replied pleasantly. “This is the woman you tried to have killed when she wouldn’t work with you.”

Jezzy lifted her chin, looking down her nose at Vlora. “Is that so? The one whose friend killed poor Dorner? Pity, that. Dorner was always a loyal dog. Does your champion have a name?”

“Verundish,” Vlora answered.

“Verundish.” Jezzy rolled the name around on her tongue. “Nohan says he knows you. Is that true?”

“We have a history.”

Jezzy’s smile broadened. “I’m glad we’re here to let you work out your problems. Do you know what Nohan is, little lady? He’s a powder mage. You sure you want to fight him?” Jezzy scrunched up her face, wiggling her nose, her eyes smiling.

“Powder mages are all fluff,” Vlora said, staring at Nohan. The bastard hadn’t even warned his boss what he was up against. What a weaseling asshole.

“If you insist,” Jezzy said. “Now, then, Burt. Are we agreed on the terms?”

“Your mine. My claims. Straight out bet with Kresimir and all gathered as my witness.”

Jezzy’s eyes flicked up to the armed men Burt had brought with him. “And no funny business?”

“None coming from me.” Burt puffed on his cigar, then extended his hand. The two shook. He leaned over to Vlora. “Don’t make me a poorer man, Lady Flint,” he whispered. Then he retreated back to the other side of the park.

It was the first time he’d outright stated that he knew who she was. Vlora tried not to let it bother her, watching as Jezzy retreated as well, leaving Vlora and Nohan alone. She couldn’t sense any powder on him, and had left hers with Burt. She wanted to focus on this without having to worry about him trying to detonate her powder, and he’d obviously felt the same.

“Just a couple of powder mages,” Vlora said. “High as Gurlish sandriders with a pair of swords between them. This should be fun, don’t you think?”

Nohan glared at her. “I’m not here for fun. I’m here to win back my pride.”

“I’m not sure you had any to begin with,” Vlora said, drawing her sword. Her mentor had always taught her to kill in cold blood – to set aside the quips and the insults and to let her sword talk for her. Vlora, however, was not Tamas. “You’re an asshole, Nohan. You should just have accepted it and tried to rein in your lust for blood. You would have gotten a lot farther in life.”

“What, working in your damned cabal?”

“You wanted to at one point. Now you’re a bitter sword for hire, and you’ve been coaxed into a duel instead of sitting back and shooting at me from the other side of town. It was a good strategy. You should have stuck to it.”

“You sure it was me who walked into a trap?” Nohan demanded.

Vlora let her eyes travel along the men standing on the other side of the park, then to the rooftops, wondering if perhaps she’d made an error. Was Nohan cleverer than she expected? Had he set her up? Or was this a last bit of bravado to throw her off her feet?

“Good-bye, Nohan,” Vlora said, stepping forward.

Audible gasps rose from the watchers as the two crossed swords. Nohan leapt to the offensive, driving Vlora back with a series of thrusts that were almost too fast for the eye to follow. Vlora allowed herself to relax, drawing on instinct to parry and riposte, keeping her footing steady as she backed away. Their blades blurred in the morning sunlight, and dust rose around them from their footwork.

She continued to fall back. Letting an opponent tire themselves out was a time-honored dueling strategy, but that wouldn’t work on a powder mage. At least, not very quickly. But she could let his fury build, keeping him at bay without striking back, and that’s what she did as they circled the park. Within moments she could hear mutters, and someone said the words “powder mage.” Bets were soon being shouted back and forth as the big bosses’ underlings worked themselves into a frenzy.

Vlora parried a particularly powerful strike and was immediately forced to duck below a swing and throw herself to one side. Sweat began to pour down her face, and she focused harder.

Nohan managed to get inside her guard, nicking her right forearm. She answered by cutting off the tip of his nose, causing him to stumble back amid a flurry of curses. She followed him coldly, suddenly on the attack, moving with purpose.

He managed to parry several strikes in a row, but then she was inside his guard. She stabbed his right shoulder, parried a riposte, and stabbed him just below the ribs. His sword arm faltered, and she stepped forward and caught him by the front of his jacket, thrusting her sword through his heart until her hilt touched his chest.

She held him up, his body twitching, his eyes rolling as he died. After a few moments she pulled out her sword and let him fall.

The cheers, jeers, and bets quieted. The dust slowly settled. Vlora turned to Burt, who held his cigar between his teeth with a grin. His cigar was no shorter. The fight had lasted thirty seconds – maybe less. She turned to Jezzy, whose face was ashen, her broad smile gone. Jezzy took two steps toward Vlora, then stopped, hawking a wad of phlegm at her champion.

“You cheated,” Jezzy spat.

The assembled crowd immediately erupted into chaos. Accusations flew from both sides. Burt held his arms up in alarm, shouting, “No!” over and over again, while muskets, blunderbusses, and swords were shaken angrily on all sides. Vlora whirled, her head spinning, her thoughts hard to focus after the euphoric adrenaline of the fight.

“Nobody cheated,” she said to Jezzy. “Your man lost. Pay up to Burt, or everyone here will see you for a coward.” She turned back to Burt, hoping he’d back her up, when she heard a musket shot.

Most people assumed that powder mages were infallible when it came to black powder, that they could stop every powder ignition and that any bullet that managed to fly would somehow miss them. This was, of course, a myth that Vlora had been disabused of from an early age. Any powder mage could be shot – all you had to do was overwhelm them, confuse them, or just take them by surprise.

She felt the bullet hit her in the back a fraction of a second after she heard the blast. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees, watching the surprise spread on Burt’s face. Burt suddenly leapt for the ground, and the world erupted in violence as both sides opened fire. Bullets whizzed over and around Vlora, a soft undertone to the cacophony of powder blasts and men screaming.

Vlora struggled to open the button on the breast pocket of her jacket, only to remember that there was no powder inside. Her head was fuzzy, her thoughts confused. She felt a burning between her shoulder blades that she could not ignore.

All around her, men and women died. Weapons were fired, and it quickly became apparent that both sides had stationed people on the roof. The exchange grew more frenzied and wild, and Vlora forced herself to her feet and began to walk.

In the chaos and the dust and powder smoke, it was difficult to tell who was shooting at whom. She reached out with her senses toward the armed gang behind her, where Jezzy was being protected by her men, and detonated their powder with a thought. The kickback from touching off over three dozen sources of powder at once nearly caused her to pass out, but she pushed on until she fell on her knees beside Burt.