Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

“I’m certain,” he replied.

Ibana met his eye. “Why? Lindet isn’t worth this.”

He remembered a time, as a child, that he’d been knocking at the gates of the pit with a fever. His baby sister had snuck into his room to put candies beneath his tongue, despite knowing their father would beat her if caught. “Not to you,” he replied, and headed down the path to the ocean.

Vlora sat on a stone to one side of the highway that ran through the crack in Ishtari’s Crease, humming softly to herself as she drew a whetstone across the blade of her sword. Her jacket was neatly folded behind her makeshift chair, her pistols and kit on top of the small bundle. Her sword lay across her knees as she listened to the sound the whetstone made and watched as the Dynize Army emerged from the hills.

They snaked down onto the relatively flat bit of highway about a mile and a half from her position – a column of infantry six across and probably miles and miles long. Officers rode horses alongside the column, with a handful of scouts out ahead. From their formation, they were clearly not expecting a fight, and had ordered their men to march double time to try to catch up with Vlora’s smaller force. Their advance scouts had probably seen her army continue through Ishtari’s Crease and head down into the forest below.

She was running a light powder trance – enough that she could see the moment one of the scouts spotted her. The column ground to a halt, officers were consulted, soldiers stared in her direction through looking glasses. She’d changed into an old pair of crimson trousers, so they probably wondered what the pit a single Adran soldier was doing out here alone.

She wondered how much time their hesitancy would cost them. Scouts were dispatched heading north and south along the Crease, no doubt looking for a trap. The general in charge of this field army had grown wary of her ambushes.

It made her smile.

It was almost a half hour until the column began to move again. It prowled forward, rolling toward her as inexorably as a boulder down a mountain but at a maddeningly slow pace. Though she tried to maintain her outward calm, her muscles cried out for the fight to start – for the beginning of the end. It reminded her of sitting in a theater next to Taniel, Bo, and Tamas, waiting for the most anticipated play of the season to begin while she clutched her handbill and hoped – in that way teenagers do – that the lead actor would look her way during the performance.

Every minute or so, Vlora took another hit of powder. She increased the dosage by a tiny amount each time, until her senses practically hummed with all the information flowing through them. She could hear the wings of every bug for two hundred yards, smell every flower, feel the tiniest speck of dust on the tips of her fingers. Her hands felt as if they were trembling, but every time she held them out to look, they were steady as steel.

She was so focused on the distant tramp of Dynize boots that she did not hear a single set of footsteps in the gravel behind her until they were almost upon her. She turned slightly, grasping the hilt of her sword. She wondered if a Dynize assassin had managed to sneak around her, or if Olem had escaped his ropes and come to try to talk her out of this.

“There are simpler ways to kill yourself, you know.”

Vlora looked up at Taniel as he came to stand beside her. “Shouldn’t you be with the capstone?” she asked.

“Shouldn’t you?” Taniel’s eyes were on the approaching Dynize column. They’d be here in less than ten minutes.

“I have other responsibilities.”

Taniel snorted. “If you were facing down a company, I’d think you heroic. But you can’t win this – not even a chance. There’s a whole field army coming out of those hills and you will not stop them.”

“I can slow them down.”

Taniel was silent for several moments. “Enough to make a difference?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.”

“Look, the Riflejacks are a week’s march from the coast. Then they have to find a harbor and ships to get them off the continent – if there even still is a safe harbor. If you gain them a few hours, it won’t mean a damned thing.”

Vlora lifted her sword, examining the blade for chips and flaws. It was in good condition, considering it had gone through several major battles with her. “Did Olem send you?”

“Nobody sent me. I caught wind and came myself. As far as I know, Olem is still trussed up like a pig per your orders. He’s never going to forgive you for this, you know.”

“I’m not terribly worried about that. And yes, I think a few hours will make a difference. My boys have orders to ditch the capstone if the Dynize get within five miles of them. Once the Dynize have both my corpse and the capstone, they’re going to reassess this merry little chase. The northern Fatrastan coast is still Lindet’s territory, and the Dynize will be hesitant to chase them too far. They might just decide to let the Riflejacks go.”

“Are you sure they will?”

“I am not.”

“And you’re willing to throw your life away on that uncertainty?”

“I am.”

Taniel gave an unhappy sigh. “Fine.” Vlora expected him to turn and stride off with a huff, but instead he removed his gloves – revealing his red hand – and then stripped off his jacket and folded it up, setting it on top of Vlora’s effects.

“What the pit are you doing?” Vlora asked.

Taniel didn’t answer her. He undid his cuffs and collar, then rolled up his sleeves. “Do you remember when we first met?”

It was an odd question. Vlora frowned at Taniel, watching as he dabbed out a bit of black powder onto the back of his hand and snorted it. “I do.”

“Do you remember the day Tamas adopted you?”

She forced herself to think back nearly two decades, picturing herself as a waif of a child, roaming the ins and outs of Hrusch Avenue, trying to survive between the uncaring streets and the cruelty of the orphanage. She’d met Taniel and Bo, and a cold-eyed gentleman whom she’d later come to know as Field Marshal Tamas. Vlora had gotten into some trouble, and Tamas had dueled a nobleman to save her life. He’d taken her in, given her a home, and trained her to be a powder mage.

“It’s hard to forget. It was the most terrifying and the happiest day of my life.”

Taniel gave her a peculiar look. “You’ve never been more terrified? With all you’ve been through?”

“I couldn’t protect myself back then. I can now.”

Taniel chuckled. “That’s fair. I don’t remember that day very well, but I do remember that night. Tamas took us all home. We had dinner together, back when we still did that, and I remember thinking how I’d never seen anyone eat so much. You didn’t want to leave the table, and fell asleep with your face next to your third helping of cherry tart. Tamas carried you to bed, tucked you in, and then he brought us in to see you while you were sleeping. Do you know what he said to us?”

Vlora’s face felt warm, her eyes moist. She blinked through a sudden haze. “No, I don’t.”

“He pointed to you and said, This is your little sister. I want you both to promise me that you’ll protect her, that the three of you will look out for each other even after I’m gone. ” Taniel squinted into the distance. “I didn’t always get along with Tamas, but he protected the three of us until we could protect ourselves. Point being, I’m not going to leave you here to die alone.”