Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

Michel stared at Emerald, fear creeping in through the haze of the mala. His shivering, which he’d gotten mostly under control, suddenly returned.

Emerald continued with a sigh. “It is fortunate for you that I respect Taniel and Ka-poel more than I fear the Dynize. I will not chop you up while you sleep, I suppose, but I will also not do anything to risk any of my people. You can leave here once you can walk out on your own accord, but I will not involve myself in Dynize affairs.” Emerald clapped his hands, standing up. “You need to rest. My assistants will move you back to a proper bed now. I’m afraid they’re not used to carrying live bodies, so this may be slightly uncomfortable.”

Michel didn’t answer, trying desperately to come up with a way to convince Emerald to warn Yaret about the bombing. Yaret would die if his house was destroyed. Perhaps Tenik, too. Children would be caught in the explosion and, if it was big enough, dozens of Yaret’s Household.

It wasn’t until this moment that Michel realized he didn’t want to lose Yaret. Not just for the mission but because he’d been the most understanding master Michel had ever served.

And he was a good man.

Michel was still trying to come up with something to say when two of Emerald’s assistants put their hands beneath him – one under his shoulders, another under his feet – and counted down from three. They reached one and lifted, and all the warmth centered around Michel’s chest suddenly burst into a brilliant lance of pain that flashed lightning across his senses.

Despite the pain, Michel could think of only one thing: Yaret was going to die in two days. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Vlora spent the next twenty-four hours attempting to catch sight of Prime Lektor once more. It was, at the heart of it, a game – Vlora spent every waking hour stalking the streets with her hat pulled forward and her collar up, trying to find Prime Lektor without him catching sight of her.

A dangerous game for certain, but it still felt like a game. She jumped at every Prime-shaped shadow and could barely sleep for worry. Prime was the key to all of this; she knew it in her gut. It seemed possible, maybe even probable, that he already knew where the godstone was. If she could follow him more carefully, he might lead her right to it.

She gave up late the next day, worried that she was becoming too scattered in her search, and headed up to Little Flerring’s place in the hills. She found Flerring inspecting barrels of saltpeter as they were removed from an ox-drawn wagon. Vlora waited until the inspection was finished, then drew Flerring aside.

“Have you been able to find out about anything strange going on around town?” she asked.

Flerring waved down the cart driver, slipping him several extra coins, before returning to Vlora and rubbing her chin. “You mentioned a madness thing last time you were here, right?”

“Taniel did. Apparently madness seized people at random if they spent too much time near the artifact.”

“Not a lot of weird stuff going on,” Flerring said thoughtfully. “Aside from the usual fights and killings and mining accidents. But a handful of miners up in Nighttime Vale have been hauled away raving mad over the last few weeks.”

Vlora perked up. This was the kind of information she’d been waiting to hear. “You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?”

“I didn’t know sooner. Just found out a few hours ago. Miners are superstitious by nature, and Jezzy has been paying the local doctors a heavy fee to keep quiet about the whole thing.”

“Jezzy’s territory, eh?” Vlora swore under her breath. Burt, she might be able to bribe or cajole, but Jezzy probably didn’t feel all that kindly toward Vlora right now. “What can you tell me about the Vale?”

“It’s a canyon northeast of here,” Flerring answered. “Easy to miss, actually. The entrance makes it look tiny, but it opens up into a rather large valley. It would be a great spot for a summer home if there weren’t five hundred miners living up there blowing the whole thing to the pit.”

“Does Jezzy own the whole valley?”

“That she does. Apparently there’s a real easy gold vein close to the surface. No one goes into that valley if they don’t work for her.”

Vlora considered the information, feeling at once jubilant and annoyed. In almost two weeks this was the first bit of solid intelligence she had. It wasn’t guaranteed, of course. Miners weren’t a stable lot, and madness could set in with this heat and dangerous work. But she would give it a thorough look, if she could sneak in past Jezzy’s guards. She swore to herself, wishing it was Burt’s territory.

“I need a favor,” Vlora said.

Flerring frowned down the path leading back to the city as another ox-drawn cart trundled toward them, stacked high with barrels. “What kind of favor? I’m awfully busy right now.”

“That artifact I told you about?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you ready to blow it up at a moment’s notice.”

“Now?” Flerring asked incredulously.

“Any time in the next week.”

“Pit.” Flerring hawked a wad of phlegm into the bushes. “I’ve got to cook up a special batch of blasting oil, if what you said about black powder is true.”

“Right, your most powerful stuff.”

“That takes time.”

“Time I don’t have.”

Flerring eyed Vlora for a few moments. “Look, I work in batches, and I take orders. I started putting aside a little of the good stuff the moment you told me there would be a job, but if you want enough to crack through sorcery, you’re going to have to wait in line. Jezzy, Burt, and eight independent mining companies are all expecting blasting oil this month. And they pay ahead of time.”

“To the pit with all of them,” Vlora said flatly. She cursed herself for not putting in an order properly the moment she laid eyes on Flerring.

Flerring rubbed her fingers together beneath Vlora’s nose. “They pay ahead of time, and they pay in gold. Or cash krana. Either is fine with me.”

“How about a promissory note from the Adran government?”

Flerring snorted. “A promissory note isn’t gold.”

“Gold won’t keep all your permits up to date with the Adran government,” Vlora responded. “I seem to remember your main headquarters being not that far outside of Adopest.”

Flerring narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m not,” Vlora promised. “But I do still have friends in the government. I won’t make bad things happen for you – I don’t do business like that – but I will be there to make sure bad things don’t happen to you. Catch my meaning?”

“So you’re saying the next time some asshole minister tries to turn the public against explosives makers as a publicity stunt, you’ll get involved?”

“Personally.”

Flerring seemed to consider this. Over the years since the Kez Civil War, plenty of politicians had run for public office on the platform of demilitarizing Adro. Some succeeded, which was why Vlora had scooped up a whole brigade of Adro’s finest who’d found themselves disbanded. Others aimed for infrastructure and logistics, hoping to shut down the powder makers and gunsmiths.

“All right,” Flerring said finally. She made a shooing motion with her hands as the next cart of saltpeter arrived. “You give me your word, and a damned fat promissory note, and I’ll make sure you have as much blasting oil as you need any time this coming week.”