“Major Gustar will be spitting mad,” Ibana cautioned. “He’s here to find the godstone on orders of Lady Flint. If we abandon that mission, he’ll take his Riflejacks and go.”
“Let him.” Styke squeezed his hands into fists, wishing he had someone to strangle.
Ibana remained silent. Her usual sour expression had been replaced by somber acceptance. “What will we do?” she asked quietly.
“Join the war. Head back and find something to fight. There’s no need lacking for good cavalry.”
“Ben,” Celine said.
“What?” he growled. He caught her eye and forced himself to take a breath. “What?” he repeated in a gentler tone.
“You can’t leave Pole.”
“I’m not leaving her. She left us.”
“You left the rest of the group on your own mission,” Celine pointed out. “Just the other day.”
“I told everyone I was going,” Styke said. “I didn’t just off and …” He squeezed his fists tightly until he could feel his ring biting into the skin of his finger. “This isn’t the same thing at all.”
Celine stood up straighter, fixing Styke with a scowl. “You’re her bodyguard,” she insisted. “She anointed you. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds important. She just went to get information. We can find her and keep going.” She folded her arms. “Or you can leave me behind, too. I’ll go find her myself.”
Styke would have laughed at the image of a child telling off a crippled giant if he wasn’t already so angry. He forced himself to calm down, breathing evenly, trying to make himself think. After a few moments he strode off into the darkness.
“Ben, where are you going?” Ibana called after him.
Styke found Ferlisia playing cards with several of her scouts around a small campfire. He came up behind them, picking Ferlisia up by the back of her shirt and holding her at eye level. She blinked at him, licking her lips, while the others watched in silence. “Can I help you, boss?” she squeaked.
“No rest for the wicked,” he told her. “Find me those dragoons—find me where the survivors are camping, and do it before daybreak.”
CHAPTER 45
Vlora spent another day watching the Vale, only to see the guard double and the shipments become more frequent and more thoroughly watched. The next afternoon, she visited one of the local hardware stores for rope, and waited till dusk before setting out.
She took a long route, climbing the base of the mountain just as darkness fully claimed the valley and positioning herself about a hundred yards from the entrance to the Vale on a steep, but not completely impassable, part of the cliff that led up and over to Jezzy’s territory.
She had two problems, the way she saw it: The first was that she had to climb in the dark, risking her neck on an untried route. Her second problem was that she had no idea what to expect on the other side: a steep scree that would be impossible to descend quietly, a gentle hill, or just a straight drop down into the Vale.
A strong powder trance heightened her vision enough that climbing in the dark was, while still risky, not as perilous as it might be to another person. She began her ascent quickly, visualizing the path she had laid out and climbing more by feel than by sight. She had just enough experience climbing to know that her route would be easy for someone carrying the right gear, and dangerous for an amateur. She used her sorcerous strength to bridge the gap by keeping impossible holds with two fingers, climbing over shelves, and in one case leaping straight up the side of the cliff for the next handhold.
She made it to the top of the cliff without incident, where she secured her two ropes. The first she dropped back the way she’d come, so the descent would be easier. The second, she carried with her to the other side of the cliff and looked down into the Vale.
Once again, Flerring’s description was spot on. Nighttime Vale was a wide, secluded valley with a creek running through the center. At one point it might have been picturesque. But the trees had been ripped up, the creek diverted into gold-panning sluices, and the ground covered in debris and a forest of dirty tents belonging to miners. It was a whole different town up here, and it extended on for a good mile before winding its way up into the mountains.
Vlora picked out the guards easily. They wandered the tents in regular intervals, carrying torches and blunderbusses. Others perched up on the mountainside, guarding the entrances to the mines with rifles lest some enterprising miner slip down in to recover a lucky gold nugget. Security was tight, and once again Vlora couldn’t tell if it was because Jezzy wanted to keep her most profitable mine safe or if she was hiding the excavation of the godstone.
The way down was steep, but not impassable. Vlora played out the rope as she went, giving herself a guide for getting back up, and proceeded as quietly as possible. She reached the bottom and then began to make a wide circuit around the miners’ camp, keeping eyes peeled for anything that would have looked out of place in the other valleys.
Her first target was an open pit at the very opposite end of the valley. Creeping slowly, she slipped past a guard stand and down to the creek, then made her way uphill past the panning sluices and across what had probably once been a field of wildflowers. It was a muddy cesspool now, and she grimaced with each squelch her boots made.
She was able to reach the edge of the pit without raising an alarm, and knelt beside it as she peered downward, searching the depths for anything of question.
Nothing stood out, no sharp angles, no special equipment. She opened her third eye to look into the Else, and had no better luck. No color of sorcery. When she turned and swept the Vale with her vision, it came up with the same story. If there was sorcery at work here, it must be well hidden.
A previous fear crept into her thoughts as she studied the Vale: What if Prime Lektor was working for Lindet? Never mind the why or the how. The implications were terrible. He had the knowledge of thousands of years in his head, and Lindet had the ambition to use that knowledge. If they were working together for some reason, Lindet suddenly became a more dangerous threat than even the Dynize.
Vlora attempted to ignore the worrisome niggle and continued her circuit of the valley. She reached out with her sorcerous senses, each moment accompanied by the feeling that something was out there. Pinpointing the source of that feeling was like nailing down a shadow, and she was forced to attribute it to her imagination and keep walking. Stones shifted beneath her feet, and on one occasion a guard called into the darkness. But she managed to finish her search without raising an alarm, finding herself back up on the cliff with her ropes several hours after she’d crossed the cliffs.
Frustration gripped her. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was just a damned gold mine, without any secrets, and she had risked her neck and wasted her entire week on a gamble that the stone was up here. She wanted to kill something, errantly wishing that an alarm would be raised so she could fight her way through. She silenced the foolish thought and returned the way she had come, climbing her rope down into the next valley.
She returned to her hotel room, where she examined a number of cuts on her hands and forearms earned from climbing a cliff in the dark. She cleaned up and wrapped the cuts on her forearms. It was almost three in the morning when she finally rolled into bed, unable to think about anything except how mad she was.
In the morning, she would have to go to Taniel and tell him her gamble had failed. He would soon be released, and they’d have to hunt down Prime together, and if that failed? She would have no choice but to bring in the Riflejacks.
An army would bring Prime out of hiding, for certain. But would he slaughter them all before she and Taniel could kill him?
She was just drifting off to sleep when a sound brought her bolt-upright in bed. She looked around, trying to find the source of it. Nearly a minute passed before the sound happened again, and several seconds later she heard something different: the distant, familiar noise of a rifle shot.
Vlora saw the bullet holes in her w
all the same moment she heard the shot. Her heart suddenly beating hard at the close miss, she gathered her things as quickly as possible and left her room, trying not to sprint. Nohan had found her, and he was out there taking potshots at her room like it was some sort of game. It was a damned good thing he was a bad shot. She tried to find him, reaching out with her senses, but at this range and without the rising powder smoke to guide her, it was an impossible task.
She left her horse in the hotel stable and crossed the city by foot. There was still plenty of noise at this time of night, with dozens of brothels and bars open for business to miners celebrating a good day or lamenting a bad one. Brown Bear Burt’s brothel was one such establishment, and she slipped inside and looked up to the second level, where she could see Burt sitting at his desk in a robe and pajamas, cigar in hand.
“I need to see your boss,” she told the Palo woman standing guard at the bottom of Burt’s staircase.
The woman held up a hand. “It’s after hours.”
“He’s right there,” Vlora said in frustration.
“He doesn’t take visitors this time of night.”
Vlora thought about shoving her way past. Instead, she shouted his name. Burt looked up from a book and blinked at her. “Bella,” he said to the guard, “let her up!”
Bella glared daggers at Vlora but let her pass. Vlora jogged up the stairs and joined Burt in his office, where he offered her a cigar. Something about his demeanor had changed since they’d last spoke, and he looked more cautious, eyeing her thoughtfully.
“Good morning, Verundish,” he said.
Vlora didn’t return his smile. “I’m here to offer you my services.”
This seemed to catch him off guard. “Oh? At this hour?” He rubbed his chin. “What makes you think I still need them?”
“Because everyone is panicking over that army headed this way, and Jezzy still has that other powder mage on her payroll.”
“True, true,” Burt admitted. He puffed on the stub of his cigar and put it out, then leaned forward at his desk and began to fiddle with a new cigar, running it thoughtfully under his nose and breathing deeply as he watched her. “About that army,” he said slowly. “What do you know about it?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she said in a tone that she hoped would discourage any more questions. He obviously suspected something—with several powder mages in town, Nohan couldn’t have been the only one to make the logical leap that they were related to Lady Flint’s army camped nearby.
“Nothing?” he echoed.
“I know they’re not here for your gold,” she said, hoping that shut him up.
“Oh.” Burt fell back in his chair, an obvious look of relief on his face. “Well, then. What sort of services are you offering?”
“I’m offering to kill that other powder mage for you. I want to duel him. Public, private, I don’t care. Set up a fight, and dangle a wager in front of Jezzy. The powder mage will come—I know he will.” Vlora chewed on her lip, hoping that Burt would take her up on the offer. Nohan was no longer a nuisance. He had almost killed her tonight, and she wanted him out of the picture completely before she and Taniel went after Prime Lektor.
Burt cut the tip off the new cigar with a boz knife he pulled out of a drawer, his eyes staring at the middle distance between them. Slowly, he began to nod. “What do you want in exchange?”
“I want you to tell your men to stand down when the Riflejack army marches through. They aren’t here for you. I don’t want roadblocks or fighting or any such thing.” She was taking an awful risk admitting she was with the Riflejacks—any fool who had read her description in the paper would be able to figure out who she really was. But she had to take that risk. She was out of time, and she needed to simplify the conclusion of this mission as much as possible.
“You’re confident you can kill him despite your wounds?” Burt asked, lighting his cigar. “Those hands look pretty banged up.”
“Nohan and I have already crossed paths once. He came away worse for it than I did.”
He tapped one fingernail against the blade of the knife. “I have no interest in getting in anyone’s way,” he said. “If the Riflejacks aren’t after my gold, I have no problem with them.”
“You know that Lady Flint has a price on her head.”
“And an army of riflemen out there,” Burt replied. “I’m not stupid enough to tangle with Adran soldiers. Besides, the bounty is nothing compared to what this valley makes me every week. I’ll offer Jezzy a wager and a duel. You do some killing, and I think we’ll part friends.”
“I would like that,” Vlora said. She felt herself relax, knowing that the end of this damned mission was almost upon her. She was probably going to get all her soldiers killed in a confrontation with an ancient sorcerer, she reasoned, but at least she wasn’t going to have to rub shoulders with these people anymore.
CHAPTER 46
What have you been doing in here the last couple of days?”
Michel looked up from his studies, taking a moment to pull his head out of long lists of family, Household, and regiment names and blink across the empty room to where Ichtracia lounged on a divan in the sunlight. He thought, for the hundredth time, of a cat playing with a mouse before the final kill, and forced a distracted smile onto his face. “Do you mind if I call you Tricia?” he asked.
Ichtracia raised one eyebrow. “Only if I can call you Mick.”
“I’d rather not … oh, I see your point. That’s fair.” Michel looked back down at the book laid out on the table in front of him. He was in a dusty room on the second floor of the capitol building where Yaret’s people had stashed most of the records they had brought with them from Dynize. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were packed with ledgers, and thousands more sat in crates or piled up in the corners. Very little of it was organized in any useful way and Michel had spent far too long just doing that. He considered Ichtracia’s still-raised eyebrow and remembered that she’d asked him a question. “I’m cataloging everyone that Forgula has worked with since the beginning of the invasion.”
“That seems like an awful lot of work.”
Michel squinted at her. She was right, of course. It was mind-numbingly boring; something that he would prefer to leave to a small army of clerks. But he couldn’t just tell her that he was combing the army regimental records for someone named Mara. “This is something we’d do in the Blackhats,” he told her. “We had a file on just about every enemy of the state, and it included all their contacts and family members. It helped us unwind conspiracies and root out cells of dissidents.”
Michel had his own opinions on how useful those files actually were, but he needed the excuse to be up here, combing through all of these names.
“You should have someone else do that,” Ichtracia said. She stretched on the divan, a casual smile on her face, watching Michel in a way that made it very clear what she thought he should be doing. He’d spent the last two nights at her townhouse and learned firsthand how that particular rumor about Privilegeds happened to be true. It had been a welcome bit of relaxation, for sure, but it had also been incredibly distracting.
She was damned distracting. She’d been lounging on that divan for twenty minutes, and Michel had read the same regimental record over and over again since she arrived. He couldn’t stop glancing up at her, watching her face when she wasn’t paying attention.
He caught himself watching her again, and rubbed his eyes. This search wasn’t going anywhere. He’d looked through at least twenty thousand names and not a single Mara had popped up—not among the civilians nor the military. As Emerald had suggested, it wasn’t even a Dynize name. He felt like his hands were tied; his whole purpose here was to find and extract this Mara, but he’d run out of places to look.
“There was another bombing this afternoon.”
“I heard,” Michel answered. “I imagine the Blackhats won’t stop their bombings just because their Dynize patron has been cut off.”
&nb
sp; “Sedial is just biding his time, by the way.”
Michel looked up sharply. Ichtracia was cleaning her nails, lips pursed. Switching from the bombing to Sedial so quickly seemed like a non sequitur, but she didn’t look distracted. Michel said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“That stunt with Forgula—he’ll take it personally. He takes everything like that personally. Sooner or later—and I’m guessing sooner—he’ll start asking Yaret why the bombings haven’t been stopped. He’ll ask why Forgula’s death didn’t put an end to the attacks, and why Yaret’s pet Blackhat hasn’t dug up his former compatriots yet.”
Michel was more than aware of all this—or at least he’d surmised it. Having his suspicions about Sedial’s anger be confirmed wasn’t exactly comforting. “I’m looking,” he assured her. “We have hundreds of people out trying to dig up je Tura’s hiding spot. We’ve searched every safe house that I know about and looted all their caches. We’ve arrested nearly four hundred known Blackhats.”
“And yet je Tura is staying one step ahead of you.”
Michel pursed his lips, trying to keep a neutral expression. Ichtracia was friendly, even charming, but he had to constantly remind himself that she was a Privileged. All she had to do was put on her gloves and she could break him in two, so it was best not to snap at her when she needled. “I have no idea how. Je Tura will need dozens of men to conduct his bombings. He needs a network to supply the powder, make the bombs, and case his targets. We’ve scrubbed the city of his people as thoroughly as we damned well can and yet he still evades me.” Michel sat back, grinding his teeth.
“Oh, don’t look so put out,” Ichtracia murmured. She rolled off the divan and crossed the room, coming around behind Michel. To his surprise, she began to rub his shoulders. “Look, I see what you’re doing here,” she said gently. “If you create a web of conspiracy around Forgula, true or not, then you’ll be able to keep Sedial on the back foot. You can accuse his people, keep the other Households in suspicion of his motives, and perhaps stay ahead of him.”