"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?"
The baron snarled at Tamas and tugged at the fingers of his gloves as if this were the final insult. "Agreed!" He whirled toward his coach and threw his gloves and jacket inside, then removed his belt and drew his sword.
Tamas turned toward Vlora and the two boys and began unbuttoning his jacket. His hands didn't shake like Vlora thought they might, and his mustache twitched with the corner of his mouth. Something else had entered his cold eyes, and Vlora thought...
Did this amuse him?
Tamas handed his jacket and belt to Bo, then checked his pistol and gave it to Taniel.
Tamas winked at Vlora and drew his sword, turning back to the baron.
The two men circled each other on the cobbles, and for the first time Vlora noticed that a crowd had gathered. Gunsmiths all down Hrusch Avenue had left their shops to see the fight. Drivers had stopped their horses to leave space for the men to fight.
Vlora could hear whispers among the crowd. Tamas' name was spoken with reverence, while it seemed that everyone knew the baron—his swordsmanship, according to one smith standing behind her, was legendary.
The baron dashed forward suddenly, and Tamas set his back leg, off-hand held out to one side for balance, and met the charge.
Vlora could feel her heart beating hard as the two men locked in combat. She didn't know the first thing about sword play and dueling, but she thought that despite his confidence, Tamas was bound to lose. The baron was bigger and stronger, and Tamas seemed to barely turn his sword thrusts.
She looked around the crowd to figure the best path for escape. If Tamas died, she, Taniel, and Bo would be at the baron's mercy and she didn't have any intention of being here when that happened.
And what if Tamas won? He had tried to buy her from Amory. What did he want her for? A field marshal was an important man—she knew that. What could he possibly have planned for someone like her?
The fight went on in earnest, the two men's swords ringing like the strike of a smith's hammer on steel, and Tamas seemed to be tiring. He fell back before the baron's advance, the corners of his eyes tight with concentration.
The baron knew he had the upper hand. A smile spread over his face and he suddenly lunged, sword-arm flat, fully extended for the killing blow.
Tamas' body suddenly seemed to sag and Vlora felt the scream in her throat and waited for the blood on his shirt.
But Tamas stepped past the thrust, as casual as a man out for a stroll, his sword arm a blur.
His sword flicked once. Twice.
He thrust.
The baron dropped to his knees, staring at the clean blade of his sword in confusion. He put his off-hand to his throat where the crimson poured down to soak his white shirt, and then touched the spreading stain just below his heart.
The baron gurgled once and collapsed on the cobbles.
"Send word to the king and the baron's next of kin," Tamas said to Fendamere's driver, "that Baron Fendamere died in a duel with Field Marshal Tamas. If the king wishes to speak to me about the circumstances, I am at his disposal."
Tamas cleaned his sword on the baron's pantleg and turned away from the dying man as if he were already forgotten. He gestured to Bo for his belt and jacket, then took the pistol from Taniel.
The exhaustion Vlora had seen in his eyes during the fight was gone.
He wasn't even winded.
"Taniel," Tamas said, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief, "introduce me to your friend."
Vlora stood poised, ready to run. Taniel took her hand and squeezed it reassuredly. "This is Vlora," Taniel said. "Vlora, this is my dad, field marshal of the Adran army."
Tamas returned his handkerchief to his pocket and gave Vlora a short bow.
But Vlora stared at Baron Fendamere. His body still twitched on the cobbles, one hand pressed to his throat. She'd never seen a man die before.
She wanted to wrench herself away from Taniel and run, but her feet seemed nailed to the cobbles.
Tamas stepped between her and the baron and knelt. It took every bit of her courage to keep from shying away. He put a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she matched his gaze.
"Why did you want to buy me?" she asked.
The corner of Tamas' mouth lifted in half a smile. "Is that why you ran away from your school?" he asked
.
"Yes."
Her gaze went over Tamas' shoulder, to the baron bleeding out on the cobbles. Fendamere's coachman was at his side, but it was clear that nothing could be done for him.
"Trash such as that does not deserve a second glance," Tamas said. He drew her gaze back to his face. She was struck that his eyes no longer seemed so cold and distant. Friendly, even. Despite her fears, she suddenly found that she liked this man, in the same way that she had liked Taniel upon their first meeting.
"I've made the arrangements," Tamas said, "and you will be coming to live with Taniel and Bo and myself. Would you like that?"
Vlora would, but she was still suspicious. "Why do you care about me?"
"Because you're a very special girl." Tamas drew the pistol from his belt, flipped it around in his hand, and held it out to her, butt first. He shook it. "Here."
She reached out, hesitantly, and took it from him.
The grip was worn from use, the pan stained from powder and the barrel long-since lost its shine.
"Do you like the feel of that?" Tamas asked.
She nodded. It felt... right. Like something she'd always been meant to hold.
"Vlora," Tamas said, "The pistol is yours, my girl. You'll need it if you are going to be a powder mage."
For more in the Powder Mage universe:
Promise of Blood
The Powder Mage Trilogy
Orbit, April 2013
Sample
The Crimson Campaign
The Powder Mage Trilogy
Orbit, February 2014
Contact Brian McClellan
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[email protected] Acknowledgements
Michele McClellan - editor
Sunny Morton - copy editor
Isaac Stewart - cover artist
Django Wexler - beta reader
Stephenie Sheung - beta reader
Chris Ruttencutter - beta reader
Mike A Wants - beta reader
John Gregory Wynn - beta reader
Andrew Ward - beta reader
Table of Contents
The Girl of Hrusch Avenue
Brian McClellan
Brian McClellan, The Girl of Hrusch Avenue: A Powder Mage Short Story
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