“I figure,” Vlora said as they finished eating, “we have two or three weeks until Olem gets here with the army. Those hills and narrow roads are going to slow them down, and I told him to take it easy. If luck is with us, we can find the stone and figure out a way to destroy or move it before they arrive. We sneak in a group of men and we can be out of here without having to bring in the army.”
Taniel’s eyes roamed the great room. “Lots of armed men,” he said. “If it comes to a fight, they won’t stand a chance against the Riflejacks, but the last thing we need is locals seeing an army and digging in. They’ll slow us down. We keep our own heads down while we search. Don’t let anyone know who we are. And we’ve got to stay out of this Picks and Shovels nonsense.”
“You won’t hear an argument from me,” Vlora said.
Taniel put aside his plate and produced a leather satchel, flipping it open to reveal a sketchbook. Vlora felt the corner of her mouth tug upward, and she found herself happy to see that Taniel still enjoyed his old hobby. She remembered posing with Bo and Tamas as a child, while Taniel—face serious—forced them all to sit still for hours while he perfected his charcoal drawings.
She didn’t pry, but a glimpse at the pages as he flipped them told her that he’d gotten much better since then.
“That,” Taniel said, nodding across the room, “is a funny-looking man.” He opened to a fresh page and began to sketch.
Vlora would have loved to stay and watch him work, but she needed some time alone to think—and a full night’s sleep would do her damned good. She fetched a bottle of wine from the barkeep and headed upstairs, gently tapping each door as she passed it until she reached the number that matched her room key. Rubbing her eyes, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
She was surprised, when she blinked through her tired haze, to find the room already occupied. Three men waited in the room—all of them big, all of them heavily armed, and all of them with the kind of grizzled faces that looked like they’d been run over by a brigade of cuirassiers. One stood by the window, one leaned against the wall, and one reclined on her bed, grinning at her in what he must have thought was a friendly manner.
Vlora took them all in sourly. Her saddlebags sat next to the bed, so this wasn’t the wrong room. “I paid for clean linens, asshole,” she told the one on the bed.
The man’s grin faded and he stood up, crossing the small room to tower above her. “What’s your name?” he demanded.
Vlora looked up at him and resisted the urge to cut his throat. People didn’t loom like that unless they were trying to intimidate, and her height meant she had to deal with confident, tall idiots all the time. She could kill all three of them before they could draw their swords, but now was not the time or the place. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”
“Back off, Dorner,” the man by the wall said. Dorner, Vlora noted, was a Brudanian name. The man continued. “We were told a pair of mercenaries had checked into the hotel this afternoon, and were unaware of the circumstances surrounding the, uh, local politics.”
The last two words made Vlora want to punch him really hard. Instead, she forced a smile on her face. “And what are you doing in my room?”
“Recruiting,” the one called Dorner said in a deep growl. “You’re unaligned, and nobody in this town with a sword is allowed to be unaligned.”
“And which one of these clubs do you idiots belong to?” Vlora asked. She leaned back against the door, slumping casually, her hands within easy reach of both her weapons.
Dorner drew himself up. “We’re Jezzy’s Shovels, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll sign up with us tonight.”
“What Dorner means,” the man leaning on the wall said, “is that Jezzy pays the best, and she’s not a greasy Palo. We’ll pay a hundred a week for your sword and we’ll give you a place to bunk.”
Vlora pretended to consider. “Not interested,” she finally said.
Dorner loomed closer. “Excuse me?”
“I said I’m not interested. I came up here for some easy work guarding a mine or a caravan. This city is hot as a powder barrel over a fire and I’m not interested in getting into some stupid turf war.”
“Listen, bitch,” Dorner growled, “you’re either with us or against us. You can—”
Vlora’s palm hit him beneath the chin, snapping his neck back and spraying her face with blood. He stumbled back, crimson pouring out of his mouth. He spat half his tongue onto the floor and immediately began to scream, pawing at his face.
The man by the window rounded the bed, drawing a cudgel, but even without a powder trance Vlora was faster. She punched him hard in the gut, doubling him over, then slammed his head against the wall hard enough to put him out cold. In the same motion she drew her pistol, pointing it at the man leaning against the wall. His hand fell away from his sword.
“You tell your boss,” Vlora said, “that I’m not interested in playing in a turf war. I don’t give a shit about your sides, and I’d like to be left alone until I see fit to check out of this fine establishment. Is that civilized enough for you?”
The man raised his hands, palms out. “I get it, I get it.”
“You were polite, so I’m not gonna smash your face in. Take your asshole friends and get out.”
The man pushed his now tongueless companion out the door, leaving so quickly that they forgot their third member lying unconscious on the floor. Vlora stared down at the prone figure and sighed, putting her pistol back in her belt. She reached down and took him by the hair, dragging him out the door and down the hall, then down the stairs while the entire great hall watched in silence.
Taniel sat in the corner, head in his hands, while Vlora dragged the body up to the manager’s podium. The squirrelly little man stared at her, eyes wide. “Is … is … is … there something I can do for you, ma’am?” he stuttered.
“You can leave this guy somewhere until he wakes up,” Vlora said. “He shouldn’t be out more than a minute or two. Send someone up to my room with fresh linens and to clean the blood and the bit of tongue off my floor.” Vlora took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped the red spatter off her face.
“Did you say ‘tongue’?”
“I did. And if you’d be so kind as to not sell my comings and goings to the town big bosses, I’ll be kind enough not to feed you your own toes. Good night.”
CHAPTER 22
Styke pored over a map by the light of a single oil lantern while the camp around him settled into the silence of an army at rest. They were several miles north of Granalia and he’d finally gotten the chance to wash the blood from his skin and clothes, but the dragonman ambush was still fresh in his mind.
If the Mad Lancers had not arrived, those dragonmen would have killed him, Celine, and Ka-poel no matter how hard he fought. While he’d never particularly feared death, he knew from experience that dragonmen had no problem with harming children, and the idea that they would murder Celine without a second thought made him sick to his stomach. It was a disquieting feeling, fueling an indignant rage that kept him from being able to sleep.
The flaps of his tent were thrown back, breaking him out of his meditation, and Ibana’s face appeared in the opening. “Have a minute?” she asked.
Styke joined her by the coals of the fire, map still in hand. “You should sleep,” he said.
“Too much to do. You?”
“Harder to sleep since the labor camps.” Styke tapped one finger on the back of his Lancers’ ring and changed the subject. “How did your ride go? Doesn’t look like you saw any action.” It was the first time they’d had a chance to talk since their arrival had saved him from the dragonmen, and he needed to catch up.
“We didn’t,” Ibana confirmed. “We saw three armies—two Fatrastan and one Dynize—and a dozen scouting parties. But we managed to steer clear of any trouble. One thing of note: Lindet’s armies are stripping the land. Every town between here and Landfall that hasn’t been looted by the Dynize is being hit by Fatrastans. They’re taking harvests, emptying granaries, stealing wagons, weapons, and animals. Anything of use to the war effort is being swept up.”
“Conscription?”