Nohan’s grin disappeared. His expression changed to baffled, then disgusted in an instant. “What are you, some kind of hero? Nobody gets anything in this life they don’t take with force. And we’ve got the force to take it.”
“I work for my money, thank you,” Vlora said quietly. “I’m not a cowardly dog, biting the hand and stealing the scraps.”
“Bitch,” Nohan snarled.
“I’ve been called worse by better.”
It didn’t surprise her when Nohan took a swing. Vlora caught his wrist, but was forced back a step by the power of the blow. He was running a powder trance just like her, and was physically much larger. Her sorcery wasn’t an advantage here.
He moved quickly, swinging his other hand with the glass still in it. She ducked, kicking out his leg, the glass catching her a glancing blow across the back of the head. She heard the sound of glass shattering and brought her fist up hard and fast, connecting with his chin with enough force to lift him off the ground and lay any grown man out cold.
He caught himself on a table, shaking off a daze, and came at her quick. Only preternatural senses allowed her to sense the movement of his sorcery, leaping out to set off her powder like a finger on a hair trigger. She fought back mentally, suppressing his ability to detonate powder with her mind while fending off a series of powerful blows that sent her retreating across the bar.
The bartender leapt into a backroom, slamming the door, while the few occupants cleared out. Nohan’s fingers went for her throat, and Vlora kneed him between the legs and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, swinging him around and into the beam holding up the roof with enough force that there was an audible crack.
Once again, Nohan shook it off. He regained his feet and fell into a boxer’s stance, one fist forward. “I gave you a chance,” he said, jabbing. Vlora jerked back from the blow, imitating his stance and slamming her fist into his gut three times before he could get an arm around her head and throw her away from him. She hit the bar headfirst, seeing stars, and barely recovered before he came at her again.
She held her arms up in defensive posture, taking a pummeling before getting an opening of her own and grabbing him by the throat. She lifted him over her head, powering forward, and slammed him through a table with all her strength.
She didn’t bother going for her pistol. Both of them could prevent powder from igniting a spark. Instead, she drew her sword and leapt toward him, intent on putting a blade through his eye. He was quick, snapping away from the thrust and rolling to his feet. He struggled to draw his own sword as he dodged Vlora’s thrusts.
Vlora became more frustrated. She’d fought a lot of quick people, and sparred with powder mages, but the frustration of having someone dodge your attack so easily mounted quickly. The irony, she realized in the back of her head, was not enjoyable.
She missed on a thrust, and Nohan kicked her hard in the chest, sending her reeling across the bar. He finally drew his own sword but made no motion to advance.
They both panted from the fight. “I was a member of the Starlish Cabal,” he said. “We could have worked well together, but you passed up a chance at real riches.” He spat at her feet. “Watch your back.” Without warning, he suddenly broke and ran, pushing his way out the door and into the street.
Vlora considered giving chase, but her leg hurt from a kick to her shin, and her vision was slightly blurry. She felt the back of her head where the glass had broken, only for her fingers to come away covered in crimson. Finding her hat in the ruin of the barroom, she limped out the door and into the street.
She was almost to her hotel when she spotted a face in the crowd. It touched something in the back of her memory, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was almost an hour later, when she’d cleaned herself up and retreated to her room, that the face suddenly attached itself to a name.
She swore loudly, feeling furious that she hadn’t recognized him earlier: Prime Lektor, former dean of Adopest University and onetime ally of Field Marshal Tamas, was a powerful, immortal Privileged who’d disappeared during the Adran-Kez War over ten years ago. What kind of terrible bloody luck did she have for him to show up here now?
Seeing someone like Prime Lektor in the same town as a godstone couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.
CHAPTER 27
Bellport is under siege.”
Styke jerked awake, realizing he’d been nodding off at the reins, and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The Mad Lancers stretched down the road in a column behind and ahead of him, with Jackal and his banner a dozen paces back and Ibana nowhere to be seen. Celine and Ka-poel rode together nearby, the latter teaching Celine her sign language.
Styke yawned and turned toward the woman addressing him. He didn’t know her name, but she wore the crimson and blue of the Riflejack cavalry and she waited for an answer with a cool, professional air.
“How far out are we?” he asked, casting about for a landmark that he might recognize.
“Less than five miles.”
Styke considered his options. They could swing down south, skirting Bellport and the Dynize Army and be well past them by noon tomorrow. But Bellport was their last chance to rest and resupply before heading out onto the Hammer and it was a good place to recruit.
And there was the matter of the traitor Valyaine. Perhaps he should just get that over with.
“Take me to Gustar,” Styke told her.
Styke ordered a halt and rode ahead with the messenger, finding Gustar and a group of his dragoons hidden in a glen about two miles to the east of Belltower. Styke left his horse and climbed to the lip of the nearest hill, where Gustar was crouched among the shrubbery with a looking glass in hand. He offered it to Styke as he approached.
Bellport was a coastal city located at the mouth of a small, swift-moving river. Its port was built behind a tall hill that effectively protected the city from a seaward attack, and the north side was watched over by a stone fortress built by the Starlish almost two hundred years ago. The gun towers were outdated but effective, forcing an enemy army to approach from the south.
This seemed to suit the Dynize just fine. They were camped just under a mile south of the river, bombarding the suburbs and old city walls with artillery and the sorcery of what looked to be a single Privileged. Styke guessed the army at about five thousand infantry with a few hundred cavalry support. They were camped on the sandy floodplain, and he amused himself with the thought of a torrential rain carrying them all into the ocean.
Unfortunately, the weather was sunny and the ground dry.
“I can’t imagine the garrison lasting much longer,” Gustar said. “A day, maybe two at best.” He pointed to a smoldering ruin in the corner of the city where the river let into the ocean. “That was their biggest south-facing guntower and it went down about two hours ago. Belltower has a few four-pounders on that hill over there”—he pointed again—“but nothing else outside the old fortress. Once they go down, the Dynize just have to cross the river.”
“So you think they’re done for?” Styke asked. From what he could see, he didn’t disagree.
Gustar nodded. “Unless we intervene soon, the smart option is to head around to the south and be past them by tomorrow night. They’ll be too busy securing the city to chase us—and they’ve only got a few hundred cavalry anyway.”
Styke twirled his lancers’ ring, considering. There was a lot of smoke rising from the southern suburbs, but the northern half of the city was still untouched and full of people he could save. “I don’t want to leave an enemy behind us,” he said. “The Dynize already have Swinshire. If we let them take Bellport, we’ll be completely cut off on the Hammer.”
To his surprise, Gustar smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Hit ’em from the rear and they won’t see what’s coming. I’m only worried about the Privileged. We don’t have a powder mage to put a bullet in their head.”
Styke handed Gustar back his looking glass. “Leave the Privileged to me.”