certain you want me on this, sir?” Vlora had no delusions. She was one of Tamas’s best powder mages, invaluable on the battlefield. To have her hunting spies seemed like a waste of her talents.
Tamas made fists with both hands. She could see him trembling. “Taniel is in a coma. The enemy knocks on our southern gates. I can barely stand the sight of you, yet here I am. Yes , it’s important.”
Vlora avoided meeting his eyes. “Yes, sir. Sir, the ambush at the villa was a week ago. Wohler may already be over the border.”
Tamas visibly brought himself under control. “Our borders are closed, and Wohler is a cautious man. He’ll be waiting for the fighting to start so he can sneak over in the chaos.” Vlora opened her mouth, but Tamas seemed to have anticipated her next question. “It’s important,” he said, “but I can’t spare any more men. You are completely on your own.”
Vlora did some mental math. If he wanted her to join him at the front in a week, that only left her three days to find Wohler. “And if I fail?”
“Then so be it,” Tamas said simply. “The war will go on, and the enemy will have a new advantage.” Tamas turned on his heel and left Vlora alone to finish her watch in the graveyard.
She watched him leave and worked to steady her breathing. Three days until she could head to the front, where she would arrive either with an extra notch on the stock of her rifle or empty-handed.
This mission would give her a chance to clean up after the villa, to give Sabon’s death some kind of meaning. If she read Tamas right—and she had known him for many years—this was an olive branch. Perhaps a test of sorts, a chance to win her way back into his good graces.
She had better not fail.
* * *
Vlora could count the number of people she considered friends on one hand. She’d been a loner as a child, and through her teens she’d never really needed anyone but Taniel. It was four in the morning, a full twenty-four hours after receiving her assignment, and she was wishing she had spent a little more time developing other relationships.
She had wasted the entirety of the last day canvassing the city for any sign of Wohler, only to find out the man—like her—had no friends in Adopest. All his known associates had been members of Charlemund’s guard and were either dead or captured, and none of the captives knew where he might have gone to ground. His wife and family lived in Brudania. Vlora had exhausted every lead she could think of.
Which brought her to the officer’s mess in downtown Adopest. The mess was surprisingly busy at this hour of the morning. Most of the officers were shipping to the front within twenty-four hours with their commands. The room was filled with the sound of drunken laughter, heated conversation, and gambling—soldiers enjoying their last hurrah before heading toward the front.
The tables nearest the door went silent as Vlora passed. She tried not to notice, giving a few of the men a thin smile, and headed over to the bar, where the barkeep eyed her silver powder-keg pin before pouring her a beer.
She turned around and leaned against the bar, letting her eyes roam over the large room with its vaulted ceiling, crimson drapes, and white tablecloths. It was lit by half a dozen chandeliers, the fireplaces roaring to take off the chill of the approaching storm.
The occupants of more than one nearby table noticed her gaze and they none-too-subtly pulled in an open seat or even glared back at her, openly hostile.
She told herself that they weren’t worth her time. She had work to do, and nothing was going to distract her from it.
She found the person she was looking for at the other end of the room, sitting at a small table by herself, an open book in her hands. Vlora drained her beer, ordered two more, then threaded her way through the tables.
Colonel Verundish was a striking woman with black skin and long, straight black hair. She wore a white shirt,
Tamas made fists with both hands. She could see him trembling. “Taniel is in a coma. The enemy knocks on our southern gates. I can barely stand the sight of you, yet here I am. Yes , it’s important.”
Vlora avoided meeting his eyes. “Yes, sir. Sir, the ambush at the villa was a week ago. Wohler may already be over the border.”
Tamas visibly brought himself under control. “Our borders are closed, and Wohler is a cautious man. He’ll be waiting for the fighting to start so he can sneak over in the chaos.” Vlora opened her mouth, but Tamas seemed to have anticipated her next question. “It’s important,” he said, “but I can’t spare any more men. You are completely on your own.”
Vlora did some mental math. If he wanted her to join him at the front in a week, that only left her three days to find Wohler. “And if I fail?”
“Then so be it,” Tamas said simply. “The war will go on, and the enemy will have a new advantage.” Tamas turned on his heel and left Vlora alone to finish her watch in the graveyard.
She watched him leave and worked to steady her breathing. Three days until she could head to the front, where she would arrive either with an extra notch on the stock of her rifle or empty-handed.
This mission would give her a chance to clean up after the villa, to give Sabon’s death some kind of meaning. If she read Tamas right—and she had known him for many years—this was an olive branch. Perhaps a test of sorts, a chance to win her way back into his good graces.
She had better not fail.
* * *
Vlora could count the number of people she considered friends on one hand. She’d been a loner as a child, and through her teens she’d never really needed anyone but Taniel. It was four in the morning, a full twenty-four hours after receiving her assignment, and she was wishing she had spent a little more time developing other relationships.
She had wasted the entirety of the last day canvassing the city for any sign of Wohler, only to find out the man—like her—had no friends in Adopest. All his known associates had been members of Charlemund’s guard and were either dead or captured, and none of the captives knew where he might have gone to ground. His wife and family lived in Brudania. Vlora had exhausted every lead she could think of.
Which brought her to the officer’s mess in downtown Adopest. The mess was surprisingly busy at this hour of the morning. Most of the officers were shipping to the front within twenty-four hours with their commands. The room was filled with the sound of drunken laughter, heated conversation, and gambling—soldiers enjoying their last hurrah before heading toward the front.
The tables nearest the door went silent as Vlora passed. She tried not to notice, giving a few of the men a thin smile, and headed over to the bar, where the barkeep eyed her silver powder-keg pin before pouring her a beer.
She turned around and leaned against the bar, letting her eyes roam over the large room with its vaulted ceiling, crimson drapes, and white tablecloths. It was lit by half a dozen chandeliers, the fireplaces roaring to take off the chill of the approaching storm.
The occupants of more than one nearby table noticed her gaze and they none-too-subtly pulled in an open seat or even glared back at her, openly hostile.
She told herself that they weren’t worth her time. She had work to do, and nothing was going to distract her from it.
She found the person she was looking for at the other end of the room, sitting at a small table by herself, an open book in her hands. Vlora drained her beer, ordered two more, then threaded her way through the tables.
Colonel Verundish was a striking woman with black skin and long, straight black hair. She wore a white shirt,
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