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Two Amazons and an Iberian burst into the courtyard through an arched gateway that linked the two courtyards. The taller Amazon plunged toward the youth, striking with her sword. The lad parried, but the deficiencies of his sword craft reminded me of Vai: He was the pupil who learns fighting by rote and works on perfect imitations of the forms taught by the sword master. That did not make him an effective fighter.
Yet he had no need to be a masterful fighter. Just as I realized the lad was wielding cold steel, the backstroke of his blade caught the glove of the woman and cut just deep enough to draw blood. The tip of the cold steel blade writhed like a viper’s tongue. The soldier swayed as the steel serpent drank her soul; she toppled.
Beside me the officer released a bolt that struck the Iberian in the back, sending him to a knee. The other Amazon dashed back to the clot of soldiers fighting hand to hand under the arch, dragging the Iberian with her.
The young cold mage climbed into the well and vanished.
“He’s in the tunnel,” said the officer.
A hailstorm battered over the estate, pounding so hard I could not hear anything except its drum on the roof. The catch-fire sagged forward as the channel of Drake’s fire was cut off. A soldier caught him as he sagged sideways, too weak even to sit up. The other soldiers around me shot at the felled Iberians and Amazons below, taking their time, making each bolt count.
“An unlawful and dangerous power these fire mages wield,” said the old mansa to the officer. He looked winded and weary, but his outrage was a cloak that shielded him. “Fortunate for us that the young Diarisso mage understood it before the rest of us did.”
“Fortunate for us that the mansa of Four Moons House recognized the young man’s worth, given his low origins,” agreed the officer.
The old mansa smiled grimly. “True enough. More importantly, he knew exactly how to bridle the young man’s rebellious spirit.”
Perhaps the words angered me, just a little.
The old mansa looked right at me. “What shadow beast haunts this chamber? Beware!”
They turned on me, the five soldiers, the officer, the old mansa.
But I was the hunter’s daughter. So I killed them, all of them, even the old man, because Camjiata had to win the battle today. I killed the blistered magister who had so courageously taken in all Drake’s fire and was dying; ending his agony was a mercy.
When the Amazons broke through and poked their heads into the chamber, they found me crouched by the old mansa, wiping blood from my sword with hem of his boubou. Blood pooled around me. Cold steel cuts deep.
Their laughter hurt my ears. “Bellona bless! Our work’s done for us already!
Rising, I wiped blood from my cheek with the back of a hand just as Drake appeared. He went straight to the mansa and nudged the old man’s body with a foot in a most disrespectful manner.
“Stop that,” I said. “Show respect to the elders.”
He paused, taking me in from top to toe with a gaze made narrow by his deepening frown. “You pick a strange way to show respect. Think of what a powerful catch-fire he would have made. But I can’t expect you to understand that.”
He brushed past me. I could have bitten out his throat, but I crushed Camjiata’s words close to my heart, hiding them from everyone else. Win the battle first, or the enemy will triumph. The old order has to go down if we mean to break the chains that shackle us.
At the north-facing window, Drake swore. “The other cold mage is escaped, curse it. Did anyone see him?”
I said nothing.
Boots stamped up the steps, and Captain Tira appeared. Her gaze swept the chamber. She said, “Excellent. Remove the bodies. This will serve as a good command post for the general. Cat Barahal. Are you injured?” She looked me up and down. “Wasn’t that fabric green?”
The Amazons chortled. “Did a quick dye job, she did!”
Their laughter seemed discordant to me, although they found themselves amusing enough with their voices pitched loud, for they, too, had been deafened by the constant thunder of gunfire. I wiped another thread of blood off my chin, flicked a wet drop out of my eye, and glanced around the tower chamber. A spray of blood cut a line across the map on the table. The officer lay slumped, his head caught on the back of the chair. The five soldiers sprawled at all angles across the room, throats slashed and bellies opened, their blood a spreading stain. Its smell rose like flies, stinging and noxious. A drop of blood seeping from the ceiling dripped onto my hand.
I staggered, bumped into a wall next to Drake, and sank to my knees.
He shoved me away. “Cruel Diana! You reek of blood! Get away from me.”
Trembling, I could neither speak nor stand.
He rolled over the other magister and studied the two cold mages with a flat, emotionless expression. “With a strong enough cold mage, I can do anything,” he murmured to himself, so quietly that I knew he did not mean for me to hear. “I don’t need him. He’s kept me caged all this time because he’s afraid I will figure that out.”
He stepped over to the table where Captain Tira was carefully wiping blood off the map and examined the topography, then snagged a spyglass that was lying across one corner.
“Where are you going, Lord Drake?” asked Captain Tira as he walked to the stairs. “The general is already calling the advance against the Coalition center. He’ll need you soon enough.”
