Footsteps on the stairs, then down her hallway. She unsheathed her sword in one smooth motion and fell into a defensive stance. She held the familiar leather-wrapped hilt in both hands next to her head, pointing the tip of the blade at an invisible enemy’s forehead. She’d owned this sword for almost five hundred years, and it was an extension of herself. She knew where every inch of the blade was at all times, along with the weak points of her entire surroundings. This was her music.
“You’re dropping your point.”
Flashing forward with an attack to remove an enemy’s head in one smooth slice, Victory whirled around and ended with her blade aimed at Max’s chest. Good thing her large room had a high ceiling. “Still could kill you.”
Max didn’t budge. “You wouldn’t dare. You don’t know where I keep my keys.” She noticed he’d changed from his jeans into standard Guild-issue leather-armored pants, but wore a loose shirt of plain linen above. She bet herself a beer he kept the keys in one of his belt pouches.
“Oh, do grow up.” Victory resheathed the sword at her side. “You ready?” She strapped one knife around her right ankle and the stiletto to her left forearm.
Max picked up her leather trench coat from over the armchair in the corner and held it up for her to slip into it. “Waiting on you, milady. Don’t know how you can wear that in this weather.”
“Thanks.” Settling the coat into place, she slung her pack over her shoulder. “And what weather?”
“You’re unbelievable,” Max said, following her out of the room.
“No, I’m undead.” Victory led the way down the stairs. “You’re welcome to join me. I’ll even share all the perks.”
Sethri awaited them in the foyer, grasping his briefcase in front of him. Unlike his traveling companions’ martial attire, he wore an impeccable business suit. His shiny green tie reminded Victory of elven eyes. “Are you threatening to kill my Guildmaster, Victory?”
“That’s nothing new.” Max pulled open the front door, digging his keys out of the pouch on his belt. He dangled them in front of Victory, who gave them a halfhearted swipe. She should have made that bet. “No, you can’t drive my truck. You never let me drive your convertible.”
“That’s because the last time anyone other than me drove it, it was almost totaled.” Gesturing for Sethri to take the front passenger seat, Victory tossed her pack into the back seat and climbed in after it.
Max settled behind the wheel and started the ignition. “I’m a much better driver than Toria, I’m sure.”
“Is the entire trip going to be like this?” Sethri cast Victory a withering look over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Max said, at the same time Victory declared, “No.” Sethri didn’t hang out with mercs enough. They got punchy when a fight was coming. She and Max understood each other.
“Oh, dear,” Sethri said.
Max solved the problem by shoving a disc into the dashboard stereo. He pulled off the manor drive and onto the main road while strains of music flowed around them. Mikelos would be able to identify each of the instruments, but Victory sat back and enjoyed, letting the breeze from the open windows rustle loose strands of her hair.
She drifted to the music and motion of the truck during the half-hour drive. Time to clear her head of everything the world had dumped on her in so short a time. There would be more trouble to come when they met the Romans, but right now Victory needed the peace.
The last time she had been this stressed, she and Max had confronted an entire pack of werepanthers on their own. And Toria killed a vampire to protect Mikelos and Kane.
No way would she let her daughter be in such danger again. Not that Toria would ever give her the choice.
“Victory?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Max?” The forest on either side of the road was pitch black, the moonlight invisible in contrast to the truck’s headlights. “Why are we slowing down?”
“We’re reaching the point where the Romans attacked. Figured I’d check it out first, then head downriver to the bridge if we didn’t find a welcoming party.” Max pulled the truck to the side of the road before it ended at the river, then cut the engine and headlights.
The world went black for a split second before her sensitive sight adjusted to the moon’s scant illumination. “That your way of asking me to take a look around?” She grasped the door latch before he could respond.
“Please?” Max said. “Better night vision and all? Besides, one of us has to stay with Sethri.”
“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself—”
Max waved off Sethri’s protest. “Humor us. We know what we’re doing.”
“Sure, send out the immortal. Cover me.” Victory stepped out of the truck, twitching her coat clear before lifting the outside handle and easing the door back into place.
“Already done.”
Victory heard the unmistakable click of a cylinder being snapped back into a revolver. She walked around the truck to peer into the dense forest. Dappled moonlight cast shadows on the ground between the trees, but the night was still. Most convenient place to hide scouts.
Or snipers.
No heartbeats beside the two back in the truck. Not even a breeze across the water ruffled the omnipresent heat. Sethri must be dying in his suit.
Circling to the other side, Victory took a few steps out into the open area between the trees and the river. She waited for the hair on the back of her neck to prickle, her usual warning of invisible watchers when she was so exposed, but felt nothing. They might have to head for the bridge and leave Limani territory to find the Romans after all. Not her favorite idea in the world, but she had to trust Max’s judgment. He might not be so old or experienced, but the merc had seen his share of combat.
At the river’s edge, she spun in a slow circle. Still no hint of company. All of her training dictated leaving a guard across the river. Invaders would press whatever advantage they had. On the other side of the river, this road must lead straight into the heart of the Romans’ encampment. The dark forest across the water taunted her—the glow of the moonlight off the river prevented her sharp eyes from piercing the darkness. No signs of life reached her ears over the water.
They had to be here. So where were they?
She headed back to Max’s truck. The tide had washed away any signs of fighting left on this side of the river, though according to Toria, her daughter hadn’t had the chance to make many. She knelt next to a few old horseshoe tracks leading to the water, but saw nothing to give her any information Toria hadn’t been able to glean.
“Nothing here!” Victory stood again and continued toward the truck.
Max sagged against the side of the door. “You serious? They have to be here.”
“I thought so, too,” she said. “Guess we’re going to the bridge.” She slid back into her seat. When her seatbelt clicked into place, Max restarted the truck and flipped on the headlights. The world shrank back into the area lit by harsh yellow beams.
Sethri stared at them both, head twisting from front to back seat. “And if they’re not there?”
“Then I will be very, very confused,” Victory said.
They rode in silence while Max turned the truck around and got back on the road. After about a mile, he took the cutoff toward the ancient bridge.
“This worries me,” Max said. His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white.
She sat forward on the seat to squeeze his shoulder. “Me, too.”
Sethri cast her another nervous look. “How so?”
“Because they’re not worried,” Victory said. “If they were worried about Limani launching an offensive attack, the river would have been crawling with soldiers.”
“They must know we’re in no position to do such a thing,” Max said. “
Either that, or—”
“Or they outnumber us so badly they don’t need to be worried.” Even saying the words, Victory did not want to acknowledge them. This wasn’t the first time she had been outmanned and outgunned. That didn’t mean she liked it.
They were less than ten minutes away from the bridge, but that didn’t stop Victory from resting her head against the back of the seat and tuning out the rest of the world once more. Let Max have his plans about what to do when they met the Romans. She needed to start figuring out what to do if they didn’t.
If the Romans weren’t camping on their border, how had Fabbri known of the potential invasion? And if the other councilmembers were right, and the Humanists’ timing was too much of a coincidence, then what did Fabbri stand to gain from all this?
It was hard not to feel blindsided, and Victory kicked herself for becoming so complacent. The Greeks founded Limani on peace, and even though they fell to the Romans on the mainland soon thereafter, their colony still stood two and a half centuries later. Victory had been fighting for the British in Thuringia at the time, though Asaron had been hired by the Greeks as a “consultant.”
She never could figure out why the Romans let him set foot anywhere near their lands after that.
Limani forgot they always risked the same fate that befell their founders. But then the Last War happened, and no one bothered with such a small territory. And for the past fifty years, the Roman emperor had lived by the tenets of peace. It was this new kid stirring up trouble.
“What’s that?”
Sethri’s question broke Victory from her musings. She scooted forward on her seat, peering out the front windshield. “What’s what?”
Max started slowing the truck. “Flash of light,” he said. “Looked like a lantern being put out after we turned the curve.”
“So someone’s up there,” Victory said. “I’ll give you two guesses who.”
“But I just need one.”
Max finished the old joke offhand, but she didn’t blame him. Now came the hard part. This had better not be an ambush—she wasn’t in the mood.
Keeping the truck to a crawl, Max eased toward where the light had been. “See anything?”
Victory strained further, but saw nothing except the road and more trees. By her estimate, they should almost be to the second river crossing.
“Shit!” Max jerked the steering wheel to the left, throwing them all hard against their seatbelts. The truck avoided striking the lone soldier who stepped into the middle of the road by a narrow margin. Max hit the brakes before the truck could end up in the shallow ditch to the left of the road.
One by one, Victory released her fingers from their death grip on the back of Max’s seat. She hadn’t seen the soldier until he appeared right in front of them. Vampire? She heard no heartbeat, but she might not have been able to over the harsh pounding emanating from her companions.
Max rolled down his window to poke his head out. “What the hell is wrong with you, kid? I could have killed you!”
Oh, Max. Victory almost shut her eyes in dismay. What a way to make an entrance.
The young soldier sported the standard Roman foot soldier’s uniform, not the more extensive gear Toria said Octavian had worn. However, he grasped the hilt of the gladius at his side. Victory poised to release her stiletto. Not much use inside the vehicle, but it was habit.
The soldier, young enough to have not been shaving long, was nevertheless unintimidated by Max’s rebuke. “Please step out of the truck, sir.”
Sethri placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, and Max allowed himself to be moved away from the window so Sethri could speak with the soldier. “Good evening,” he said, his tone calmer. “My name is Alexander Sethri, head of Limani’s city council. Escorting me are Maximilian Asher and Victory, also members of the council. We’re here on a diplomatic mission, and we wish to speak with General Julius Octavian.”
At his words, five more soldiers stepped out of the woods to surround the truck. Each of them carried either a sword or longbow aimed at the truck. The first soldier drew his own blade.
“Step out of the truck,” he said again, still calm. “Now.”
Where is that stupid thing? Toria dug through another kitchen drawer, searching for the lighter that had to be there. She hadn’t needed anything other than her mind to light a candle since middle school. This curse thing took some getting used to. But one of Kane’s ex-boyfriends had smoked—part of the reason he was an ex—and left cheap lighters everywhere. She remembered tossing one in a drawer somewhere.
“Ah ha!” Toria retrieved it from the back of the drawer, where it had been hidden under a pile of bobby pins. She shoved the drawer closed with her hip and turned around. Syri stood in the middle of the apartment, eyeing the homey clutter with vague disdain. “What’s wrong?” Toria asked.
“Huh?” Syri brought herself back from wherever her mind had been. “Nothing. Admiring the décor. Do you even have a proper workroom?”
“It’s under the carpet you’re standing on. Just needs to be rolled back.” Toria picked up a box of chalk from the counter and threw it to Syri, who caught it with one deft hand. “The circle and cardinal points are painted on the floor and already enchanted. Do whatever else you need to do. How many candles did you need?”
“Chalk,” Syri said, examining the box. “How quaint.” She tossed it back to Toria unopened. “Five candles, please. No specific type or colors, though I imagine you might want one you feel most comfortable with.” She knelt to roll up a corner of carpet to reveal the lines painted on the hardwood floors. “Wow, you are never getting your security deposit back.”
“We lost that the first time I set the kitchen on fire,” Toria said. “Kane’s primary is earth, he can restore the wood before we move out.” While she propped the rolled-up carpet in a corner, Syri began drawing glyphs on the floor with lines of white light from her fingertip.
Ten minutes later, Toria sat in the center of the glowing circle on her living room floor, facing Syri to the northeast. A faint bit of starlight shone through the skylights in the apartment ceiling, but the rest of the room’s warm glow came from the candle Toria held and the four others placed at the main cardinal points of the circle. The halfway points between the main cardinals shined with unfamiliar glowing symbols. She hoped Syri knew what she was doing.
“Do you know what happens when a warrior-mage pair gets separated?” Syri matched Toria’s cross-legged pose, shimmering hands resting on her knees.
Toria did not respond, fighting down the chill that crossed her in the warm room at the uncanny echo of Zerandan’s rhetorical question the night before.
“For too long, I mean,” Syri said. Her eyes caught Toria’s and held them, her cat-slit pupils large in the flickering flames.
“The elf Zerandan didn’t know.” And if he didn’t know, there wasn’t an icicle’s chance in summer Syri did.
“Zerandan’s my great-great-uncle,” Syri said. “You were in good hands with him. And it’s true. Nobody knows. And I don’t imagine you’re in any hurry to find out.”
“Do you really know how to get me in contact with Kane?” Toria could not resist looking over her shoulder to the southern point of the compass, where Kane would sit during a formal working like this. That’s the direction she was used to facing, and this whole situation felt odder by the minute. His absence was an aching wound in the back of her mind. Just the fact that she was certain to feel it if he died kept her from succumbing to true panic.
“I’m damn well going to try.” Syri raised her shimmering hands from her knees and placed them flat on the ground in front of her within the circle. “Deep breath. Relax. Leave the hard stuff to me.”
Like Toria could argue. Even the shields for this were all up to Syri. Despite Zerandan’s claims that shields were passive magic, s
he was pretty sure attempting to mesh shields with not one, but two, unfamiliar magic systems qualified as active. Ending up with a splitting headache would put a hitch in Syri’s plans and might ruin them altogether.
Syri did not move, leaving her hands braced against the floor. The room around them began to lighten, and out of the corners of her eyes, Toria caught glimmers of a curtain of translucent light. It followed the lines of the circle around them, arching into a dome above their heads. The four candle stubs around the circle gleamed brighter, and the four unfamiliar symbols followed suit. Toria felt drawn to the one on her left, admiring the glitter of unfamiliar magic. The scientist in her stirred, and she began listing questions for Syri on her mental clipboard.
Her voice a harsh whisper, Syri said, “Either look at me or look at your candle. You don’t think I know what I’m doing?”
Toria whipped her head back to the other girl. “Sorry.”
“Don’t care. Just don’t fucking move.”
So she sat still, thumb and forefinger from each hand wrapped around the base of the new taper of purple wax resting on the ground in front of her. A trickle of strange power wound its way up her spine, and she repressed the urge to meet the power with a tendril of her own, investigating it and how it worked. Instead, she stared into the small flame before her.
The tendril traced up the back of her neck and up to her head, making the roots of her hair tingle and feel like they stood on end. Now Syri was in her brain. Where Zerandan’s link had felt like an archaeologist gently sifting through sand, Syri unwound a tangled skein of glowing silken threads.
Syri picked at every knot until she knew what it was—Toria’s skill with a sword here, her talent for baking there. Even the knowledge gleaned from her recent history class.
Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) Page 19