“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until later?” Victory gave Max’s bandaged leg a pointed look. “Like tomorrow? After one of the elves has a chance to fix you?”
“I can get Daliana,” Syri said.
Max shook his head, but didn’t remove his attention from the maps spread on the Hall’s conference table. “No time,” he said. “And I’m not wasting anyone’s energy on my little scratch when I’ve got two people still in critical condition.”
Victory conceded the point. Time to act, before the Romans regrouped and hit the city with their full force at first light. After this afternoon, they should still be scouring the countryside looking for the remnants of Max’s initial strike. It was a race against time to see which force could recoup the quickest. Limani had the advantage of home territory and knowing when the next attack would come—because they would be the ones making it.
“That’s what the hospital is for,” Toria said. “That is, you know, why Saul and Mason are there. To heal people.”
“Then I’m saving them for the casualties we get tonight,” Max said. “Tor, hand me that notebook?”
Passing over the blue book, Toria said, “Wow, you’re optimistic.” Between them, Syri handed Max the pen he was searching for.
“And you should hear how cheery you are, dear,” Victory said. “Fine, Max. Suffer. Now why are we here and not the rest of your officers?”
“Because I’ve already briefed them on tonight’s main mission and they’re busy coordinating with Tristan and Genevieve’s forces,” he said. “Not to mention waiting for Tersiguel’s pack to show up. Bloody hyenas.”
“Be glad they’re here,” Victory said. “Tersiguel doesn’t work with just anyone.”
“Exactly,” Max said. “That is why she, Bethany, and Daliana are with you. This afternoon you’re giving them a crash course on guerilla warfare tactics so they can hit the camp from behind while my group takes on the Romans from the front with the wolves and panthers.”
Victory pulled one of Max’s maps toward her, covering her racing thoughts by pretending to study the area she already knew like the back of her hand. “Did we ever get an official count on the Roman forces?”
“Best estimate from what we’ve seen so far, both this afternoon and when we met with Octavian, is approximately two thousand men,” Max said. “It’s likely the vast majority is human and without much combat experience. These are local recruits, not troops from the Old Continent.”
“So, if I’m taking the elves and all the other weres,” Victory said, “that leaves you with barely a hundred for the frontal attack. Those are twenty to one odds in their favor, Max. When was the last time you did the math?”
Max slammed a hand down on the table. “Every damn second, Victory.”
The silence rang after his outburst. “Sorry,” Victory said. “The plan will work. I just haven’t led a force in centuries.” Much as it pained her pride to admit fear in front of her daughter, Max deserved her true thoughts on the situation.
But it was Toria who reassured her. “You’ll be fine, Mama. I’ve heard all your stories. I doubt you’ve lost your touch to cause mayhem.”
“Thanks,” Victory said. “I’ll try to live up to your grandfather’s exaggerations.”
“Not exaggeration,” Max said. “Asaron and I have spent years discussing tactics, and he’s always told me to go straight to you if I want something done that might not quite fit with my other officers’ sense of honor—not that you lack honor yourself.”
“No, Asaron’s right,” Victory said. “It’s hard to fight for nearly a thousand years and not come up with your own ideas on what can and can’t go in warfare. My sire is even more devious than I am.”
“Which brings me to the reason the girls have joined us for this little meeting,” Max said. “You two are going to get us Asaron’s devious mind.”
Victory could sense Toria’s elation soar. “And Kane!” Toria said. “I’ll get Kane back at the same time.”
Max nodded. “If the first part of your goal is to set a very pissed-off Asaron loose in the middle of the Roman camp, yes, the second part of your task is to get Kane.”
“That I can do,” Toria said.
He held up a hand, halting her enthusiasm. “But that’s not the hardest part. You three are going to find that nuclear weapon. And disarm it.”
Victory crouched in a hidden pocket between two trees covered in the ever-present kudzu, out of sight of the first row of Roman tents. She surveyed the woods in the direction they had come from, keeping watch for returning scouts or sentries. Daliana’s shoulder pressed into her back, the elven woman studying the movement within the camp itself. The heat of the day did not break with the fall of night, and the oppressive humidity made Victory’s hair curl out of its tight braid. Daliana must be roasting in her gear.
It worked in their favor, though. The army celebrated tonight, declaring themselves the victors in the first sortie against the Limani forces. The grunt troops must not know the difference between “driven off” and “retreated.”
Victory wished she knew which one was true. Damn Max for not letting her in on this from the beginning.
Daliana’s low whisper echoed like a shout to her strained hearing. Clamping down on an involuntary twitch of surprise, Victory listened to the report.
“Sounds like all the celebration is happening farther in,” Daliana said. “These tents are just filled with sleeping bodies, judging by the heat signatures I can see through the canvas. Haven’t seen any wanderers.”
Matching the other woman’s soft tones and blessing the fact that elven hearing equaled vampiric, Victory said, “Support staff, then. These guys have to be up early to make breakfast and probably weren’t involved in the combat today.” She gave the trees another pass. Moonlight filtering through branches lit the woods like a bright stage to her eyes. “The sentry we skirted is walking the same pattern over again. Haven’t seen anyone else.”
“Sneaking through here is probably our best bet, then,” Daliana said. A hint of question tinged the end of her words, bowing to Victory’s experience.
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “And support staff means supplies. Lots of supplies. Look for ammunitions wagons or trucks, and we’ve got our first target.”
Victory gripped the bark of the tree next to her, prepared to pull herself out of her stiff crouch, when a nearby explosion shattered the world. She covered her ears and suppressed a scream, turning down the sensitivity of her hearing too late to save the ringing in her head.
Fingers touched her temples out of the darkness—when had she closed her eyes?—and the pain receded to a manageable level. Echoes of leaving the Mists after a night of dancing versus remembered days of aerial bombardment in Castille. She shoved those memories aside, and thanked the heavens these Roman troops included no air force.
Daliana’s face hovered inches from her own when she opened her eyes again. “Better?” Daliana said.
“Yes,” she said. “You?”
“Shields are good for some things,” Daliana said. “Like preserving eardrums. But we need to move.”
Once more expanding her senses to the world around her, Victory took stock of the altered situation. Men boiled out of the tents, officers screamed orders, lamps on tent poles were lit to fill the forest with light. “Someone did not follow orders.” Victory and Daliana’s explosion was supposed to cue the rest of the teams.
“They might have needed their own distraction,” Daliana said, her gentle tones more forgiving.
“And right now we need to take advantage of this one. Let’s go.”
No matter who screwed it up, it might be in their favor. This section was now empty. Checking over her shoulder, Victory watched the sentry they’d evaded abandon his post.
Both women rose to
their feet, remaining in the black shadows of the trees until the last possible second. Now screams drifted across the Roman encampment, echoed by a few sharp reports of gunfire.
Victory drew her sword. Daliana already had her pistol in hand. Brief regret washed through Victory. The elven woman was a healer by nature if not in true power. Never a warrior. She damned the Romans for dragging her into Victory’s repressed, if not forgotten, world.
They dashed into the now-deserted section of camp. Victory drew to a halt next to an officer’s empty pavilion. “There,” she said, pointing to two trucks with large cargo containers hitched to the back.
“They blow up our trucks, we’ll take out theirs,” Daliana said.
“Keep watch.” Not waiting for Daliana’s assent, Victory darted through the empty space. She slipped to her knees between the truck cabs, trusting the monstrosities to keep her hidden from view.
She drew a package from her small backpack. One of Max’s mercenaries moonlighted as Limani’s resident demolitions expert, and it amazed her how fast the man had managed to throw these nasty surprises together. That he had such materials on hand bothered her civilian side a bit, but the mercenary in her trilled with glee. He’d even included simple step-by-step and color-coded instructions.
Another explosion from a different section of camp rocked the night. “Madness and mayhem” needed to be Limani’s Mercenary Guild’s official slogan.
Victory squirmed her head and torso underneath the truck, peering up into the unfamiliar workings. The mechanics of modern transportation had never been one of her major interests, despite her attraction to fast, shiny cars in the days when more engines ran on gasoline rather than electricity. The instructions indicated she should shove the small block wrapped in bright red plastic anywhere it would stay, so she wedged it between the front right wheel and axle.
A thought wormed its way through her battle-focused mind. The first explosion was Toria’s cue. Somewhere in the camp, Asaron was sating his hunger. And her children were searching for an ancient nuclear device.
Place the clip on one of the blue wires to the red part of the plastic casing. Attach the other end of the wire to the metal protrusion from the small cylinder of black plastic the size of two of her fingers. Press the green button on the other end of the cylinder. Sixty seconds to run a hundred yards away.
She shoved herself out from under the truck and ran.
Daliana saw her coming, and wisely chose not to wait. Not bothering to find another hiding spot, the two women dove through the rows of tents all the way back to their original shelter, pressing themselves to the ground on the opposite side of the trees.
They had thirty seconds of tense waiting. It occurred to Victory that she should remind her partner to remove any pieces of wood impaling her torso should the trees protecting them shatter. Daliana would be fine with her bulletproof vest, but Victory didn’t want an inconvenient branch to incapacitate her for too long.
“Dal—”
Both women shielded their heads and faces from explosion number three. The trees didn’t shatter, but a wave of heated air blew past them. Victory tensed for a wall of flame, much more fatal to her than a measly sliver of wood, but only a heap of tent canvas crashed to her left.
The silence in the aftermath of the blast was almost deafening. Then the screams of men flowed toward them.
Victory recovered first, launching herself to her feet and reaching down to grab Daliana’s arm. Pulling the elven woman to her feet was like hauling a bag of air.
“Our work here is done,” Victory said. “The rest of the Guild should be on their way in. Time for you to get out of here.”
“Right, let’s head out,” Daliana said. She started forward, then paused when Victory didn’t follow. “Coming?”
“Can’t.” She shooed Daliana away. “Go on, I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Like what?” Frustration leaked into Daliana’s usually imperturbable voice. “The plan’s gone to hell. We should get out while we haven’t been spotted.”
Words Asaron spent years beating into her head spilled out by rote. “No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. Yes, we’re done with Max’s plan. Now I’ve got—”
A shout halted her mid-sentence. They dove for the forest floor again, and a crossbow bolt struck the tree trunk they’d spent far too long arguing next to.
Orienting herself, Victory dropped her sword in favor of the gun strapped behind her back. That damn sentry had returned, waving his crossbow around and screaming for them not to move. She took aim, but a bloom of red appeared at the soldier’s throat before she could press the trigger.
Lying next to her, Daliana had beaten her to the punch, not having to waste time drawing a new weapon. She traded a look with Victory. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Now get out of here before any more come. I’ll make it back fine on my own. Go find Asaron.”
She squeezed Daliana’s shoulder, then bounded to her feet. Recovering her sword and sheathing it with a snap, Victory peered through the trees. With the soldier down, the area was again deserted.
Time to head for the screams. Asaron was sure to be there, exacting his own vengeance against his former captors.
With one last look toward Daliana, who pushed herself to her feet, Victory stalked out of the comforting darkness and into the camp. She still gripped the pistol in her hand. Every inch of her body tingled with battle-awareness and a rising bloodlust. Her eyes tinged her surroundings with crimson, and her fangs almost ached with the primal urge to sink them into a Roman neck.
Victory knew her sire well. He would go straight to the top.
She would make sure that Octavian’s neck was reserved for him.
Three more explosions followed Victory’s stealthy progress across the camp. A trail of bodies also traced her meandering search pattern.
She knocked out the soldiers she took by surprise with mental commands to sleep, along with the few who surrendered at the first sight of the blood-splattered ancient warrior.
But she felt no compunction against killing those who fought back. Despite her ability to survive most mortal wounds, they still hurt. The stab wound in her right thigh and the bullet that had passed through her left shoulder did nothing to improve her mood.
She balanced on one knee, hidden in the shadows between two pavilions. Across from her stood a single tent separated from the rest. A prisoner’s tent.
A short distance away sat the center of the camp, filled with higher-quality tents and larger pavilions. Officers’ quarters, and the command center. It was a blur of activity, with soldiers, officers, and aides running back and forth coordinating the defense against Limani’s forces.
She sensed mild panic in the air. Or perhaps it was the smoke drifting through the camp. Max was giving them more of a fight than they had expected.
No sign of Asaron so far, though she had come across an officer lying dead, his throat ripped open by the jagged edges of teeth rather than a simple knife slice. However, the wolf howls and feline screams now echoing through the camp proved the werecreatures were making their own fierce appearance.
No sightings of her daughter, either. But if Kane was free, Toria was sure to be close by after days of separation from her partner. Despite the urgings of her heart to find her children and defend them, she had to trust in their proven abilities to take care of themselves.
After a quick glance around to ensure her hiding place remained undetected, she returned her attention to the center of camp. Octavian would be there, coordinating the furious activity and directing the defense. But there were too many men, and too much light, for her to take him out like she had the others.
Victory had one other option, and evidence suggested Octavian wouldn’t botch her plan. She rose to her feet, squaring her shoulders and ignoring the itch of bl
ood drying around the scrape on her cheek. With empty hands held outstretched from her sides, she walked toward the command center.
An aide spotted her first. He called a warning to a passing soldier, who drew the longbow from his back and nocked an arrow toward her.
Halting her forward progress, Victory called out, “I request a meeting with General Octavian. I invoke the rights of Roman Article Seventeen!”
The soldier never took his eyes off her, but the aide jerked in surprise at her words and whispered in his ear. After receiving a nod, the young man bolted through the tents.
This shouldn’t take long. Assuming the soldier didn’t have itchy fingers and shoot her by accident.
She imagined it wasn’t often that enemy soldiers declared themselves members of an ancient Roman house. No wonder the kid was surprised.
Tension permeated the small tent. Toria gripped Kane’s hands in her own, stroking his palm with her thumb. The fabric of his improvised bandages brushed her bare arms, pushing her anger ever closer to the surface. Had they infiltrated the Roman camp that much more quickly than it had seemed? Worry warred with her anger, but her mind retreated from the thought that perhaps now her mother was captured, too.
“Calm, love,” Kane said, his gentle voice dragging her back from the land of maybes. “I can feel your nerves vibrating from here.”
She rested her head on his warm shoulder. “I’m okay,” she said.
In unison, Asaron and Syri said, “No, you’re not.” The two older creatures shared a small laugh at Toria’s expense.
“Thanks for the votes of confidence,” Toria said. “I’ve got—”
Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) Page 26