An experienced eye told Tamas that the Deliv had sprung a trap on a Kez patrol. The initial volley had done its work, cutting down half the patrol, but the rest had taken the fight to the Deliv partisans and were making short work with their bayoneted muskets.
Tamas drew his pistols.
“Not our fight,” Vlora whispered urgently in his ear.
He hesitated a few moments, and that was long enough for the Kez patrol to finish cleaning up the partisans. What remained of the Deliv fled into the night. The patrol regrouped to tend to their dead and make prisoners of the wounded partisans.
Tamas descended from the rooftop and headed back down the street. When they’d gone far enough, he said, “An organized resistance. They’re trying to take back the city.”
Vlora had her nose to the wind, her ear cocked. She nodded slowly as her eyes searched the night. Like him, she was in a powder trance, listening, smelling — trying to get a bearing on the state of the city.
“But how organized?” she asked. “We’re trying to liberate the city in one day. Not help a small group of partisans.”
Of course she was right. Tamas needed to keep perspective. He had a goal for the night, and needed to reach it.
They passed out of the market district, then a small suburb of close-packed houses, before they reached a wealthier part of town. Along the way they passed two more fights between Deliv and false Adran soldiers. The houses became farther apart, most of them surrounded by gardens with high walls, and the street was wide enough for six carriages. Tamas felt like he finally knew where he was.
Hailona’s home was one of these manors.
Tamas heard the sudden sound of a man shouting. Another voice joined the first and then a musket blast. The racket grew louder — it was coming up the street behind them. Tamas cast about for someplace to hide but saw only the empty, wide street and walled yards.
“Quick,” Tamas said. He dropped to one knee, making a hammock of his fingers, and jerked his head at the wall beside them. Vlora put her foot in his hands, and he pushed her up and over the brick wall. She put her hand back down, but even when he jumped, it was well out of reach. Tamas looked back down the street.
A small group of Deliv appeared around the bend. There were eight — no, nine — of them. Most limped desperately as they fled from an unseen foe. They wore greatcoats and wide-brimmed hats, concealing their features. One stopped and fired a pistol around the corner of the walled yard they’d just rounded. He leapt back from returning fire.
Tamas dropped to the ground, pulling his legs up and covering his face with his coat and hat. The only place to hide was in plain sight. At best, they’d think him a drunk or vagrant.
He watched beneath the brim of his hat as the Deliv worked their way along the other side of the street, looking over their shoulders continuously.
The source of their fear revealed itself a few moments later. A man ducked around the corner behind them, aimed his musket, and fired. He wore the Adran blues — but he was no Adran. He was followed by more of the same. They ran across the street, taking cover behind the thick-grown trees beside the street, firing haphazardly at the Deliv as they retreated.
One Deliv staggered and fell. He waved on the rest of them, cursing loudly when others stopped to help.
Tamas felt his fingers close around the hilt of his small sword. His heart began to beat harder. Could he just watch this slaughter and stand idly by?
The Deliv were outnumbered two to one, and most of them were wounded. Wherever they were retreating to, they wouldn’t make it.
A Kez soldier dashed behind one of the decorative oaks that lined the street. He was less than a dozen feet away and hadn’t seemed to notice Tamas’s huddled form. He stopped to reload his musket, clearing his barrel and priming the powder. Tamas felt his knuckles so tight on his sword they chafed. His trance-attuned hearing picked up Vlora’s whisper from on top of the wall: “Not our fight.”
Tamas’s sword entered the Kez soldier’s throat from the side, right between his esophagus and his spine. The man dropped without even a gurgling protest. Tamas felt his legs pump hard, the pain to his right barely registering as he crossed the street in a dozen long strides.
One of the soldiers turned toward him. Tamas slashed his sword upward, cutting through the front of the man’s face, then followed through by plunging his sword into the ribs of the next soldier.
They all knew he was here now. Panicked shouting rose in the street.
The world seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Tamas sensed a spark hit the powder pan of a pistol, traveling toward the barrel. In the instant before the weapon fired, Tamas reached out and absorbed the energy of the blast, throwing it behind the swipe of his sword as it took a man’s head clear off.
