The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,162

a few moments.”

But just as Sebastian began to gather his focus on the gem, he heard a new voice shout from the base of the observation tower.

“Commander, sir! She’s taken the city! The Ranger has taken the city!”

“What?” There were now flecks of white spittle on Vittorio’s lips. “Explain yourself, soldier! Has the west wall been breached?”

The young soldier below looked ready to collapse. His military jacket was torn at the shoulder, his face was ashen, and he was clutching at an arrow still lodged in his arm. But the brave man spoke with a firm, clear voice.

“No, sir! The Ranger just appeared in the middle of the city! She’s rallied a mob of peasants, and they’re attacking anyone dressed in imperial uniforms!”

Vittorio ground his teeth together so hard, Sebastian could hear the squeak. He glared at the soldier, then at the distant Lorecchio, then at the battle that raged along the riverbank. With what appeared to be tremendous effort, he closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

“Captain Portinari?” His voice was almost a groan.

“S-sir!”

“Belay the previous command. Eliminating the Ranger is our top priority. Take your men into the city. Kill your sister, then put down that mob by any means necessary before they are able to attack our army from the rear.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

“Do not fail me again, Sebastian.”

65

Sonya felt drunk on glory and freedom as she watched the good people of Izmoroz rise up against their Aureumian oppressors. They were armed only with knives or axes, hoes or rakes, but the soldiers they faced were those who had been left out of the battle, likely because of inexperience or incompetence. Furthermore, the soldiers were outnumbered and taken completely by surprise. The townsfolk swarmed over them with few losses. In fact, some of the soldiers, clean-shaven Izmorozian boys who perhaps felt guilty for joining the army in the first place, even tore off their uniforms and joined the crowds. Sonya urged the people to accept anyone who surrendered, and mostly they did. This was a revolution, after all, not a massacre.

Sonya wished she could have brought Peppercorn, but they’d been smuggled into the city inside a wagon full of salted pork, so that hadn’t been possible. Instead she sauntered down the street with Blaine, pausing now and then to shoot an imperial soldier who had managed to outrun the townspeople.

“Don’t forget we need a few of those warriors to get back to their Tighearna.” Blaine walked beside her, the flat of his massive sword casually resting on his shoulder.

“To draw out my brother, I know,” she said. “I’ve already let several go. I’m sure at least one of them made it.”

His expression grew solemn. “You sure this es gonna work? Against your brother, I mean?”

“The Lady said his magic won’t work on me directly anymore. So you just hang back and make sure nobody else gets close. I’ll take care of the rest.”

He nodded, though it was clear he was still concerned. He’d been at Les, so he knew what Sebastian could do. She considered telling him that her Lady Marzanna and his Bàs were the same entity. That might ease his worry. But that was a complicated topic best suited for a less chaotic time. As thrilling and intoxicating as the present moment was, she had to make sure things didn’t get too out of control. With all this pent-up righteous fury being released, it could slip into utter havoc and indiscriminate killing at any moment. And then there were those who were selfishly taking advantage of the situation. She’d already caught a few looters. She hadn’t killed them, of course, but they were now lying unconscious in the street. They might now become victim of a little looting themselves, but that seemed appropriate.

The townsfolk were gravitating toward the Imperial Church. The idea of a single location where holiness resided was a distinctly non-Izmorozian concept, and clearly one that rankled many of the townsfolk. By the time Sonya and Blaine reached the church, a large and angry group had gathered around it. People wielding torches shouted and spat as four sturdy young men dragged the wailing priest out through the front door. It was the same one who had harangued her during her last visit to the city, and she suspected that perhaps the people’s angst was also somewhat directed at him personally.

“That a holy man?” asked Blaine.

“Something like that,” she said.

“Please! Spare me!” begged the priest. “I’ve never done anything to you! I’ve only ever