39
	More than a quarter of the city was on fire from the first assault.  Thomas held the front gates and the large plaza around them and he had lost only a half dozen fighters to win it.  He'd been sure this would be an easy fight.  When he'd deserted, he'd taken most of Jaspertree's best fighters with him and more had sought him out over the three months they'd been in the forest.  He hadn't expected to be able to just walk in with his sword still undrawn.  At present, the heart of their holdings was the Market square and he'd taken the responsibility of securing it himself.
	He sat on the back of a white stallion, an animal so fine he'd never have been able to afford it in his old life, and watched as his own guards rounded up a trio of Marcus's fighters they'd flushed from hiding.  Two of them were vixens, and if they were lucky he might let them serve in a House for the rest of their lives.  Their brother soldier was pushed to his knees in front of the horse and made to bow as Thomas dismounted.
	“What kind of soldier are you, to run from the fight?  When the enemy is in your own city, no less?” he said.
	His captive, a lion with hardly any mane, and his memory threw up a name to go with the too-young face.  The child was called Alex, and he had shown great promise with a sword.  It was too bad he hadn't come to the forest when he'd had the chance.
	“Well, boy?  Will you give me an answer, or have you forgotten every bit of discipline I ever taught you?” he said.
	“I'm everything you taught me to be, Captain,” Alex said.
	Thomas slapped his captive across the face.  The heavy jewels in his rings left deep scratches on the boy's cheek and muzzle and blood spotted the collar of his tunic.  Tears welled in Alex's eyes but he didn't look away.
	“Tell me something, Captain.  What kind of soldier leads his fighters in without checking first for traps?” Alex said.
	Alex threw his head back and roared.  As she did, he surged to his feet and it was all Thomas's soldiers could do to keep their hold on the young lion.  Thomas drove his sword into Alex's throat to silence him, but it was too late.  There was an answering shout from the street ahead of them and a second came from their left flank.  A brief rain of arrows fell as his fighters reformed their ranks and his remaining captives died.  Then they were surrounded.
	In the poor light it was impossible to guess how many they faced.  The old gas lamps around them split one sword into three and hid the colors of the fighter wielding it.  Thomas' closest lieutenants were cut down before either of them could raise their weapons, and he was forced to fall back almost to the other end of the square to save himself.  Just when his attackers should have cornered him they fell back and turned their attention to softer targets to his left and right.  It was strange, but he knew better than to foul his luck with too many questions.
	Jacob Metzger came out of the shadows with his sword dripping blood, and the big wolf's face and arms were smeared with gore.
	“Welcome home, General.  I was afraid I was going to have to go out and drag you out of that forest myself,” Jacob said.
	“It's as well you didn't.  The city is mine and I will have it tonight,” Thomas said.
	“You're still a long way from the President's office, pup,” Jacob said.
	“I only need to walk through the door.  Nobody wants you or your master anymore,” Thomas said.
	“Perhaps.  But at least we're the evil they know,” Jacob said.
	Jacob grinned, showing all of his teeth, and lunged forward with his sword aimed at Thomas's stomach.  Thomas managed to knock the weapon aside with his own stroke, but the impact jarred his teeth and made his palms sting.  The wolf swung again, and this time Thomas was forced to take two steps to the left to avoid the heavy blade.  He growled, disgusted with himself, and pushed Jacob back with his own attack.  The wolf was bigger but he lacked all but the most basic skills with a  sword.  It was luck that had brought him this far, and Thomas would see it didn't take him any further.
	“Marcus is already dead. We caught the runner his guards sent out and made her tell us everything,” Thomas said.
	This didn't have the effect he expected.  Everyone in the city knew how close Jacob was to his boss.  Three years ago, when everyone expected Marcus to die from an assassin's poisoned blade, Jacob had spent every day in the hospital with the old fox.  But now he barely flicked an ear.
	“There's still Richard.” Jacob said.
	“He'll die too,” Thomas said.
	“The boy is smarter than you give him credit for,” Jacob said.
	Thomas ducked under Jacob's next attack and slashed at the wolf's legs.  Jacob yelped and fell, cut to the bone, and Thomas struck him again.  It was a pity there wasn't time to draw things out as much as he would have liked.  There was no doubt that it had been Jacob who had kept him from rising above Captain.  He was equally sure he knew who had taken most of the credit for the treaty with Blackpool, too.
	“So much for the famous first line of defense,” Thomas said.
	Jacob didn't make a sound as Thomas drove the sword through his stomach.  He only grabbed the blade in both hands to push it back out, heedless of the way it cut into his palms.  Disappointed, Thomas twisted the sword to cut him deeper and pierce his heart.  A little trickle of blood dribbled out of Jacob's mouth and he died.  Thomas slashed at Jacob until his face was completely unrecognizable, but it didn't make him feel any better.