Ibana grabbed Ferlisia by the collar, pulling her close. “Do you see what they’ve done to Ben? Our colonel? You set the guardhouse on fire, and shoot anyone who tries to escape. Shoot ’em in the legs and throw them back in. Pit-damned Blackhats have declared war on the Mad Lancers. They should have known better.” Styke jumped at the gentle touch of gloved fingers and felt his arm lifted to the light of the torch by the Privileged. The Privileged examined him clinically, then said quietly, “This is going to hurt. A lot.” The last thing Styke remembered was a blinding white light.
