Sins of Empire

Chapter 48

Styke sat in one corner of Lady Flint’s office in Loel’s Fort, his borrowed knife in his lap, rocking on the back two legs of the chair, his face pointed at the ceiling and his eyes closed as he waited for Lady Flint to return from Mama Palo’s execution. Across from him Ibana paced restlessly, thumbs hooked through her belt loops, repeating the same phrase every five minutes or so.

“This is a terrible idea.”

“You mentioned that,” Styke answered.

“Well, I’m mentioning it again. Couldn’t you have just sent her a damned letter or something?”

Styke opened his eyes and kept them glued to the sagging plaster ceiling, listening to the chair beneath him creak in protest as he rocked himself gently with one foot. “I could have,” he said. “But I didn’t.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Ibana responded sarcastically.

Styke sucked in a mouthful of air, puffed out his cheeks, and slowly blew it back out. Ibana was right, of course. This was a terrible idea. Olem had told him before his fight with Fidelis Jes that he was no longer welcome here, and that the men had been ordered to arrest him on sight. The last thing he needed was for them to try exactly that and have this turn into a fight. He should have left Ibana with the other lancers. “Look,” he said, “if you want me back, if you want me to take command of the Mad Lancers, then I’m going to set a few things to rest first.”

Two things, to be precise. The first he’d taken care of not long after his conversation with Lindet by leaving a note for Tampo at the only address the lawyer had given him – a bank box on the western edge of the plateau. This was the second thing, and for some reason he’d decided it was far more important. He’d also, stupidly, decided to do it in person.

Ibana was about to respond, an argumentative look on her face, when Styke heard a commotion in the muster yard outside. They both froze, and Styke slowly lowered the front legs of his chair to the ground and got up, borrowed knife in hand.

“Where’s Olem!” Lady Flint’s voice demanded from somewhere outside.

Styke couldn’t hear the answer, or make out Flint’s barked order, but he could tell she was heading in his direction. He braced himself and gestured Ibana away from the door.

Lady Flint opened it a moment later, stepping inside while shouting over her shoulder, “Get everyone. Send a messenger to Fidelis Jes and Lindet telling them I want to see them.”

“Which one?” someone asked.

“Either. Both. I don’t care. I –” Flint cut herself off, pausing just inside the door at the sight of Ibana, eyes falling on Styke half a second later. Her pistol seemed to leap into her hand, and a shout on the tip of her tongue was arrested only by Styke barking one word:

“Wait!”

Styke stared down the barrel of Flint’s pistol for an agonizing ten seconds, Ibana coiled as if ready to spring, hoping the whole time that nobody did anything rash. Slowly, bit by bit, Flint’s finger came off the trigger. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“We came to talk,” Styke said, gesturing for Ibana to relax.

“Everyone wants to talk with me right now. It’s getting bloody well odd. How did you get in here?”

“Olem let us in.”

Vlora whispered a litany of curses before finally lowering her pistol. “I still may shoot you. Who’s this?”

Not a great start, Styke decided, but it was better than getting a bullet through the eye. “This is my second in command, Ibana ja Fles.”

“The swordmaker?”

“That’s right,” Ibana said.

“I have one of your knives,” Flint said. “It’s some damn fine work. Pit, you’re tall. Damn it, Styke, I thought I only had to deal with one giant.” Ibana pursed her lips, but her shoulders relaxed and Styke gave a silent sigh of relief. Nothing like a little flattery to help cool the air. “Okay,” Flint said, “if Olem let you in here he must think it’s important. I’m a bit busy, so you have thirty seconds.”

Styke took a deep breath, wondering why some words were so much easier to say than others. He chewed on them for a moment, glanced at Ibana – whose impatient look was no help at all – then said, “I came to apologize.”

“For tricking me into hiring a convict and making me look like a fool in front of my employers?”

“No. Not for that.”

Flint blinked. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She closed the door behind her warily, putting her back to it, still holding her pistol. She was such a small thing, nearly two feet shorter than either him or Ibana. Her blocking the exit might have made him laugh if he didn’t know what she was capable of. “Then what?” she asked flatly.

“You hired me under false pretenses,” Styke said. “But not the ones you think. I did not escape from Sweetwallow like Jes told you. I was released.” He’d considered long and hard what he wanted to tell Flint, and why. He’d decided that, while he owed Tampo his freedom, he owed Lady Flint his pride. After ten years in the camps, the latter was not something he’d ever thought to see again.

“I’m listening,” Flint said.

“I was released from the camps by a lawyer named Gregious Tampo. He bribed the parole board, and as a condition for my freedom sent me to work for you. He wanted me to keep you out of trouble until he didn’t need you anymore, and then kill you.”

To Styke’s surprise, Flint’s face began to change the moment Styke mentioned Tampo’s name. Her mouth dropped, then her brows lowered into a scowl, and then she threw her head back and let out an angry sigh. It was not the reaction Styke was expecting.

Flint scratched her head with the barrel of her pistol and then brandished it at Styke. “Did he actually tell you he wanted me dead?”

Styke looked at her askance. She was taking this awfully well for someone whose trust had been betrayed. “No,” he said. “But that was obviously the end goal. He needs you for something. I never got the order to cut your throat, so I assume he still does. I’m here to warn you.”

“Duly noted,” Flint said.

“That’s all there is,” Styke said, getting to his feet and putting his knife away. “I thought you should know.” He felt strange. Pleasant, but strange. He wasn’t used to giving excuses or explaining himself to anyone. In his old life he’d never had to, and in the camps no one cared. The same went with apologizing. “You said you’re busy, so we’ll go now.”

Flint’s pistol came back up, wavering from Styke to Ibana. Styke tensed, glancing at Ibana, whose hand had gone to the sword at her hip. “Neither of you is going anywhere,” Flint said.

“I told you,” Ibana growled at Styke.

“Shut up,” Styke responded. “I don’t want to fight you, Flint. I came in good faith.”

“I never offered any good faith,” Flint snapped. “And if you think I’m not pissed as pit that I took a spy into my midst, you’re dead wrong. But I’m not looking for a fight, either.” She lowered her pistol, her mouth tightening into a straight line. “I respect the fact you came back. I should cut you to ribbons, but I’m not going to, and here’s why: Tampo doesn’t want me dead.”

Styke exchanged a glance with Ibana. “How do you know?”

“Because Gregious Tampo isn’t Gregious Tampo. He’s a powder mage by the name of Taniel Two-shot, and he’s been playing everyone in this damned city for fools.”

“Uh,” was all Styke could manage. He tried to wrap his mind around this information. Styke’s memory wasn’t great, but he’d fought beside Taniel during the war. Gregious Tampo was definitely not Taniel. “Two-shot is dead. You said so yourself.”

“Taniel faked his death at the end of the Adran-Kez War,” Flint replied. She finally stuffed her pistol into her belt, taking a small sniff of powder, removing the tremor from her voice. “He and the bone-eye you met back during the Fatrastan Revolution are here, now.”

Styke scowled, licking his lips, thinking back over the meetings he’d had with Tampo. “No,” he said. “I would have sensed it. My Knack can smell sorcery.”

“Ka-poel’s sorcery is stronger than anything you’ve ever encountered,” Flint said, sounding almost resigned to the fact. “It fooled your Knack and it fooled my third eye. It’s fooled a damn lot of people, but Tampo – or rather, Taniel – doesn’t want me dead. If he sent you here to keep me out of trouble he probably thought he was protecting me.”

This was a lot to take in. Ibana looked skeptical, and Styke himself echoed the sentiment. It was possible to hide from the Else using Privileged sorcery, but it was incredibly difficult. Wearing someone else’s face for long periods of time, and being completely undetectable? It would take a whole Privileged cabal to manage that.

Or, if Flint was telling the truth, a single powerful bone-eye.

Styke could think of no reason for Flint to lie. “So does this mean no hard feelings?” he asked slowly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Flint said, eyes flashing. “But a secret bodyguard is more palatable than a secret assassin.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Son of a bitch, I don’t have time for this.” She opened the door and yelled for Olem, then closed it behind her, eyes focusing on Styke. “Did you fight Fidelis Jes?”

“I did.” Styke grimaced.

“And you lost?”

“He sent me back to the camps, crippled.”

Flint looked him up and down. “You don’t look crippled.”

“The Mad Lancers rescued him,” Ibana explained. “We may have, um, kidnapped a Privileged to heal his wounds.”

“Kidnapped a Privileged…” Flint muttered. She shook her head. “Bloody madmen. Okay, so that is where we stand. Did you find anything else out about the Dynize before that whole debacle?”

Styke shook his head. He could see in her eyes that Flint had moved past the apology, the revealed betrayal, and all of that to something else. Her ability to compartmentalize was admirable, but he reminded himself not to make the mistake of assuming she would trust him again.

“So you know nothing about the Dynize fleet sitting out beyond the bay?” Flint asked.

“The what now?” Ibana asked, mouth falling open.

Styke managed to keep the shock off his face, but he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s not possible,” he said.

“Neither is Taniel Two-shot being alive,” Flint responded. “But there it is. At least forty ships of war and I have no idea how many support frigates.”

“The Dynize haven’t left their country for over a hundred years.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“How do they even have a fleet?” Ibana demanded.

“I’d love to figure that out,” Flint said, “but in the meantime I’d rather know why they’re here.”

There was a knock on the door and Styke jumped, only then realizing he’d been clutching the handle of his knife. Olem poked his head inside. “Vlora,” he started, then saw Styke and Ibana. “Ah. You’re still here.”

“Yes, they’re still here,” Flint responded, acid in her voice. “And you and I are going to talk about this later.”

“Sure,” Olem said coolly. “After we talk about Fidelis Jes standing in the muster yard.”

Styke was halfway to the door before he even knew he was moving. Flint threw out a hand, putting a surprisingly firm palm on his chest. “No,” she barked.

Styke clenched and unclenched his fists. This was his chance. He was healed, fresh, angry, armed. He didn’t care how many Blackhats Jes had with him out there, between him and Ibana they would carve through the lot and he’d pop Jes’s eyeballs like pimples. He tried to step forward, but Ibana put an arm around his chest and hauled him back. He growled at her, and she slapped him across the face. It was enough for him to get control of himself, and he stalked to the other end of the room and glared at both Ibana and Flint.

“What does he want?” Flint asked. “Is it about the fleet?”

“It is,” Olem answered.

Flint seemed to vacillate before pointing at Styke. “You, stay here. If you so much as put a finger outside this door I will put a bullet in your head. Olem, let Jes in the building.”

She disappeared, leaving Styke and Ibana alone inside her office once more. Styke took several deep breaths, letting himself calm down before shrugging Ibana’s hold off his shoulders. “I’m fine,” he said quietly. He’d imagined a quick apology and a quicker exit, and now he was stuck here with his worst enemy on the other side of the door. He should have had a better exit strategy. Slowly, he crept over and put his ear against the door.

In the next room, he heard Fidelis Jes enter and a cold exchange of pleasantries between the two.

“What’s going on?” Ibana whispered, joining him.

Styke listened carefully, only catching about half of the muffled conversation. “Jes is telling Flint about the fleet. Seems he wants to hire her.”

“She’s not working for him anymore?”

“No. That’s what Lindet said. Their contract was for Mama Palo.”

Ibana snorted. “You got lucky then. If she was still with him she would have handed us over. Or tried to.”

“I don’t think she would have,” Styke answered. He shushed her, trying to catch more of the exchange, but to no avail. “What are we going to do about this?”

“About what? Jes?” Ibana asked. “We’re going to kill him and use his skin to make you a new saddle.”

Styke rolled his eyes. “And people say I have anger problems. No, about the Dynize.”

“Sod the Dynize. We’re riding against the Blackhats.”

Styke stepped away from the door, taking Ibana by the arm and pulling her into the far corner, where they were less likely to be overheard. “If it’s true, and there’s a Dynize fleet out there, something is happening far bigger than you or I or the Mad Lancers.” He remembered Lindet’s warning to watch the horizon. Had she known this was coming?

Ibana lifted her face away from his, looking down her nose. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that we should lie low for a few months. See what happens. It may be that the Mad Lancers have more important things to do than slaughter Blackhats.”

“You’re going to let them get away with what they did to you?” Ibana hissed.

“Pit, no. I still want that saddle you promised me. But I formed the Mad Lancers to protect Fatrasta, not to avenge my own losses.”

“You did it for both.”

Styke chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Fair point. But something is happening.” He paused, a thought occurring to him. He replayed the conversation with Lindet last night through his head. “Pit,” he said breathlessly. “Lindet must have known they were coming.”

“How?” Ibana asked.

“She told me to watch the horizon. She said Fatrasta would face its greatest threat and that she didn’t think we would be prepared for it. I thought she was trying to throw me off the trail, but she was talking about the Dynize.” He was certain of it now, and he silently cursed Lindet for it. “Damn it, she could have just bloody well told me.”

“If she knew, why didn’t she say anything?”

“She didn’t think I needed to know,” Styke said bitterly. “You know that I’m the only person in the world who knows her birthday? If it’s not pertinent, she doesn’t share it. Just some bloody cryptic warnings. I –”

His next sentence was cut off by the door swinging open. Styke snatched for his knife, but it was just Lady Flint. She was wearing a scowl, looking like she’d aged five years in the time since she left the room. “Is Jes gone?” Styke asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?” Ibana demanded.

Flint crossed between them, rounding her desk and plopping down into a chair. Olem entered the room a moment later, taking up a spot just inside. Neither looked happy.

Finally, Flint said, “I need you and your Mad Lancers.”

“Excuse me?” Ibana did not sound pleased.

Flint’s tone was distant. “We’ll outfit you with horses and kit. I want you riding north within the hour. We’ve got eight hundred cuirassiers and three hundred dragoons stationed in Jedwar. You’re to take command of them and bring them back to the city.”

Styke’s chest was suddenly tight. “Why?”

“Because,” Flint said, “I’ve just been deputized as a general in the Fatrastan army. That fleet outside is making Lindet twitchy. I’ve been given complete control over the garrison and defenses of Landfall.”

“Is there going to be violence?”

“We don’t know. Lindet isn’t taking any chances, and I’m the best they’ve got.”

“What about Jes?” Styke asked.

Flint’s head turned, her eyes focusing on Styke with a single-minded determination that made him take half a step back. “You and the Blackhats are going to put aside your squabble until the danger outside has passed.”

“Like pit we will.” Ibana snorted.

“Like pit. You will,” Flint ordered.

Ibana scowled back at her, then said in a slightly chastised tone, “It’s Jes you have to worry about.”

Styke glanced between the two women, wondering if this would still come to blows. He’d never heard anyone speak to Ibana that way and live to tell the tale. But Ibana was still listening, so that was a good sign.

“Jes will stay the bloody pit out of my way while I am in command,” Flint said, “or I’ll put him in front of a firing squad before Lindet can so much as sneeze. You two can either follow my orders or get out of my office. I have real work to do.”

Styke glanced at Ibana, then down at his own hands. It was right there at his fingertips, a new commission for him and his men, with horses and kit and a real purpose. All he had to do was reach out and take it. And put aside a decade of hatred.

Ten years since he last sat in a saddle. His balls were going to be so damned sore by the end of the night. “We’ll leave at once,” he said.

Flint nodded as if their joining her was a foregone conclusion. “Good. Major Fles. Colonel Styke. Welcome to the Riflejacks. Now go pick up the rest of your command.”