Wrath of Empire

Chapter 47

Styke sat in the deep, oppressive darkness of the Hock, listening to the sounds of the forest and the distant snores of lancers in their beds. Unable to sleep, he’d found a spot on the edge of a ravine some fifty yards from the camp where he could see the smallest sliver of starlight through the thick branches overhead. Somewhere nearby, a critter stirred in the underbrush, approaching him slowly and fleeing when he shifted to get more comfortable.

His mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts as he considered the whole of his life for the first time since the labor camps and wondered if perhaps he was not the person he’d always fancied himself. He thought of Valyaine’s statement about Styke expecting loyalty and obedience but never giving his own. He thought about Celine’s defiance in defense of Ka-poel, reminding him that he would – and had – gone off on his own and just expected the lancers to be there when he returned.

It was one thing to be called a hypocrite by a full-grown man he intended to kill. It was a whole other to have that confirmed by a little girl.

Styke wondered if perhaps, all these years, even while losing himself in the labor camps, he had bought into his own legend: that of an unkillable monster, a force of nature. Maybe deep down he had begun to believe what people said about him.

He heard someone coming from the camp through the underbrush toward him. He could tell from the weight of the step and the way she moved that it was Ibana. She joined him up there, settling down next to him and pushing a skin into his hands. He smelled wine and took a sip.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. “It’s four in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Styke responded.

They shared a few companionable minutes in silence, handing the wineskin back and forth, and Styke felt a calmness come over him from Ibana’s presence. They had not been this close – physically – since the war and it felt good to feel her hand brush his as they exchanged the wine. She’d been a guidepost since the beginning of the Mad Lancers, his levelheaded second-in-command, the one who would keep everything running even when he had to meet with Lindet or assassinate an enemy general or any of the other shit he got up to.

“I’ve been thinking …” Styke began.

“I’ve warned you to let me do the thinking.” There was a long pause, and Ibana let out a soft sigh. “About what?”

“About being a hypocrite.”

Ibana snorted. “Still? Is this because Valyaine called you one?”

“Celine did, too, just a couple hours ago. I think that I am, and I don’t really like the feeling it gives me. I’ve always looked down on officers and politicians as hypocrites and cowards, and now, so long into this life, I realize that I am what I’ve always derided.”

Ibana remained silent, so Styke continued. “I am a hypocrite, but I think I am too far along for it to be helped. To break my hypocrisy, I would have to swear allegiance to some higher power, or I would have to dismiss the Mad Lancers and head off on my own path. I am not willing to do either.” He felt Ibana shake beside him, and it took him several moments to realize that she was laughing at him. “What the pit is so funny?”

She put a hand on his thigh and leaned over, and he was surprised to feel her lips against his cheek. She pulled away, wiping her sleeve across her eyes and chuckling. “You really think you’re a hypocrite? I’ll give you one thing: You were a hypocrite. Your double standard during the war was something we all decided to let slide because of who and what you are.”

“So you discussed this?” Styke asked, incredulous. “Behind my back?”

“You think you’re the only one to bad-mouth your superiors?”

Styke felt stung by the revelation. It was so simple. So stupid and obvious. Another hypocrisy. “What am I?” he asked.

“You’re Ben Styke.”

“Because you say I am,” Styke insisted. He felt angry, confused. He was not used to delving this deep into his own insecurities. He had always trampled them underfoot, ignoring them like so much garbage, and moved on with his life. Why couldn’t he now? The old way had gotten results, and he needed results right now.

“You’re not just Ben Styke because we say you are, though I admit that the allegiance of the people who follow you gives your name weight,” Ibana said thoughtfully. “You’re Ben Styke because you always lead the charge. Because you can break a Warden’s back and crack a dragonman’s skull. Because you’re big and strong enough to do whatever you want and yet you still have a sense of right and wrong. Even if it’s a twisted one.”

Styke stared through the darkness at his crippled hands, feeling the twinges in his wrist when he moved his fingers. He thought about how his doubt and pain went away when he wrapped his fingers around the lance and how all his other failings seemed to disappear when he charged into the face of the enemy.

“You’re not a hypocrite, Ben,” Ibana said. “You were, but you aren’t anymore.”

“I haven’t changed.”

“Haven’t you?” Ibana demanded. “The old you wouldn’t have spared Tenny Wiles or Valyaine. Definitely not Dvory. Not a chance. The old you wouldn’t have sworn allegiance to Lady Flint. Seeing the way you look at her is the first time I’ve seen you truly respect a superior officer.” She ticked off two fingers, then a third. “You took Celine under your wing, and you’ve always hated kids. Besides” – Ibana laughed again – “you didn’t ask any of us to follow you. We came because we saw that you needed us – not because we needed you.”

Styke felt his inner turmoil begin to ebb. “You’re a better liar than I remember.”

“No lies,” Ibana said. “Maybe I dressed it up a little. But it’s still the truth. And I still stand behind what I said before: We’re here now, and we’re all depending on you to remain Ben Styke. You can be a different man and still lead the charges.”

“Do you think the men doubt me because I let Tenny, Valyaine, and Dvory live?” Styke asked.

“Look, I know I gave you shit before, but to be honest … any grumbles that might have spread were silenced when we came upon you facing down six dragonmen,” Ibana said.

Styke chuckled. “I didn’t do that by choice.”

“But you still did it. Not a lot of people see six dragonmen and draw a knife. Most will run. Pit, I’d run.”

They finished off the wine, sitting in silence for some time before Ibana drew in a quick breath, then laughed softly.

“What?” Styke asked.

“It’s Celine,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that all these things – these doubts, these changes – that have come over you, they’re not because you faced a firing squad or spent a decade in the camps. They’re because you have a child now.”

Styke felt his face flush. “She’s not mine.”

“Oh, please. I’ve heard you refer to her as ‘my girl.’ You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me. Celine is your child whether she came from your loins or not, and that’s made you a different man.” She turned toward him, and even in the darkness he could feel her piercing stare. “Tell me, do you fear death?”

“Of course,” Styke scoffed. “Everyone fears death.”

“There’s a difference between being suicidal and not fearing death,” Ibana said, “and the Ben I knew never feared death. So do you?”

Styke thought about it for a moment. Death was such an abstract notion: It always felt so far away, but he knew better than most that it could strike at any moment. He’d been within a knife blade of death on hundreds of occasions, and sometimes closer. When he said he feared death, it was a mechanical lie, said because that’s what normal people were supposed to say. He had never feared death. Even when Fidelis Jes had cut him down, leaving him in a puddle of his own blood, he had not feared death. He had only feared leaving this world without taking Fidelis Jes with him.

And, he realized, he had feared one other thing.

“I don’t,” he said. “But I fear leaving Celine alone.”

“I call it the same thing,” Ibana said, sitting back. “Fearing your death because you won’t go on living versus fearing your death because someone else needs you is just semantics. You fear for Celine, and I’ve never known you to fear. You look at her in a way you’ve never looked at a friend or a lover, including me.”

Styke realized that he heard a note of hurt in her voice. He swallowed, uncertain of what to say, and decided to let it go. She had not meant for him to hear it.

He felt her hand on his thigh again, and her body shifted toward his; her face drew close. “Quiet the inner demons, Ben,” she told him. “They’ve never been worth your time before, and they certainly shouldn’t be now.”

They were interrupted by the sound of hooves along the trail on the ridge above them. Ibana pulled away, and Styke listened as the hooves descended the road down into the hollow where the lancers camped. He heard a distant voice that he recognized as Ferlisia’s call his name.

Ibana sighed, slapping him on the shoulder. “Go on. You’ve got work to do.”

Reluctantly, Styke descended the ridge and headed into the camp. He found Ferlisia outside his empty tent, scowling at one of the guards. He put his hand on her shoulder, turning her around and gesturing for her to lower her voice. “Did you find them?” he asked.

“I did,” she said excitedly. “They’re camped about three miles from here. They’re not trying to hide, but they picked a place that would be suicide for us to attack: a hill just inside the eastern edge of the Hock with steep sides and only one spot that horses could easily climb. They have lots of wounded men and horses.”

Styke took a deep breath. Ka-poel would be there, no doubt. She was resourceful enough that she was probably still alive – unless the enemy commander had orders to kill her in particular. He lifted his head, seeing Ibana emerge from the woods. “Go find Jackal for me,” he told her.

“Are we going to attack?” Ibana asked.

“Not exactly.”