He wished that Taniel was here. He had questions—questions he hadn’t known he would need to ask.
The first had to do with all the data he’d just scoured. Of the thousands of civilians who had come over with the army to occupy Landfall, he couldn’t find Mara. And not just the Mara … but he couldn’t even find a Mara. It was as if the name itself didn’t even exist.
Which forced him to wonder what the pit he was going to do if he couldn’t even find this woman.
CHAPTER 29
The Yellow Creek jail was one of the few brick buildings in the city, positioned just behind the mayor’s office at the end of a long street that terminated a hundred yards later at the base of one of the mountains. It was bigger than Vlora expected, with over two dozen holding cells guarded by a handful of deputies, all of whom kept a wary eye on Vlora as she was led down the hall to the last cell on the right.
Unlike the other cells, this one had several small windows, with real glass instead of bars, and a real bed and desk tucked into the corner. Taniel sat cross-legged on the bed, shoes off, jacket tossed over a chair as if he was staying in a hotel room instead of a cell. His brow was furrowed as he drew in his sketchbook, and he didn’t look up until the cell door was unlocked.
“Afternoon,” he said cheerfully.
Vlora paused in the doorway, noting that the guard had left the two of them alone. “Looks like you’re living the high life in here.”
“It’s a cell for important people,” Taniel explained.
“And you are?”
“A man with money.”
Vlora took the chair and pursed her lips at Taniel. “And you mocked me for paying for two rooms at the hotel.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” Taniel flipped the page in his sketchbook, then lifted his chin, looking down his nose at her. She remembered that look.
“You’re not drawing me,” she said.
“Of course not,” he replied as he began to sketch.
Vlora let it go. “Do they know who you are?” she asked quietly.
“They think my name is Tampo.” He paused to adjust the glove on his right hand, revealing a bit of red skin.
“And that?” Vlora asked, nodding at the hand.
“One Palo deputy knows who I am. She’s a Daughter of the Red Hand and knows the passwords, so I can trust her, but I haven’t been able to get much more than the city gossip and good meals. Speaking of which, I heard you met with the other big boss. Why do they call him Brown Bear Burt?”
“Has a big bearskin on his desk. Claims he got a lucky shot off at an Ironhook grizzly years ago and the name stuck.”
“And Burt? It’s an Adran name.”
“No idea. Palo here call themselves anything they want. How did you hear that, anyway? The gossip in this city is out of control.”
Taniel glanced up at her with a frown, pausing, before continuing his sketch. Vlora turned her face the other direction to annoy him. He didn’t seem to mind. “There’s ten thousand people crammed into a tiny valley in the middle of nowhere. Not much to do here besides poke your nose in other people’s business. Did you find it?”
Vlora shook her head. “I’ve checked two of the big valleys and a dozen of the little ones. Been at it all morning, too. But there are a few things you need to know.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s another powder mage in Yellow Creek.”
Taniel looked up sharply. “Oh?”
“A man named Nohan. Claimed he was in the Starlish Cabal. Ever heard of him?”
“I haven’t. Starlish, eh? They integrated their cabal, what, four years ago?”
“Six,” Vlora corrected. “Privileged and powder mages, fighting side by side in a royal cabal.”
“Times change.” Taniel shrugged. “You met him?”
“He came on to me last night.”
“And how did that go?” Taniel asked with a smirk.
“He’s on Jezzy’s payroll, but he suggested that the three of us team up and slaughter the entire city and steal all the gold we can carry.”
“Enterprising.”
“He sure seemed to think so. He didn’t take my rejection well.”
“I’m guessing you did it with your usual grace?”
“I called him a coward.”
“Well done,” Taniel said without a trace of sarcasm. “Sounds like it was warranted.”
“It was, but it means that we have a powder mage to look out for. I tried to make it clear I wasn’t his enemy, but he took the ‘coward’ bit personally and we beat the shit out of each other.”
Taniel squinted at her over his sketchbook. “Oh yeah. I didn’t notice that shiner when you walked in. So we have a rogue powder mage with a grudge in addition to all this other shit.” He finally set down his charcoal and rubbed his eyes, leaning back in the cell bed. He let his gaze wander around his cell, his cool demeanor broken by a distasteful sneer. “This is incredibly inconvenient.”
“I would appreciate help.”
“I tried bribing the sheriff to see the judge earlier,” Taniel said. “No can do. And she made it very clear that the moment I’m out of this cell, we won’t be welcome in this town anymore.”
Vlora quelled a rising frustration. “Meaning I have to look for this thing on my own? And I only have until you get out?”
“Sounds like it,” Taniel said with an apologetic smile.
“You’re the one with Ka-poel’s damned compass in your head.”
“Little good it’s done me. I spent a whole night looking for the artifact. All I can tell is that it’s here. I don’t know where, though. One other thing …” He hesitated. “The sheriff says there’s a good chance they’ll try to hang me. The local judge has been trying to crack down on violence.”
“Pit,” Vlora breathed. She wasn’t worried for Taniel’s fate. She was worried that he would kill a whole lot of innocent people when they tried to carry out the sentence. The ticking clock in the back of her head just got louder. All she could do was hurry. She made a sour face, thinking back to the figure she recognized in the street last night. “What can you tell me about the Predeii?”
That got Taniel’s attention. He closed his sketchbook and set it to one side, scooting to the edge of the bed. “That’s not a question I want to hear,” he said intently. “I don’t know anything about them, not any more than you—powerful Privileged that were responsible for summoning the gods to give order to the Nine, then responsible for the chaos that occurred once the gods left.”
“How powerful?” Vlora asked.
“Worth half a royal cabal on their own, is what Bo told me,” Taniel answered. He tilted his face to one side, watching Vlora cautiously. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I saw Prime Lektor last night.”
Taniel leaned on his fist, swaying to one side. “No,” he breathed. “We can’t afford to have them involved with this, too. You’re absolutely certain?”
“I recognized him in the street,” Vlora said, suddenly feeling less sure of herself. “It wasn’t until a couple hours later that I realized where I recognized him from. I think it was him, but I won’t be sure unless I see him again.”
“And I’ll bet my boots he’ll recognize you if he sees you first.”
Vlora swore under her breath. This damned city seemed to be getting smaller every day. First the spat between the big bosses, then a powder mage, and now a mythical Privileged older than her birth country. “If it is him, it can’t be a coincidence.”
“He’s here for the stone.”
“Of course. What else could it be?” Vlora asked with a shrug. “An ancient sorcerer doesn’t just happen to show up in the little frontier gold-rush city where we’re looking for an ancient artifact of great power.”
Taniel looked like he swallowed a lemon. “We’ve got to find him. Shit, I wish Ka-poel were here. Prime Lektor might be more than even I can handle. I’ve fought one of the Predeii before and couldn’t kill her.” He paused. “W
hy would Prime Lektor want the stone?”
“Power?”
“He’s an academic. Maybe he’s trying to keep it out of Lindet’s hands. Maybe he just wants to study it.”
“That,” Vlora said, “is too stupidly optimistic for me. We have to assume he’s an enemy.”
“Agreed.”
“Do I try to put a bullet in his head?”
“If that’ll even work,” Taniel snorted. “Pit.”
“You could get out any time you like,” Vlora pointed out.
“With violence,” Taniel admitted. “But yes. The city will close to us the moment I leave this cell, either by force or judicial order. I’ll cool my feet for the time being, and see what kind of information my Palo friend can get me. I’ve got to be careful who I trust with the Red Hand information. I still have quite a bounty on my head.”
“I’m going to look for Prime Lektor. If he’s here, then he might already know where the godstone is.”
“Be careful,” Taniel warned, raising his finger. “We don’t know what he’s capable of. One of those Predeii carved through half of Tamas’s powder cabal back during the coup.”
Vlora remembered. Those people were her friends and comrades. “She took them by surprise,” she said, hoping there wasn’t too much hubris in her bravado. “I intend on taking him by surprise.”
“And that powder mage?”
“Him, too.”
Taniel scowled, his expression uncertain. “I should get out of here.”
“No,” Vlora said. She could do this. She had to do this. Taniel’s help would be ideal, but she still didn’t fully trust his motives. If she could make this victory her own, it would be worth so much more. “You can’t attract attention. I’ll find Prime and the stone by the time you’re out of here.” She stood up. “But I need to use every minute to do it.”
Taniel took her hand, surprising her. “Vlora,” he said seriously, “don’t get yourself killed. There’s more going on here than we know. My Palo friend says that the Palo Nation has a presence here, but he doesn’t know anything else. If we can contact them, we might be able to get some help.”
Vlora didn’t know the first thing about getting in touch with agents of this Palo Nation. “I’m not exactly a welcome figure in the Palo community.”
“They don’t give a shit about the southern Palo. They only care if you can help them.”
“And can I help them?” She really didn’t like the sound of that.
“Maybe.” Taniel seemed torn. “I’ll see what I can find out from here. Just … be careful.”
CHAPTER 30
Styke was greeted by the mayor of Belltower as he entered the old city gates the day after the Mad Lancers relieved the city. The mayor was an older gentleman with the dark skin of a Deliv, distinguished in tails and hat, with spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He wore a red sash proclaiming his title, and he was on foot surrounded by a small entourage of dignitaries dressed in their churchgoing best. As Styke rode through the gates, the mayor swept off his hat and bowed.
There was a part of Styke that reveled in his fame, that enjoyed the women, booze, and money his reputation had gotten him in his youth. But being thanked had always felt strained and awkward. He tipped his hat in return and gave a small wave to the dignitaries.
“You’re Colonel Styke,” the mayor said.
Styke glanced over his shoulder, hoping that Ibana would arrive with some kind of emergency that needed his attention. Ka-poel lurked on horseback a few dozen feet behind him. Other than her and Celine, there were only a few of his lancers riding in to see the city, and they slunk off quickly without making eye contact.
The cowards.
Styke lowered Celine to the ground and dismounted, handing her Amrec’s reins. He shook the mayor’s hand, hoping his discomfort was obvious enough that the group would bugger off.
“My name’s Witbee,” the mayor introduced himself. “Mayor Witbee. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel Styke, and I must immediately apologize that the city is in no shape to give you the reception you deserve.” He gestured to his entourage. “These are all we could spare to come out and meet you. Everyone else is tending the wounded and putting out fires.”
“No offense taken,” Styke replied. “I’m not really one for receptions, to be honest.”
The mayor charged ahead anyway. “You arrived in the nick of time, Colonel. We sent for help weeks ago and only just received word that the Third Army was on its way to relieve us. But they won’t be here for days and …” His expression grew strained. “Well, we wouldn’t have lasted much longer. The bastards were lined up for a charge when you arrived.”
Styke resisted the urge to reply with I noticed and instead tried for a gracious smile, noting that Witbee had mentioned the Third Army.
“You charged a Privileged,” Witbee continued. “Without any of your own, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Privileged die like anyone else,” Styke replied. “It’s just a matter of getting close enough to put a lance through their eye.”
The mayor tugged at his collar, his eyes fluttering as if he were unused to such bold discussion of violence. He stuttered for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry you and your men camped out on the plain last night. I sent someone to invite you in, but they returned without an answer.”
“I sent them away. We had bodies to strip and wounded to tend to. Look, Mayor, I appreciate you coming out to greet me, but it’s clear that you’ve got a lot of problems to deal with. I’m going to be blunt with you: Everything that I’ve heard says that you’re one of the only cities on the west coast to survive the Dynize landing.”
Witbee took a shaky breath. “I’ve heard similar reports. We’ve been discussing the possibility of abandoning the city and sending the people inland.”
“With all due respect, that’s a terrible idea,” Styke said. “The Dynize are spread out, and Lindet’s field armies are finally engaging the enemy. If the Third Army is already on their way, they’ll need Bellport as a foothold in Dynize territory.”
“This … this is Dynize territory now, isn’t it?” Witbee asked, his expression fraught.
Styke pointed at the ground at their feet. “This is not Dynize territory, not yet. And I suggest you not abandon it. You’ve got what, a hundred thousand souls in Bellport?”
“About that, yes.”
“Comb the city for fighting men, engineers, and labor. Conscript everyone you have to. Rebuild your gun platforms, even if you’ve got nothing to put on them—the Third Army will have extras.” Styke wracked his brain for more advice, trying to remember the very same conversations he’d had with politicians during the Fatrastan War for Independence. The situation had been remarkably similar, except the Dynize had a lot more soldiers on the continent than the Kez did back then. He took the mayor by the elbow and pulled him aside, lowering his voice.
“A word of warning: The field armies are stripping the countryside for everything they can get their hands on—weapons, food, practical goods. If they arrive here and find Bellport in chaos, they’re going to steal everything you have to survive the winter and leave you to rot.”
“No!” Witbee protested. “The Lady Chancellor would never allow such a thing.”
“The Lady Chancellor is leaving that up to the discretion of her generals, and I know the general of the Third Army personally. He’ll strip you of everything he can.”
“What can we do?”
“Organize the city. Rebuild those gun platforms, reinforce the walls, and dig trenches. Get every craftsman in the city working toward the war effort and when General Dvory arrives, he’ll see a useful war asset rather than dead weight for him to strip of resources.”
Witbee drew himself up. “I will do exactly as you say. I’ve served the good people of Bellport faithfully for eight years. I will rally them for all we have.”
“And don’t let General Dvory push you around. Tell him that Ben Styke is
your friend and a city protector and that I won’t stand for any mistreatment of Fatrastan citizens.”
“Do you think it’ll come to that?” Witbee asked incredulously.
“I hope not.” Styke chuckled inwardly. If it did come to that, it would piss off Dvory something fierce. “If he continues to press, tell him that Lindet herself has guaranteed the city’s safety.”
“But she has done no such thing!”
“Consider me a mouthpiece of the Lady Chancellor herself,” Styke lied. He clapped the mayor on the shoulder and turned to the retinue, raising his voice so that everyone nearby could hear him. “The Mad Lancers came to resupply in Bellport. We’ll pay fair prices for what we need and won’t take what you can’t afford to spare. I’ll allow my men a night’s leave here before we move on tomorrow. If any of them refuse to pay for services or start fights, they will answer to me personally.”
He continued. “We lost about two hundred men in that fight.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll lose more to wounds. Anyone with courage and the ability to ride is welcome to join us when we leave tomorrow. If you don’t know how to fight, we’ll teach you how, and if you’re looking to punch the Dynize in the teeth for what they’ve done to your families and homes, I guarantee you the chance.” He nodded to himself. “That’s all. Thanks, Mayor.”
He returned to Amrec without another word, taking the reins from Celine and continuing on foot into the city. People stopped and stared as he passed by. He kept his head down and was left unmolested, but he could feel those eyes on his shoulders.
“How did I do?” he asked Celine.
“It was a good speech,” she said, nodding in approval.
“I’ve never got on with politicians. Don’t have the patience or the knack for obedience.”
“My da used to say that a politician is just a money-grubbing whore who won’t stoop to—”