Styke lay on his back in the long grass of a Fatrastan floodplain and stared up at the blue, cloudless sky, meditating on the events of the last two weeks. Somewhere off to his left Ibana was yelling at someone, though he couldn’t imagine who because the rest of the Mad Lancers were either laid up in the surgeries or off in the city looting Blackhat munitions depots. In his head, he imagined the look on Fidelis Jes’s face when he realized how much shit the lancers had managed to steal before the Blackhats returned to the city, and then he remembered that Fidelis Jes’s face was attached to a head in a bag, quite possibly still tied to Ibana’s saddle.
The thought brought a smile to Styke’s face. Jes’s corpse was probably already burning on a mass pyre, anonymous, with a thousand others south of the city. A fitting end for a man who dedicated his life to making sure everyone knew and feared him.
“What are you grinning about?”
Styke turned his head to find Ibana standing over him, hands on her hips, looking nonplussed. “Thinking about Jes.”
“Of course you are. By the way, that head is starting to stink. What do you want to do with it?”
“Would it be crass to ram it on the end of my lance and ride through Landfall all day tomorrow?”
“Sounds perfectly suitable to me. We have a problem, though.”
Styke sat up, fighting a brief dizzy spell. “What is it?”
“The Mad Lancers always ride with three hundred. We started off with two hundred and forty-three yesterday, and now we’re down to a little over a hundred and fifty. Where are we going to find more men?”
“That’s your job.”
“Like the pit it is,” Ibana said. She stalked away, then stalked back. Her pacing continued for a few moments before she stopped. “You know, those Riflejack cavalry were quite good.”
“I’m not sure what Flint would do to you if she found you recruiting from her ranks, but I wouldn’t blame her.”
“As if,” Ibana scoffed.
“You want to fight her?”
“ … No.”
Styke turned, feeling the crack and pop of his spine, then lay back down on the soft grass. He took off his ring and rolled it over his fingertips, examining the scuffs and nicks in the silver, most of them too deep to polish out. “Didn’t think so. Find them somewhere else. In fact, what about those Blackhats that rode with us against the Dynize? Go round them up, see if a few have a spine.” He put his ring back on.
“I could try for one of those Privileged,” Ibana mused. “We haven’t had a Privileged with us since … I forget her name.”
“Jain? Jaim?” Styke asked. “I don’t remember, either. Pit, she was good-looking, though.”
Ibana kicked him in the ribs. He clutched at them, laughing, until it felt like the movement had burst a couple of stitches on his shoulder. He checked his shirt, noting a new splotch of blood, and went back to staring at the sky.
“Why the pit are you down there?” Ibana asked.
“Can’t smell the burning corpses,” Styke answered. Which was true. But he also liked the peacefulness of it, and the way that not a single cloud marred the sky and he was allowed, for the first time in more than a decade, just to lie there and do nothing. Besides, he was cut to pit, and it hurt to move.
“Ben!” a voice called.
Styke tried to sit up, but he was tackled back to the ground by Celine, who wrapped her arms around his neck and pinned him, squeezing until her face turned red. Styke put one arm around her, squeezing back, before picking her up by the back of her trousers and depositing her on his chest. “You survived the fight,” he observed.
“I did!” Celine said. “Sunin let me kill a man.”
Styke sat up, sending Celine tumbling to the grass. “What?” he asked flatly.
Celine righted herself, then nodded emphatically. “I held the lance and everything. I put it through his freckled cheek and watched his brains come out the other side. It was gross.”
Styke got to his feet, ignoring Ibana’s chortle, and searched around for Sunin. He didn’t have to look far. She was a stone’s throw away, tending to her horse. “What the pit, Sunin!” he shouted. “You took her into battle? You let her kill someone?”
“She has to learn to fight someday,” Sunin said over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around.
“Yeah, when she doesn’t need help holding a lance. Damn it, Sunin, you were supposed to keep her safe.”
“I had men to kill. Besides, she’s safe, isn’t she?”
Styke growled, looking at Ibana, who was now bent over, shaking with laughter. Styke lifted a foot and planted it on her shoulder, shoving her backward. She fell into the grass laughing, face red. When he turned back to Celine she was staring at him with her chin lifted, like she was expecting something.
“You,” he said, pointing a finger at the little girl, “I’m not happy with you. You shouldn’t be killin’ anyone, not at your age.”
“Yes,” Celine replied haughtily. “Well, I did, and you can’t undo that. I’m a hero now.”
“By whose standard?”
“Yours! I killed a man during wartime. You told me that makes you a hero. I wanted to be one, and now I am.”
Ibana, now lying with her limbs splayed in a gasping heap, let out a barking laugh. “She’s got you there, Benjamin.”
“Damn it, I—” Styke cut himself off. He gritted his teeth, wondering what her dad would have done to punish her for something like this. Probably buy her a pint and take her to a drug den, the stupid git. Styke leaned over, searching through the grass for one of the tiny red wildflowers that were common this time of year. He plucked it, tying the stem in a knot, then deposited it behind her ear. “All right,” he said quietly. “You’re a hero. But don’t you go into battle again, you promise?”
Celine stared at her feet glumly.
“And no taking pointers from that old witch over there. Sunin can’t even hold a lance straight anymore. I’ll teach you to fight myself—by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to gut someone twice your size without breaking a sweat.” Celine looked up, beaming, and angled her head toward him to show off the flower. Styke surprised himself by leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. “Now go kick Sunin in the shins really hard for me.”
She ran off, and Styke glanced at Ibana to find her staring at him, a strange smile on her face. The moment he turned his head it disappeared, and she climbed to her feet with all trace of laughter gone. “I suppose this is gonna be like it was back during the war, isn’t it? I go do all the work, and you lounge around waiting for the next battle?”
“That was the plan.”
Ibana rolled her eyes. “What is the next battle?”
“Not sure,” Styke said, considering. “We’ll stick with Lady Flint. She needs good cavalry, and she pays well.”
“Rumor has it she tried to arrest Lindet right before the Dynize attacked.”
Styke had heard that rumor as well. It made hitching his horse to her wagon a riskier move, and removed the protection she’d originally promised against the Blackhats. But it also made him like her twice as much. “Then she definitely needs more cavalry, and the lancers might get to kill some Blackhats after all.” He frowned, recalling the ships still anchored out beyond the breakers and the piles of dead being burned all around the city. “The Dynize don’t have just one army,” he said quietly. “I don’t give a shit about this godstone thing, but they’ve invaded my country, and that pisses me off. They’ll be back, and I intend on being there to punch them in the face.”
“You don’t think Flint’s going to just up and off to the Nine?” Ibana asked.
“I don’t,” Styke said. “Even if she finds an open port at a nearby city with enough ships to transport her men … no, I think she’s found something she’s not willing to budge on. That obelisk.” He lifted his head, looking east to where the godstone still lay where it had fallen during the Dynize attack. “Something about it, and the fact that both Lindet an
d the Dynize want it so badly, sets her off. We’ll stay with her for now.” He was suddenly tired, feeling the weight of a battle on his shoulders, and he gave a brief thought for the dead left behind.
“Are you Colonel Styke?”
Styke raised his eyes to find a man on foot, wearing the sharp, clean uniform of a Blackhat with a Silver Rose pinned to his chest. He definitely wasn’t one of the men who’d gone into battle with them yesterday. Styke reached behind him, touching the handle of the knife at his belt. “I am.”
“Message for you,” the Blackhat said, handing over a sealed note. The paper was blank, the wax seal without distinguishing marks. Styke sniffed at the paper, smelling the faintest hint of sorcery. He broke the seal with his thumb and read the contents.
Brother, I understand you have survived the battle. I give you my congratulations and my thanks. The nation owes you and the Riflejacks a great debt. One which, unfortunately, will never be paid. Lady Flint has decided we are enemies, and therefore will have to be removed.
The Dynize will not stop—another fleet, as big as the one that attacked Landfall, has dropped their soldiers about eighty miles south of the city. I beg that you abandon Flint and ride to find me in Redstone. I have summoned my armies back from the frontier and instituted a conscription. We will crush these Dynize invaders and take back what is ours before something worse can come of this.
If you see Fidelis Jes, do not kill him. I have use for you both.
It was signed with a simple “S.”
Sister.
Styke rolled the paper between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully, then started when it suddenly burst into flames. Within moments the letter was consumed by a sorcerous fire.
“What just happened?” Ibana asked.
Styke brushed the ashes off his fingertips and sniffed them. “A ward,” he said. “Likely triggered to burn the message within a few minutes of my breaking the seal.”
“What did it say?”
Styke ignored her, looking at a black smudge of ash on his palm. “Will you take a return message?” he asked the Blackhat.
“Yes, sir. The lady expects it.”
“Good. Ibana, fetch this nice young man the sack you have tied to your saddle.”
CHAPTER 66
So you’re saying this isn’t over?” Michel asked.
Styke shook his big head and spread his hands. “According to Lindet, there’s a whole other army headed this way. We have less than a week.”
Michel stood on the plain south of Landfall, just a few hundred yards from the remains of the land-barge. The big wagon had been struck by errant sorcery during the battle—lightning that almost fried Michel where he stood, and destroyed enough of the big wheels that it wouldn’t be going anywhere without being entirely rebuilt.
He waited with a group consisting of Styke, Lady Flint, Taniel, and Ka-poel and wondered what had gone so terribly wrong in his life to throw him into such company. He shouldn’t be here with warriors, sorcerers, and officers, trying to make decisions that would affect hundreds of thousands of people. He should be watching from the shadows, causing the tiny ripples that kept the government running.
He did not, he decided, like the stage, even if it was so far a small one, because he knew that somewhere was a boardroom filled with the mayor and the city elders, waiting for some sort of response from Vlora regarding the battle with the Dynize. Somewhere was the Lady Chancellor, wondering where her ancient Dynize relic and her Blackhat grand master had gotten to.
“We can’t defend the city,” Flint said. “Not without heavy reinforcements. Fort Nied cannot withstand another shelling, and we’re down well over half of our forces. Did Lindet indicate if she was willing to contribute to the war effort?” She seemed annoyed that it had been Styke, and not her, who received a communiqué from Lindet.
Styke grimaced. “She’s pulling back all the way to Redstone and gathering her armies. Sounds like she’s written off Landfall. She’ll let the Dynize take it, then return with a bigger army—presumably before they manage to use the godstone.”
“Do they know how to use it?” Michel asked. He didn’t belong here with the others, but the least he could do was add to the conversation.
“We’re not sure,” Taniel said, his eyes on Ka-poel, who gave an exaggerated shrug. “The godstone has been buried beneath the dirt outside of Landfall for over a thousand years. The knowledge may be lost, but we don’t know how good the Dynize record-keeping is.”
“They knew it was here,” Flint pointed out.
“Because of their own records, or because their spies told them Lindet had unearthed it?” Taniel responded. “We don’t know enough about the Dynize, but I suspect that’s going to change far quicker than we’d like.”
Flint seemed distant and withdrawn, and stared across the plain toward the godstone. “They’re coming for that,” she said.
“I’m tempted to just give it to them.” Styke snorted.
“Absolutely not,” Flint snapped back. “Not while I’m still breathing. They want a new god, and I’ve seen the damage gods do. I will not allow it to fall into their hands.”
There was a flurry of gestures from Ka-poel, and Taniel translated. “Given enough time, we could reconstruct the land-barge. I imagine Professor Cressel will help us. He’s obsessed with the thing.”
“To what end?” Flint asked, glancing sidelong at Taniel and Ka-poel. “Where would you take it?”
“We take it to the Hadshaw River, put it on a couple of barges, and bring it north. There’s more than one Palo stronghold we could send it to where it would be safe, and give us time to study it.”
“It should not be studied,” Flint insisted.
Ka-poel pursed her lips, tilting her head in a very clear message. Why?
“Because we’re toying with something we don’t understand. Ka-poel is powerful, but that … thing can make gods. I wouldn’t trust myself to toy with it. I certainly don’t trust you.”
Ka-poel glared openly at Flint, who seemed unaffected. Taniel sighed. “So what do you suggest? Burying it back in the ground and hoping the Dynize can’t figure out where it was?”
Michel couldn’t help himself. He was surrounded by some of the most famous people in the world, and all they could do was bicker. He let out a laugh, and then found everyone staring at him. He cleared his throat. “It’s simple, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Styke asked.
“We destroy it. Blow the damn thing to the pit. I read somewhere that black powder is caustic to Privileged, and can even have dampening powers on sorcery. Just strap it with all the powder barrels you can find and set it off.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Ka-poel snorted. Taniel sighed unhappily, while Styke looked indifferent. Flint gave an emphatic nod. “All right,” she said. “We destroy it. If you won’t, then I will. Are you going to fight me on this, Taniel?”
Ka-poel launched into a silent tirade, her hands moving quickly, angrily. Taniel watched it go on, then finally turned to Flint with a resigned sigh. “No, we won’t fight you on it. We’ll help you destroy it.”
Flint was off a moment later, yelling for powder kegs, while Taniel and Ka-poel conferred among themselves. Styke seemed untalkative, so Michel found himself alone, wandering off across the cotton fields with no real direction in mind. In the distance, Landfall still smoldered and he wondered if the rioting had finally died down. According to Taniel, his Palo had flushed out the Dynize agents, then rallied the rioters to put out the flames. It sounded too good to be true, but so did the fact that he was still alive after such a vicious battle.
Michel walked toward Landfall slowly, feeling sick to his stomach. So many deaths over such a stupid thing, this godstone. He cheered silently for Flint to blow it to the pit, even if it made Taniel and Ka-poel angry. After so many years as their spy, he realized that he no longer knew their goals.
He realized that, even worse, he no longer knew his own goals. His mission had been accom
plished, his cover betrayed. By all the rules of espionage he should disappear—maybe even flee the continent altogether. He wondered if he could use the Platinum Rose to withdraw a king’s ransom from a bank and vanish before anyone noticed, and if Mother would enjoy someplace with a cooler climate. Maybe he’d head in the opposite direction of Taniel and Flint, and go to Adro.
“Sir,” a voice said, and Michel was startled to find himself no longer alone. It was one of the Blackhats, a young woman with a torn jacket, a Silver Rose on her breast, and a crutch under one arm. “Agent Hendres reporting, sir.”
Michel blinked back at her for several moments before he remembered that the Platinum Rose was still pinned to his chest. “Right,” he said. “What do you have to report?”
Hendres looked slightly bewildered for a moment, looking first at Michel and then toward Landfall. “Sir, I … have nothing to report. But I just wanted to know: I overheard Lady Flint talking to one of her men. Has the Lady Chancellor really abandoned Landfall to the Dynize?”
Michel sighed, cursing Flint and her military-loud voice. “I hope not,” he replied, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a bald-faced lie.
“Thing is, sir, you spoke to us yesterday before the fight about our friends and families. There’s not many of us left, but we’d like to head back to help them get out of the city.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Why are you standing here yapping at me?”
“Orders, sir.”
Michel looked down at the Platinum Rose. He unpinned it, lifted it over his head to throw it into the cotton fields, then thought better of it and slipped it into his pocket. “I’m nobody to be giving orders,” he explained. “I just said the things I did because they needed to be said.”
Hendres’s face fell, and she nodded slowly, looking down at her boots. The sight of her disappointment made Michel think of all the times his mother had given him that same look, not knowing that he—the real him—was working for the very things she valued.
“If you need orders,” Michel said, removing the Platinum Rose from his pocket and holding it up, “then you have them. Get the men back in the city. Tell them to find their families. They can help rebuild if they like, or abandon Landfall. I don’t know if the Dynize are planning on burning it down or occupying it, but you’d better make it quick.” He put the Rose back in his pocket, then walked over to offer Agent Hendres his arm. She leaned against it gratefully, and the two of them began the long walk toward Landfall.