Брайан Макклеллан - The Mad Lancers

But wondering made no difference. He might as well wish he’d never gotten out of bed the morning Prost had decided to beat Tel-islo. And he’d already made up his mind about what to do next. He still had obligations on this continent.

“Riders on the road!” someone shouted.

Styke climbed to his feet as soldiers abandoned their loading work and grabbed swords or carbines, climbing up onto the high ground on the opposite side of the road. Styke fetched his own carbine from Deshnar’s saddle and waited, watching.

A rider soon appeared on the horizon. He stopped just on the crest of a hill and turned in the road. A few moments later, he was joined by more riders, and Styke felt his stomach turn as dozens joined them. He glanced toward the keelboats – only half-loaded – and realized that they wouldn’t be able to make much of a fight.

“Launch those three boats,” he said, gesturing as he painfully climbed into Deshnar’s saddle. “Everyone whose horse isn’t on the boats, get ready to ford the river. Go!”

The men scrambled to do his bidding, and Styke let Deshnar walk a few dozen feet toward the riders. He shaded his eyes against the sun, trying to determine the color of their uniforms. His curiosity was answered as the group began to move once again, coming toward them down the road, and he was soon able to make out a mix of sunflower yellow jackets and tan and green. They came on slowly, cautiously.

Three keelboats launched, and the remaining thirty or so lancers were mounted beside the road, ready to head into the water if they needed to make a run for it. Styke held up his hand, signaling them to wait, trying to read the strangers’ body language. It was clear they weren’t in a hurry.

At fifty yards, he recognized their commanding officer. She wore the uniform of a colonial and carried a lance much like his own. She slumped in the saddle lazily, yet couldn’t conceal her great height – a little taller than Rezi, if Styke remembered right. She had strong hands; square, powerful shoulders; and a bemused, sour expression as she signaled a halt to her men and rode out ahead of them to meet Styke.

Styke’s grip tightened on his carbine as he examined the woman. It had been well over two years since they’d last met, and he had the scars from the night they’d spent together. He still hadn’t decided whether that was a good memory or a bad one.

“Captain Fles,” he said, nodding.

“Are we that formal now, Ben?”

Styke snorted. “How are you, Ibana?”

Ibana tugged off one riding glove and examined her fingernails. “I’ve been better. Some asshole in Landfall gave me two hundred lancers and ordered me to track down and kill an old lover. You? You look like shit.”

“I’ve had better weeks,” Styke acknowledged.

“I heard they killed Rezi.”

Styke stiffened, trying to determine where that line of thought was going to lead.

“I always liked Rezi,” Ibana said, her forehead wrinkling. “She was good for you.” Styke would have expected a note of bitterness in that statement, but there was no trace of any. He decided not to respond to that.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “two hundred lancers. What took you so long to find me?”

Ibana sucked on her teeth, glancing over her shoulder at the cavalry that filled the road behind her. None of them looked terribly eager for a fight. “We, uh, got lost. Might have dawdled a bit. You know. That sort of thing.”

“I appreciate that,” Styke said, feeling a little more certain about things, but still cautious. “But you seem to have caught up with us.”

“Heard you were heading this direction. Hard not to follow up on that.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now we’re here,” Ibana echoed.

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Styke glanced over his shoulder at his own beat-up group of lancers, then examined the faces of hers. He spotted many old acquaintances, comrades, and even some friends. In fact, now that he looked carefully, he realized that he recognized most of the people with her. “You didn’t handpick your search party, did you?”

“I might have,” Ibana smirked.

“A revolution has started in Redstone. We’re heading that way. I could use a few more men, and a new second-in-command. They killed Blye.”

Ibana grunted. “Sad about Blye. Another good one.”

“There will be a lot more good ones in the ground before this is over.”

Ibana tilted her head to the side, then turned one last time in the saddle, sweeping her gaze across the group behind her. “Major Styke, sir, I think we’re going to need more keelboats.”

“Get looking,” Styke ordered, a grin spreading across his face. “And give me your fastest rider with a spare horse. I want to send word to Lindet that we’re bringing her some cavalry.”

Ibana turned her horse around. “You heard the man!” she bellowed. “We need more keelboats! Ferlisia, track down a spare mount and get your ass up here!” She nudged her mount toward Styke’s, and soon they were sitting side by side, watching as the fresh company of lancers fell out to help finish loading the keelboats, and groups headed upstream and downstream to find more. The transition had been almost instantaneous, two groups forming into one, and Ibana sitting beside him felt as natural as the saddle beneath him. “Do you have a name for this company?” she asked.

“I haven’t come up with a good one.” Styke felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Ibana was a damned good officer, and she had picked a fantastic group of lancers. If Styke had been forced to fight them, he would have been hard-pressed – even at full strength.

“You hear what they’re calling you in Landfall?” she asked.

“Didn’t know they were calling me anything.”

“Oh, you’re the talk of the whole damned town now, my friend. When I left, word was already going around that a giant had staved in the head of Sirod’s personal Privileged and twisted off Sirod’s head.”

“I didn’t twist his head off. Just around.”

“They’re calling you Mad Ben Styke.”

Styke couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning. “Crazy or furious?”

“Both.”

“I like it.” He paused, considering the men working together by the river. “Mad Ben Styke,” he muttered. “Mad Ben Styke’s Mad Lancers. How’s that?”

“I’ll get someone working on a banner.”