Брайан Макклеллан - Blood of Empire

Orz didn’t seem to notice the stir his words caused. “Because you don’t have updated maps of Dynize. No outsider has set foot on our shore and been allowed to depart again for over a hundred years, and that means you have no idea how the Jagged Fens have changed since your map was made. The Fens are no longer a wilderness. They may seem it from the outside, yes; we’ve been very careful to keep our shoreline looking static to foreign sailors. But the Fens have been tamed. The godstone you seek is not sunk into some swamp. It was rediscovered forty years ago and excavated. The scholars and sorcerers did not think it wise to move it, so instead we built a city around it. We moved the entire capital. The godstone is now the centerpiece of the emperor’s palace, less than sixty miles from where we stand. The road you wish to use is a heavily trafficked highway rather than a backwater dirt track, and there are at least eight population centers between here and the capital.”

Styke took a step back, feeling like he’d been punched. To pit with riding through the damned wilderness. If Orz was telling the truth, he was now separated from both his army and their target by several cities and whatever garrisons they might hold.

Orz spread his hands. “May I see your map?”

Numb, Styke gave a nod. Celine handed over the map case, and Styke passed it to the dragonman. Orz carefully drew out the regional map and unrolled it, giving it an appraising glance. “From what I overheard, you planned on landing here, correct?” He pointed to the rendezvous.

“Yes.” Styke briefly considered that he was giving vital intelligence to the enemy. What if Orz snatched the maps and made a run for it, taking knowledge of the invasion back to his people? But Styke was still trying to process Orz’s claims, and he felt suddenly sapped of all energy to consider intrigue.

“It’s a good place to land. Inhospitable, dense swampland. You’re lucky, because they’ll have some time to make preparations and scout before they are discovered.” Orz tapped another spot, roughly two-thirds of the way down the coast between their current location and the rendezvous, and about twenty miles inland. “This is the Dynize capital, home of the godstone. It’s named Talunlica. To reach your rendezvous, you will have to pass through or very close to Talunlica, and you will not be able to do so undetected.

“As I said,” Orz continued, “I will exchange my help for yours. My parents live in the capital. They are the former heads of a Household and have since stepped down. ‘Retired’ is your word, yes? If you help me get them safely out of the city and into hiding, I will make sure you reach the rest of your army.”

Styke had no idea how reaching Ibana and the rest of the Mad Lancers was going to help. He’d brought twenty-five hundred cavalry over – enough to seize and secure an artifact in the middle of the swamp while they figured out how to destroy it. But the Dynize had built an entire damn city around the thing. How was he going to meet up with Ibana, storm a city, crush a garrison, and give Ka-poel time to unravel the damn thing’s secrets?

He took a deep breath, letting the emotions roll over him, turning his uncertainty into focus. One thing at a time. “How do you propose getting twenty foreign cavalry through the center of government in a place where foreigners aren’t allowed?”

That serious smile crossed Orz’s expression again. “Foreigners are not completely unknown in Dynize.”

Ka-poel gestured emphatically. Explain .

“Shipwrecked sailors, foolish explorers, and the descendants of a handful of merchant families that were allowed to remain in Dynize when the borders closed. There is an entire” – he paused, searching for the word – “ ‘subculture,’ I think you’d say, surrounding foreigners. It would take far too long to explain, but the vast majority of them are slaves – the only legal slaves remaining in the empire.”

“You want us to pose as slaves?” Styke demanded. He immediately envisioned his time in the labor camps, chained together with convicts, forced to dig ditches for his evening gruel. He had to stifle a surge of fury in his breast.

“Yes, slaves,” Orz said, speaking quickly as several of the Lancers gave voice to the same fears that had risen in Styke. “But I do not think ‘slave’ has the same meaning to you and me. In Dynize, a slave is a member of a Household. They do not get to choose their Household, but they do have jobs, families, security. Many of them act as Household guards. Still slaves, yes, but treated well.”

Styke relaxed somewhat, rolling his shoulders, and nodded for Orz to continue.

“I am a dragonman. Very few people who see these tattoos dare to question my word. I can pass myself off as escorting twenty slaves and” – he gestured to the armor strapped to Amrec’s saddle – “an acquisition of Kressian armor from up north. We will pose as members of a Household that has little to no presence in the capital. As long as we keep moving without hesitation or delay, there shouldn’t be any problems.” Orz spread his arms, looking around at the assembled Lancers and once again allowing his gaze to linger for a few seconds on Ka-poel.

A niggle of urgency touched the back of Styke’s mind, and he glanced toward the swamp, hoping to catch sight of either of his scouts. Those damned Dynize soldiers might be on them at any moment, and he needed to set up an ambush or get moving. “We’re getting more out of this than you are,” he said. “Why?”

“Because,” Orz said simply, “your plan will disrupt the local politics and mask the disappearance of my parents. And I don’t think you have any real chance of success. It is a fool’s errand, and I find myself drawn to it in the same way I was drawn to spitting at the feet of an emperor I didn’t love even though I knew I would suffer the consequences.”

“He thinks he’s giving charity to a bunch of simpletons,” someone said angrily from the back of the group.

Orz held up one finger, a genuine smile cracking the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary. I have seen Ben Styke kill several dragonmen in single combat. I have seen the carnage wrought by the Mad Lancers against the very best Dynize cavalry. And I have seen her” – he pointed at Ka-poel – “break the strongest bone-eye in the world. You are the only group I can possibly imagine succeeding at this mission, and even if you all die in the attempt, you will cause Ka-Sedial many sleepless nights. That is enough for me.”

Styke weighed his options. Was this a ruse? Or was everything Orz had said true? If so, did Styke have any other option beyond trusting him? He glanced at Ka-poel and considered demanding Orz give her his blood. But what if Orz was telling the truth, and the very request drove him away? That would leave Styke and his men stranded in enemy territory with no way of reaching the rest of the Lancers.

His attention was drawn back to the swamp as a pair of figures sprinted out of the undergrowth and across a wide, shallow stream. It was Zac and Markus. The pair were coated in swamp slime, faces dirty, eyes wide. They pushed their way through the assembled Lancers, and Markus took a deep breath, glancing fearfully at Orz, before nodding excitedly at Styke. “Uh, sir…”

“Spit it out,” Styke ordered.

“Ben, the landing party is dead.”

“What do you mean, dead?”

“Sixty-four of them. All dead. Looked like most of them were picked off in small groups, most of them without a chance of drawing their weapons.” He glanced at Orz’s clothing. “One of them was naked.”

Styke slowly turned to Orz. “You killed your own people.”

Orz shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time. It won’t be the last. They were of a Household that was my enemy during the war, so I feel no guilt. Besides, I thought it the only way to convince you of my intentions.”