Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

“Check the tins and barrels,” Ibana ordered. “If the rats haven’t gotten to any of it, give everyone a double ration of food and wine tonight.”

“No drunks,” Styke added.

“No drunks,” Ibana agreed.

Styke got out of the way to let them work, and soon Jackal was overseeing a chain of men rolling out barrels and handing up crates to empty the deep cache. He watched them work for a few minutes, feeling suddenly tired from the events of the last few weeks. His body reminded him that he was no longer the Mad Ben Styke who could go a week without sleep and still fight a battle.

Looking around, his eyes fell on Ka-poel sitting on the hillside above the entrance to the cache. He was surprised to find her watching him, and when their eyes met, she got to her feet and walked away into the darkness.

Styke snorted. He still couldn’t decide what he thought about what had happened last night. Walking into the Dynize cavalry camp unopposed, seeing all of those soldiers sitting cross-legged like they were waiting for a mummers’ show in the park, unable to move or speak. The officer whom Ka-poel used as a mouthpiece. The memory floated in the back of his head like a bad dream, fuzzy on details, and he briefly wondered if he had dreamt it.

He continued to watch his lancers as they unloaded the cache for several minutes before confiscating one of their lanterns. He found Celine brushing down Margo with Sunin’s help. “Finish that and come with me,” he told her.

They walked into the darkness, lantern held high above Styke’s head. Styke followed the coppery smell of blood sorcery, sniffing at the air every few moments until they found Ka-poel at the top of the valley, sitting on the ground with the contents of her satchel spread out across a rock. There was wax, bits of hair, tiny figurines, and sticks, dirt, and even some fingernails. It reminded him of the sort of non sequitur items his little sister used to collect as a child.

Styke set the lantern on the rock and sat down across from her, watching her face. She lifted her eyes to him for a brief second and squinted before returning her attention to a half-made wax figurine in her lap.

Styke patted his knee, letting Celine sit, then addressed Ka-poel. “What did you do with the Dynize cavalry yesterday?”

Ka-poel continued her work, finishing the figurine and gently pressing a dirty toenail into the soft wax, before brushing off her hands and lifting her gaze once more to him and Celine. She drew her thumb across her neck, then flashed several more signs.

“I killed them,” Celine translated. “Just like you asked.”

“Why did you keep them as long as you did? Why didn’t you finish them sooner?”

“I told you. I needed answers.” Ka-poel raised her chin, as if daring him to continue that line of questioning.

So he did. “And?” He drummed his fingers on the rock, looking over her assortment of disgusting knickknacks.

Ka-poel stared at him, her hands folded in her lap, before finally lifting them into the light of the lantern. “I have been trying to uncover my past,” Celine translated. “When I was a child, my nurse took me from Dynize. I remember very little of that time – I remember a palace, and great halls, and I remember fleeing through the night and across the ocean in a small ship manned by sailors who knew they would die.”

Ka-poel’s eyes took on a faraway glint, her brow wrinkling with the telling. She continued. “My nurse took me into the swamp, and we joined one of the tribes there. She died very soon after from disease. Her death deprived me of my own history, and I have wondered who I am for over two decades.”

“So who are you?” Styke asked. Her look was guarded, and he knew that pushing too hard on a subject like this was likely to make a person button up for good. But he was still angry about the things he saw last night, and he didn’t have the patience to be gentle.

Ka-poel waggled her finger, as if to say, My story isn’t done . She continued. “My nurse sang me songs. I remember those. She called me a princess, and I always thought that was …” Celine struggled with the sign Ka-poel made, her small face scrunching in confusion.

“Hyperbole?” Styke suggested.

Ka-poel nodded. “I thought it was hyperbole. When the Dynize came, I had reason to suspect that perhaps … perhaps that wasn’t the case.”

Styke gently smoothed Celine’s hair, watching Ka-poel’s face carefully. She was normally stoic, sometimes bemused or playful. But she seemed genuinely troubled right now, and that set him on edge. She was too powerful to be troubled.

“A bone-eye has been calling to me,” Ka-poel finally finished.

“What do you mean, ‘calling to you’?” Styke asked, feeling goose bumps on the back of his arm.

“Sorcery,” Ka-poel clarified.

“I gathered as much. But how? Does he know where you are? Is he able to track us?”

Ka-poel hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I was never trained in what I do, so there are many simple things that the Dynize bone-eyes are capable of that I am unaware of. So … maybe.”

That didn’t make Styke happy. Not even a little bit. Having someone like Ka-poel around – someone so powerful that they could take physical control of a company of cavalry – and have her admit that she had not mastered simple parts of her own sorcery was not only disconcerting, it was also downright dangerous.

“I have figured out,” she said, “that this bone-eye can only call to me through shared blood.” She paused. “Those lancers – well, their officers – I was asking them about the powerful bone-eyes who came over with the invasion.”

“And what did you discover?”

“I am being called by an old man. His name is Ka-Sedial, and he was the one who came to meet your sister the day before their invasion.”

Styke was on his feet before he knew it, towering over Ka-poel, fists clenched. “Be very careful what you say next,” he said through clenched teeth. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The very idea that someone would discover that he and Lindet were brother and sister had never even occurred to him. Only they knew the secret, and neither was about to tell a soul.

His leap had sent Celine tumbling, and without taking his eyes off Ka-poel, he helped her to her feet and gestured for her to watch Ka-poel’s hands.

“Sit down,” Celine translated Ka-poel’s next signs. “Blood is my business. You can’t hide your relation from me.” She sniffed, as if the smell of imminent violence coming from Styke was nothing more than an inconvenience. “I will keep your secret.”

Slowly, Styke lowered himself to the ground.

“This is an exchange,” Ka-poel said. “Do you understand? I keep your secret, and you will keep mine.”

Styke tried to calm his pounding heart, remembering the conversation before his sister was mentioned. “This Ka-Sedial?”

“Yes. He is my grandfather.”

“And what does that make you?”

Ka-poel smiled distantly, laughing to herself. “It makes me a princess. The Dynize emperor is my cousin.”

Styke almost laughed himself. A damned princess, riding along with him. It seemed like something out of a fairy tale, yet so much of this already did. He wondered if it explained her power – if the Dynize royal family was stronger than most. “Why is he calling to you?”

“He is trying to be …” Celine struggled with the next word, and Ka-poel had to spell it out in signs. “Paternalistic.”

“What does that mean?” Celine asked Styke.

“It means he’s trying to be fatherly. Reaching out for a lost granddaughter.” Styke didn’t take his eyes off Ka-poel. “Are you answering?”