Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

Vlora stared, openmouthed, at Burt. Olem scoffed. “You couldn’t possibly know all that.”

“I do,” Burt said without a trace of smugness. “Lindet thinks she runs the messenger service along the mountains – and she does pay for most of it. But it’s staffed by my people. The information carried along it reaches me before it reaches her. You,” he said, pointing to Vlora, “were outed by her spies about the same time the Dynize destroyed the Second Army.”

“You could have warned me.”

“It wasn’t convenient at the time,” Burt said with an apologetic smile. “But it is now, and you’re being warned.”

Vlora tried to read Burt’s face, attempting to come away with any real impression of the man. He was a blank slate, returning her gaze with a coolness that bordered on unsettling. “So you know why we’re here?”

“I assume I do. You’re looking for the godstone.”

Vlora shared a glance with Olem before nodding slowly. “You’re not a frontier capitalist, are you?”

“Oh, I’m very much a frontier capitalist,” Burt responded, looking somewhat hurt. “I’ve gotten to be filthy rich working this town.” He gave Vlora a lopsided smile. “But you’re right, I’m not just a prospector.”

Vlora remembered her conversations with Taniel, and his search for a contact with the Palo Nation. “You’re with the Palo Nation.”

“I’m impressed you’ve heard of it.”

“A friend warned me.”

Burt snorted. “You mean Taniel Two-shot?” He scratched his head vigorously, squinting at Vlora through one eye until he was done. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really know what to do with him. Letting him sit in that prison for the last three weeks was the best decision I’ve made in years. I do not like someone like him running around unchecked.”

“How did you know he’d stay?”

“Because he’s a good man. We’ve met on several occasions, actually. Which was another reason I didn’t want him to see me before I was ready.”

“Are there any of our secrets you don’t know?” Olem asked.

“I …” Burt pulled a wry face and leaned forward, spreading his arms across his desk. “A quick history lesson, my friends, and listen carefully because only a handful of Kressians have ever heard it: Fifty years ago, my grandfather ruled a midsized tribe in what you would call the Fatrastan Wilds. At the time, he had managed to unite dozens of tribes into a sort of loose coalition, not one of which had ever made contact with a Kressian. Until, that is, a young explorer arrived and made friends with my grandfather. The explorer wound up marrying one of his daughters – my mother.”

“You’re not fully Palo?” Vlora asked in surprise.

“I’m half-Adran,” Burt said with a smile. “But I don’t look it.” He continued with his story. “My father was something of a Fatrastaphile – he loved everything about this continent, and colonial expansion was one of the few things that I’ve ever seen him get worked up about. Together with my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and my mother, he began to make a plan for the future of his tribe, to protect them from the Kressian encroachment.

“Geography was our ally. Without inside knowledge, the Ironhook Mountains are very difficult to cross, and the wilds beyond them are vast. For fifty years, no one has questioned the fact that Kressian explorers rarely return from their expeditions north. And for fifty years, no one in the Nine has questioned the wealthy, eccentric savages sent to learn at Kressian universities. You’ve gawked and laughed, but never thought twice. And during that time, we learned.” Burt stopped, cleared his throat. “I’ve gone on too long, so here is a better summary: Beginning with my grandfather, the Palo Nation has studied you without being studied back. We have co-opted the best parts of your civilization. The tribes were united, the hereditary chieftain system replaced with democracy. We have become the thing that Lindet and all the rest of the colonial powers fear the most: natives who have modernized before we could be crushed underfoot.”

A long silence hung in the air, and Burt took advantage of it to relight his cigar. He’d finished his tale with a measure of emotion, but it disappeared back into tranquility as he puffed up a storm of cigar smoke.

“Why are you telling us this?” Vlora asked.

Burt pointed his cigar at her. “Because I’m laying all my cards on the table. Because the Palo Nation won’t remain hidden forever, and I, if you’ll remember, am half Adran. I quite like Adro. It is the only democracy in the Nine, and I would like very much to lay the groundwork of an alliance.”

Vlora felt like she’d been punched in the face. This was not what she’d expected when she came here looking for the godstones, not even in the slightest. Taniel’s warnings about the Palo Nation were, in retrospect, not emphatic enough. “I think that our politicians would be amenable to the idea. But I’m not one of them.”

“You’re a damned war hero, an Adran general, and a member of the Republic Cabal. I can think of perhaps five people who would be more advantageous to have this conversation with. None of them are here, and none of them quite have your reputation for civility.”

“I see. Consider me intrigued. But there are plenty of things to worry about before a formal alliance. Where do the godstones come into this? Or the Dynize, for that matter.”

“The Dynize,” Burt repeated, pulling a sour face. “They’re one of the reasons we’re having this conversation. If they win this war, they won’t be satisfied with tall tales from over the mountains. They will explore north, in force, and they will do so with far more violence and organization than Lindet can manage. For all her intelligence, she’s been holding together a house of cards by sheer willpower and has had no interest in pursuing rumors of our existence. I’m not convinced the Dynize will feel the same way.”

“And the godstone?”

Burt frowned at Olem, then at Vlora. “We are a secular society. We have destroyed our idols, forgotten our gods, and we are better for it. My spies tell me that you and Lindet fell out because you wanted to destroy the stone, so I say this: By all means, destroy it. My government wants nothing to do with the damned thing. If we could have found it, we would have already removed it to the farthest reaches of our territory just to keep it out of Lindet’s hands.” Something must have shown in Vlora’s face, because Burt lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve found it, haven’t you?”

“And we’re working toward destroying it,” Vlora replied.

“Excellent.” Burt stood up, clapping his hands together. “Can you do it before the Dynize arrive?”

“We hope so,” Vlora said hesitantly.

“You have four days.”

“Actually, we only have two. We have to destroy it, then get out of here before the Dynize arrive. The Dynize have instructions to take my head.”

“Why?” Burt asked with disgust.

“Because I humiliated their general, or whatever he wants to call himself, back at Landfall.”

“Ah,” Burt said. “Nothing like a despot who takes things personally. The Dynize and Kressians aren’t all that different, are they?”

“We all want to be the last ones standing,” Olem commented.

“Now, that’s just everyone.” Burt raised his glass of whiskey. “You will have what help I can give you. The town is yours to billet your men, but as you suggest, you shouldn’t tarry. Destroy the godstone or make preparations to move it immediately.”

Vlora considered the offer for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Where was the price, or the betrayal? Was Burt seriously doing all this just to make a friend in the Nine? “You do realize that putting us up, even for a night or two, will earn the anger of the Dynize? If we leave, the town will be undefended.”