Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

“Competent?”

“As far as I know, though I think this is the biggest army she’s ever commanded.”

Vlora considered this for several quiet minutes, working through the various plans in her head and trying to create something coherent enough to actually work. “Get me a meeting with her. Also with the Dynize general, whoever the pit that is.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. No, wait. Tonight. As soon as possible. Tell them it’s urgent, and we’ll meet at a neutral location.”

She could practically hear Olem grimace. “I’ll try, but …”

“Make it happen.” She tugged on the shoulders of his jacket, feeling a real chill for the first time tonight. “I’m going to try to sleep for a couple hours. Wake me up as soon as you’ve set up those meetings.”

Three hours later, Vlora rode north along the Hadshaw River Highway with Olem and a dozen handpicked bodyguards. She half listened to a corporal droning on about supplies and yesterday’s casualties, sniffing a few granules of powder at a time just to stay awake. Across the river, most of the Fatrastan fires were out and the night was all but silent. Occasionally her sorcery-enhanced senses spotted sentries along either ridge of the river valley – Fatrastan on the west side, and hers on the east.

They reached a crossroads and small keelboat landing, where a party of equal size awaited them on the dusty shore. Torches flickered in the light breeze, casting shadows on sunflower-yellow uniforms.

“Did you hear back from the Dynize?” Vlora asked quietly as they dismounted. She kept her eyes on a forty-something-year-old woman in the center of the waiting group, uniform decked out with medals and the black epaulets of a Fatrastan general.

“I did,” Olem responded. “The Dynize general refuses to see you. He’s convinced it’s a trap, and that you hope to get him alone for an assassination.”

“He’s smarter than his colleague we met a couple days ago,” Vlora said. “Which is unfortunate. I need to size him up. For now I’ll have to satisfy myself with Holm.” She handed her reins to one of her bodyguards and crossed the distance between her and the Fatrastans without preamble.

“General Holm.” Vlora held out her hand. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

“General Flint.” Holm took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. She was a stocky woman, broad at the chest with hands as big as a grenadier’s. She had smile lines at the corners of her mouth and friendly eyes that Vlora was more likely to see in a tavern owner. “I’m a big admirer. This is an odd time to meet, but I’m a night owl anyway and I figured you had something important to say.”

Vlora tried to gauge the Fatrastan general, but found herself lacking. Holm didn’t seem like the hard-bitten type forged on the frontier, nor the soldier of fortune Olem described. “To be honest, I thought we should meet as soon as possible, and this is the first time I’ve been able to pull myself away from my duties.”

“I see.” Holm clicked her tongue as if mildly annoyed. “Well, we’re here now. I’d like to congratulate you on your victory the other day. My scouts arrived just at the tail end, but I’m told it was rather something – holding the line against a superior force until your cavalry could hit them from behind. Exactly what I’d expect from Lady Flint.”

“I’m flattered, General. But I either win or die. I prefer to do the former.”

Holm chuckled. “And that’s exactly what I expect an Adran general to say. Imminently practical.” She clapped her hands together. “Excuse my delight, Lady Flint, but this is just too much. I’ve always wanted to meet you. I wish I could show you the hospitality of my camp.”

“You’ll forgive my refusal, considering the arrest warrant I was served by your colonel the other day. A Fatrastan Army camp seems less than welcoming right now.”

Holm’s eyes tightened. “Ah, yes. That. I’m … unaware of the circumstances of the warrant, and will freely say I disagree with arresting a foreign war hero who’s fighting Fatrastan battles on our behalf.”

“Does this mean you’re going to ignore it?” Vlora asked hopefully. “You outnumber the Dynize, but I understand your army was hastily assembled, and I think you could use our experience when you go to retake Landfall. You are going to retake Landfall, aren’t you?”

“That is my ultimate mission,” Holm said. “Unfortunately, I have every intention of arresting you. I’m a great admirer, but Lady Chancellor Lindet has won my loyalty too many times for me to disobey a direct order.”

Vlora wondered if Holm knew about Lindet’s abandonment of Landfall, but bit her tongue. Throwing mud over Lindet’s name was not going to win Holm’s friendship. “You’re aware that my men have no intention of allowing me to be arrested.”

“I’d hoped that you’d come along quietly.” Holm paused thoughtfully, then continued. “I am convinced this is a misunderstanding. If you’re willing to accept my hospitality, you will be treated as a guest in my camp until we are able to meet with Lindet in person. Your wounded will be cared for, your men given safe passage back to Adro – or allowed to fight with the Fatrastan Foreign Legion if they’d like. You’d have my word that no harm would come to you under my care, and I would be an advocate in whatever dispute you have with the Lady Chancellor.”

Olem leaned forward, whispering, “That’s a better offer than the Dynize gave you.”

“Much,” Vlora murmured. She considered her run-in with Lindet back in Landfall. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you can promise my safety, General Holm.”

Holm’s eyebrows rose. “Why is that?”

“I tried to arrest Lindet for crimes against her own country right before the Dynize arrived. We put our differences aside just long enough to defend Landfall.” And then, Vlora added silently, that bitch fled without lifting a finger to help hold the city.

“Well,” Holm scoffed. “You certainly have a pair of balls worthy of your reputation.” She held up a hand as if she needed a moment to digest this new information. “I’m aware that Lindet is far from perfect, but crimes against her own country?”

Vlora considered telling her about the godstones and Lindet’s ambitions, but decided against it. The story was too far-fetched, and even if Holm believed it, she might very well think Lindet deserved to get her hands on them. Instead, Vlora offered a small shrug. “I believe that Lindet will have me executed the moment she gets a chance. And so I must refuse your offer.”

Holm’s brow furrowed, and Vlora was surprised to hear a note of genuine sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lady Flint. Am I to understand that I should consider your army that of an enemy?”

The implications of that were immediately clear. Vlora’s men would be shot on sight, and Holm would probably begin the morning by crossing the river in a flanking action to encircle Vlora’s army – at which point she could either force a fight, or simply wait for Vlora’s men to run out of rations and surrender.

The question of the Dynize Army made the entire situation much murkier.

“Tell me,” Vlora said, “did you bring Privileged?”

Holm’s reply was frosty. “That is not information I will tell you if we are enemies.”

“Our scouts say they have three Privileged,” Olem cut in.

Holm opened her mouth, a scowl on her face, but Vlora simply held up her hand. “I’m not threatening you – and I have no intention of murdering your Privileged unless we engage in combat. I just wanted to warn you that the Dynize do not have either bone-eyes or Privileged with them. But they are bloody disciplined, and breaking them will take more than overwhelming force.”