Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

Several things happened at once. First, the dragonmen began to move – one toward Celine and two toward Styke. Celine dropped the carbine, and Styke began to run toward her, shouting over his shoulder, “Ka-poel, if you’re done hiding, I could use some of that blood magic!”

The nearest dragonman froze. “What did he say? What name did you speak?”

The dragonman keeping watch from nearby shouted, taking the attention of all three of his remaining companions. They suddenly turned their horses and beat a fast retreat toward the east, leaving Styke standing in bloody clothes to try and figure out what had scared them off.

He didn’t have to wait long. The sound of approaching riders came swiftly, and soon behind them the Mad Lancers rode out of the forest to the north with Ibana and Jackal at their front. Ibana joined Styke quickly, staring at his clothes and the bodies of the dragonmen. “What happened? Do you want us to run them down?”

“Not a great idea,” Styke said. The lancers might have a better chance against dragonmen with carbines at a distance, but he did not want them to get tied up in a forest against those bastards. “Keep everyone tight, and triple the scout patrols.”

“Who the pit were they?” Ibana asked. “And what happened to you?”

Styke hurried toward Celine, calling over his shoulder, “They’re dragonmen, and they’ve been following us since Landfall. Apparently they’ve been sent to kill me.” He reached Amrec and picked up his carbine, returning it to the saddle. Celine looked distant and frightened.

He pulled her down, taking her in his arms. “It’s all right,” he told her.

“I killed her.”

“You did. It was a very good thing.”

Celine blinked at the sky. “I didn’t like it.”

Styke squeezed her gently and set her on her feet, only then realizing she was now also covered in blood. He lifted her chin with one finger, laying his other hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You never have to kill anyone when I’m around. Never again.”

“But she would have killed you.” Her face hardened. “I didn’t like it, but I won’t let anyone kill you, Ben.”

“I know,” Styke said gently.

She looked down at his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

“That’s just horse blood. And human. But it’s his.”

She poked him, sending a jolt of pain up that arm. “It’s also yours.”

“Right. I’ll get cleaned up in the river. Go find Sunintiel. Tell her you killed a dragonman. She’ll be very proud.” He pushed her away and headed back to the bodies, only to find Ka-poel had beaten him there. She frowned down at the dragonmen’s corpses. He said, “If they had rushed me, could you have done anything?”

She shook her head.

“That’s not very reassuring.” He paced from one end of the graveyard to the other, walking off the adrenaline rush. Part of him knew that he very easily could have died. Another part rejoiced at fighting another real warrior like that. The fight with Kushel had been drawn out. This had been short, brutal, and satisfying. “Did you find out anything about the town?” he asked Ka-poel.

She shook her head.

Frustrated, Styke paced the graveyard again. Maybe he should have sent the lancers after those dragonmen. Losing even a hundred men would be worth not having four dragonmen prowling the countryside. He thought about the woman Celine had shot and turned to Ka-poel.

“ ‘Ka’ is the title for the bone-eyes, right?”

Of the royal family, she wrote on her slate.

The implication was not lost on him. “So what are you, some kind of princess?”

Another head shake.

“Then what?”

I don’t know , she wrote.

Styke stared at her for several long seconds, hoping she’d give at least some sort of elaboration. When none was forthcoming, he finally turned away to examine the passing column of lancers. None of them looked worse for wear, which meant they hadn’t run into any trouble the last week. But that, he was certain, was about to change.

Vlora, Taniel, and Little Flerring relocated to a small complex of cabins deep in the forest on a gently sloped hillside. Flerring pointed at each of the buildings as they passed, explaining their uses. Most of the buildings were used for the creation and storage of black powder, but a few stone huts way up the hillside away from all the others were set aside for the substance that had made the Flerring family a household name throughout the Nine: blasting oil.

“We do everything explosive,” she explained to Taniel as they headed up a path to a cabin sheltered from all the others by a large boulder. “Black powder was our original trade, and still makes up the volume of our production. You’d be surprised at how many different mixes there are for mining applications. Explosive velocity, temperature, humidity – all these things have to be taken into account when we decide the formula and granule size.”

“Just like mixing powder for military use,” Taniel said.

“But far more complex!” Flerring declared. “Out here in the mountains, you’ve got to be more careful. I’m handing explosives over to idiots from all over the world, most of whom have never even fired a gun, let alone drilled into solid rock and detonated explosives in the hole. I’ve got to know what kind of rock it is, the altitude, the depth of the mine.” She scoffed. “I do everything I can to make it simple for the miners, but people still die every day.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Vlora said. “I’m surprised you’re on-site, rather than one of your people.”

Flerring made a sound in the back of her throat. “I’m on-site because I’m making a damned fortune selling these miners blasting oil. Transportation has been banned all over the Nine due to … accidents … so the damned stuff has to be mixed in person. I wanted to do a little traveling anyway, so …” She shrugged and unlocked the cabin, ushering them inside. It was cozy without being cramped, with space enough for perhaps a dozen people to gather around a potbellied stove or half that many to enjoy a game of cards.

Flerring stoked the fire and put on a kettle, then kicked her boots off. “So that’s why I’m here. You going to tell me what a dead war hero and a decorated Adran general are doing in the armpit of Fatrasta?”

Vlora had been struggling with how much to actually tell Flerring. She was perfectly trustworthy – after all, someone in the explosives business has to know how to keep secrets to keep a leg up on her competitors – but this wasn’t the kind of information she wanted spread around.

Taniel gestured toward Vlora, as if to say, She’s your friend.

“We’re looking for an artifact,” Vlora said. “You’ve heard about the war?”

“Everyone has,” Flerring replied. “Word just arrived the other day that Landfall fell. We’re so far off the beaten path that no one here wants to abandon their claim, but if the fighting swerves this way, my bags are packed.”

“Right. Well, we’re looking for an artifact, an ancient bit of Dynize sorcery that should be floating around nearby.”

“ Is floating around nearby,” Taniel corrected.

Vlora went on. “This artifact is the reason the Dynize are invading. It has both Lindet and the Dynize scrambling to find it.”

“And you want to get to it first?”

Vlora glanced at Taniel, whose expression was unreadable. “We want to destroy it,” she said.

“Huh.” Flerring moved a few bits around on the table next to her until she found a boning knife and began to pick her teeth with it. “What does it do?”