Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

“You’re not just Ben Styke because we say you are, though I admit that the allegiance of the people who follow you gives your name weight,” Ibana said thoughtfully. “You’re Ben Styke because you always lead the charge. Because you can break a Warden’s back and crack a dragonman’s skull. Because you’re big and strong enough to do whatever you want and yet you still have a sense of right and wrong. Even if it’s a twisted one.”

Styke stared through the darkness at his crippled hands, feeling the twinges in his wrist when he moved his fingers. He thought about how his doubt and pain went away when he wrapped his fingers around the lance and how all his other failings seemed to disappear when he charged into the face of the enemy.

“You’re not a hypocrite, Ben,” Ibana said. “You were, but you aren’t anymore.”

“I haven’t changed.”

“Haven’t you?” Ibana demanded. “The old you wouldn’t have spared Tenny Wiles or Valyaine. Definitely not Dvory. Not a chance. The old you wouldn’t have sworn allegiance to Lady Flint. Seeing the way you look at her is the first time I’ve seen you truly respect a superior officer.” She ticked off two fingers, then a third. “You took Celine under your wing, and you’ve always hated kids. Besides” – Ibana laughed again – “you didn’t ask any of us to follow you. We came because we saw that you needed us – not because we needed you.”

Styke felt his inner turmoil begin to ebb. “You’re a better liar than I remember.”

“No lies,” Ibana said. “Maybe I dressed it up a little. But it’s still the truth. And I still stand behind what I said before: We’re here now, and we’re all depending on you to remain Ben Styke. You can be a different man and still lead the charges.”

“Do you think the men doubt me because I let Tenny, Valyaine, and Dvory live?” Styke asked.

“Look, I know I gave you shit before, but to be honest … any grumbles that might have spread were silenced when we came upon you facing down six dragonmen,” Ibana said.

Styke chuckled. “I didn’t do that by choice.”

“But you still did it. Not a lot of people see six dragonmen and draw a knife. Most will run. Pit, I’d run.”

They finished off the wine, sitting in silence for some time before Ibana drew in a quick breath, then laughed softly.

“What?” Styke asked.

“It’s Celine,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that all these things – these doubts, these changes – that have come over you, they’re not because you faced a firing squad or spent a decade in the camps. They’re because you have a child now.”

Styke felt his face flush. “She’s not mine.”

“Oh, please. I’ve heard you refer to her as ‘my girl.’ You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me. Celine is your child whether she came from your loins or not, and that’s made you a different man.” She turned toward him, and even in the darkness he could feel her piercing stare. “Tell me, do you fear death?”

“Of course,” Styke scoffed. “Everyone fears death.”

“There’s a difference between being suicidal and not fearing death,” Ibana said, “and the Ben I knew never feared death. So do you?”

Styke thought about it for a moment. Death was such an abstract notion: It always felt so far away, but he knew better than most that it could strike at any moment. He’d been within a knife blade of death on hundreds of occasions, and sometimes closer. When he said he feared death, it was a mechanical lie, said because that’s what normal people were supposed to say. He had never feared death. Even when Fidelis Jes had cut him down, leaving him in a puddle of his own blood, he had not feared death. He had only feared leaving this world without taking Fidelis Jes with him.

And, he realized, he had feared one other thing.

“I don’t,” he said. “But I fear leaving Celine alone.”

“I call it the same thing,” Ibana said, sitting back. “Fearing your death because you won’t go on living versus fearing your death because someone else needs you is just semantics. You fear for Celine, and I’ve never known you to fear. You look at her in a way you’ve never looked at a friend or a lover, including me.”

Styke realized that he heard a note of hurt in her voice. He swallowed, uncertain of what to say, and decided to let it go. She had not meant for him to hear it.

He felt her hand on his thigh again, and her body shifted toward his; her face drew close. “Quiet the inner demons, Ben,” she told him. “They’ve never been worth your time before, and they certainly shouldn’t be now.”

They were interrupted by the sound of hooves along the trail on the ridge above them. Ibana pulled away, and Styke listened as the hooves descended the road down into the hollow where the lancers camped. He heard a distant voice that he recognized as Ferlisia’s call his name.

Ibana sighed, slapping him on the shoulder. “Go on. You’ve got work to do.”

Reluctantly, Styke descended the ridge and headed into the camp. He found Ferlisia outside his empty tent, scowling at one of the guards. He put his hand on her shoulder, turning her around and gesturing for her to lower her voice. “Did you find them?” he asked.

“I did,” she said excitedly. “They’re camped about three miles from here. They’re not trying to hide, but they picked a place that would be suicide for us to attack: a hill just inside the eastern edge of the Hock with steep sides and only one spot that horses could easily climb. They have lots of wounded men and horses.”

Styke took a deep breath. Ka-poel would be there, no doubt. She was resourceful enough that she was probably still alive – unless the enemy commander had orders to kill her in particular. He lifted his head, seeing Ibana emerge from the woods. “Go find Jackal for me,” he told her.

“Are we going to attack?” Ibana asked.

“Not exactly.”

Styke and Jackal were led to the dragoon camp by Ferlisia, arriving just before sunrise. Too late to work beneath the cover of darkness, he sent Ferlisia back to camp and he and Jackal huddled down in the Hock and waited and watched throughout the day.

The dragoon camp was much as Ferlisia described it: packed onto a long, wooded hill just inside the Hock. The hill was surrounded on all four sides by steep, rocky cliffs, between ten and fifty feet high, making it a solid defensive position against any force and doubly impossible to attack with cavalry. There appeared to be only one easy way up – a gentle slope pointing east less than two dozen feet wide and guarded heavily.

The cries of wounded men and horses could be heard throughout the day, and the occasional carbine blast sounded as they put down lame animals. It became abundantly clear that the dragoons didn’t care if Styke knew where they were. Their defensive position was unbreakable by less than a brigade of infantry, and they knew that Styke didn’t have that kind of firepower at his command.

Nor, they must have surmised, did Styke want to take the time to starve them off their high ground. The Dynize could wait for as long as their supplies held out, tending to their men. The ambush must have cooled their commander, making Styke doubly angry at Ka-poel for sneaking off. If she’d stuck around, the lancers would already be on their way to the coast.

Styke lay on his stomach in the underbrush about a hundred yards from the entrance to the hill, watching the dragoons change their guard as the daylight began to wane. Jackal lay beside him, apparently asleep, until his eyes suddenly opened and he got up onto his elbows, pointing at the hill.