Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“Just came from there,” Ibana responded. She leaned over in her saddle, handing the man a sealed letter. “Who’s second in command?”

“I’m Major Gustar, so I guess that would be me,” the man responded, taking the letter and frowning at the seal, which was stamped with the crossed rifles and shako of the Riflejacks. “What’s this here?”

“New orders,” Styke said. “My name’s Colonel Ben Styke, and I’ve been ordered to take command of your cavalry.” He bit his cheek, waiting for a fight. No one liked their command taken from them.

Major Gustar cast him a long, cool glance. Several of his men bristled openly, but Gustar simply said, “Sorry, Colonel, but we’re Riflejacks. We don’t take commands from foreign officers. Not unless Lady Flint tells us to directly.”

“You might want to give those orders a read,” Ibana suggested.

Gustar broke the seal and read through the letter, his eyes widening as he went. When he next looked up, his mouth was slightly agape. “You’re that Ben Styke?”

“In the flesh,” Styke replied. For the first time in a while, that little bit of awe in someone’s voice didn’t feel like a slap in the face for what he used to be. It felt good.

“And you’re a Riflejack now?”

“We all are; we just don’t have uniforms yet, so this old Fatrastan getup will have to do. This is Major Ibana ja Fles. She has direct command of the Mad Lancers. I’ll leave you in charge of the Riflejack dragoons and cuirassiers. You both report to me.”

Gustar snapped a salute. “Sir. Yes, sir. It’ll be a pleasure serving under you.”

“Say that again after I’ve ordered you to charge a pike line,” Styke said. “We’re needed in Landfall. Ibana will catch you up on the way. I want everyone ready to ride within a half hour.”

“They’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” Gustar said. “Up and at ’em, boys, we’ve got work to do!”

Styke took a deep breath, taking in the smoke of the cook fires, the smell of the horses, the sickly sweet scent of manure heaps, and the sour stench of unwashed soldiers at camp. His lungs yearned for all of it and more – for the corpses on the field and the fresh scent of crushed grass and powder smoke after a skirmish.

He pointed down at Gustar. “You. I think I’m going to like you.”

Vlora was shown into the foreign dignitary room of the capitol building the morning after accepting command of the defenses of Fatrasta. She wore her parade uniform: Adran blues with silver trim and crimson cuffs, the crossed rifles of the Riflejack Mercenary Company emblazoned above her left breast opposite two dozen medals for acts of valor she’d long forgotten.

The foreign dignitary room was a large, vaulted chamber decorated with yellow and white marble, lit by three enormous chandeliers and high banks of windows that looked out over the edge of the Landfall Plateau and out to sea. Opposite the windows were rows of tiered seating for the elite of Fatrasta, while an immense, oval ironwood table occupied the very center of the room, surrounded by dozens of high-backed chairs.

The room had seating for hundreds of people and could probably fit more than a thousand, but the only occupants were Vlora and Lady Chancellor Lindet.

Lindet sat at the table, a glass of iced coffee and a spread of papers in front of her. She looked up as Vlora’s boots echoed across the marble floors and gave a brief, condescending smile. Vlora didn’t take it personally. From what she understood, Lindet was condescending to everyone.

“Lady Flint,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The words were quiet, pleasant, pitched so as not to echo. Vlora rounded the table to be opposite of Lindet – likely where the Dynize delegation would sit in a short time – and leaned on one of the high-backed chairs. She inclined her head. “Lady Chancellor. Aren’t we expecting the Dynize ambassador any moment?”

Lindet consulted a pocket watch. “Thirteen minutes,” she said.

“Shouldn’t this room be… full?” Vlora had passed Fatrastan dignitaries twittering away in the halls of the capitol building by the score, the whole lot practically seething nervous anticipation. The emergence of the Dynize Empire from isolation was the most exciting thing to happen here since Fatrasta declared their independence from Kez. To the businessmen and politicians waiting outside, the fact that the Dynize had arrived with a fleet of warships was barely worth a mention.

Unfortunately, that made those warships entirely Vlora’s problem.

“I’ll allow them in when I’m ready,” Lindet said. She perused a page of stationery in front of her before signing the bottom and sliding it off to one side. “I’m so glad you took Jes’s offer.”

“It was enough money to let all of my men retire comfortably when this is over,” Vlora responded.

“Purely mercenary,” Lindet said with a small smile. “I can respect that.”

The money hadn’t been all of it, of course. Jes had pointed out, correctly, that if the city became blockaded the Riflejacks would not be able to leave. He also pointed out that an unattached mercenary company could easily be seen as an enemy of the state were the Dynize to prove antagonistic, and that his Blackhats would be forced to turn on her. More personally, Vlora relished the idea of defending the people of Fatrasta for once, rather than putting down their insurrections.

Vlora kept all of that in her head, instead answering Lindet with a nod. “If the Dynize have designs on Landfall, my men will hold it. I’ll admit I’m surprised that you’ve put me in command of the entire city defense.” Surprised didn’t even cover it. She’d been handed command of a fourteen-thousand-man garrison, five forts, and another six thousand auxiliaries. Unless she was reading the politics wrong – which was a possibility – that made her one of the most powerful people in Landfall, answerable only to Lindet.

“You’re the protégée of Field Marshal Tamas and the veteran of two wars and countless other engagements. Is there anyone else more qualified in the city?”

“No,” Vlora admitted.

Lindet signed another paper. “The worst-case scenario,” she said, “is that the Dynize are here to invade. In which case I’ve secured an extra brigade of riflemen and a decorated commander and removed the possibility of you being hired by my enemies. The best-case scenario is that the Dynize just happen to be out for a pleasure cruise with an entire fleet, and I’ve locked you into a four-year contract as defender of the shores of my nation. It seemed fairly win-win.”

“You could have bought ten brigades for what you’re paying us.”

“I don’t have ten brigades handy to buy,” Lindet said. “Are you in the habit of telling employers that they’ve overpaid, Lady Flint?”

“No, ma’am. Forgive me for asking, but do you have any particular reason for thinking the Dynize are here for any other reason than peace?”

“Other than thirty-eight warships and a whole flotilla of support frigates?”

“Yes, other than those.”

Lindet made a “hmm” sound that was neither an affirmative nor denial.

“Ma’am?”

Lindet looked at her over the tops of her spectacles, the brief smile returning. “I also understand that you’ve deputized the Mad Lancers into the Riflejacks. Is that correct?”

Vlora swallowed, noting that Lindet had dodged the question about the Dynize. She would have to come back to that. The subject of the Mad Lancers wasn’t one she’d been looking forward to, but she hadn’t hired them purely out of need. She’d also hired them because she knew it would cause an argument – an argument that would set the tone for her relationship with Lindet going forward. She braced herself for the coming fight. “Yes, ma’am.”