Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Vlora almost let out a sigh of relief, muscles relaxing throughout her body. “Is it possible?” she asked.

“Your reputation works against you down here,” Meln-Dun said. “Some think of you as a butcher. But it also works for you, and even more of us consider you an honorable person with a dishonorable master. Vallencian has been telling anyone who will listen that you’re here on a mission of peace – that you want to work with us, rather than kill us.”

Interesting interpretation. “I would prefer that, yes.”

“I read in the newspapers that your men will begin a new public works project. Vallencian claims the same thing. Is this true?”

“What? Oh, yes. It is. We’re going to tear down some of the tenements up on the Rim and rebuild them with newer, safer materials and standards. We’ve already moved the occupants of two tenements to temporary lodgings.”

“That’s wonderful,” Meln-Dun said warmly. “And this is where I think we can help each other. The Lady Chancellor has public works projects all over the city, but never in Greenfire Depths. I believe the tension between the Palo and the Blackhats has prevented this. But you could work as a bridge between us, and if you could change your project so that your men come down here and begin the monumental task of cleaning up the tenements in the Depths… well, I believe I could help you strike that deal, and grant you the protection you’re after.”

Vlora licked her lips. This was it. This was her way into the Depths, and it was being offered to her on a golden platter. There must be a catch – there was always a catch – but it seemed very straightforward. She had wanted to focus on the Rim, where she could keep her men safer, but if she could convince the Blackhats to give them the resources to begin a teardown in one corner of the Depths she could learn more about the people who live down here, meet their leadership – perhaps even find Mama Palo.

“That would be fantastic,” Vlora said, trying not to sound too excited, “but I’m not sure I could convince the Blackhats to let me go through with it.”

“I understand,” Meln-Dun said. “The Blackhats and their bureaucracy are enemies even to their allies. But if you’re willing to try, this would make great strides in mending the rift between our people.”

Pit, Vlora realized, if this worked she might not even have to take down Mama Palo. This could end peacefully, without her having to betray Vallencian’s trust or kill anyone. It seemed like the light at the end of the tunnel and she ran toward it full tilt. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Lady Flint. Now, if you’d like to accompany me back inside, I’ll introduce you to some of the people who could help you make this happen.”

Vlora took out a handkerchief and cleaned her hand, then took Meln-Dun’s offered arm. She was no longer that scared, foolish girl she once was. She was Lady Flint, a decorated general, and she could not afford to feel sorry for herself.

She had work to do.

Styke and the dragonman faced each other for an impossibly long moment as the world around them seemed to slow to a crawl. As far as Styke was concerned, there were only three people left in Landfall: the dragonman, Celine, and him. Celine fell quiet, continuing to wriggle helplessly in the dragonman’s grip. Styke felt the handle of his knife slippery against the sweat on his palm. This was not a good situation. The dragonman had the upper hand, and Styke had always done his best not to fight when he wasn’t confident of a win.

It would be better to retreat, let the dragonman slip away, and live to fight another day. That’s what Colonel Ben Styke would have done, regardless of his reckless reputation. But the dragonman had Celine, and he didn’t look like he wanted to “just slip away.”

“Why are you following me?” the dragonman demanded. Styke remained silent, and the dragonman twisted his fingers. Celine let out a cry. Styke took half a step forward, but the dragonman twisted harder and Celine’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“Orders,” Styke said.

“From who?”

“Your mother.”

“Funny. From who, big man? Who’s asking questions about the dragonmen?”

“You think I care about the girl?”

“Of course you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Do you know what will happen if you hurt her?”

The dragonman’s eyes dropped to the knife in Styke’s hand. He snorted, as if finding such a large weapon preposterous. Styke was easily a foot and a half taller than the dragonman and yet he seemed completely uncowed by Styke’s height. It was annoying. “You’re a cripple,” the dragonman said. “You’re fast. You’re strong. But I saw all your tricks back at the pub. I’ll slit the girl’s throat and then I’ll kill you, too. It won’t be hard.”

“Is that what they teach you in the Dynize army? To kill children?”

The dragonman’s eyes tightened. “Children bleed as easy as anyone else, don’t they? Why would they be spared? A child is nothing but a future enemy.”

“Why are the Dynize in Landfall?” Styke demanded. “Why were they in the Tristan Basin? What do you want with Fatrasta?” He was getting angry, and fighting angry wasn’t going to help him.

The dragonman allowed a small frown to cross his face. “You act as if you have the power here. Is this common among you Kressians? To make demands from a weaker bargaining position? Because it is foolish. Only the strong receive answers.” As if to make his point he tightened his grip, and Celine let out a whimper.

“Ben…”

Styke ignored her. She wasn’t part of this. She couldn’t be part of this. Her survival did not matter right now. He had to focus all his energy on the dragonman, or he would lose the coming fight. Everything about the dragonman was getting on his nerves, from his acid calm to the way he didn’t even sweat in the summer heat. He focused on that, allowing annoyance, instead of anger, to prepare him for a scuffle.

Styke put Celine out of his mind and looked the dragonman in the face. “Lady Flint. Her men killed one of you people up in the Tristan Basin. It was a rough fight, and she wanted to know if there were any more of you around.” He felt a stab of satisfaction as the dragonman’s mouth opened slightly, real surprise registering in his eyes.

“Sebbith is dead?”

“Yeah. Sebbith is dead. He died squealing like a helpless little girl. Begged for his mother like a green recruit, and shit himself as he bled out.”

The dragonman stiffened. “That is a lie!”

Styke locked eyes with Celine in the moment the dragonman lost his calm. He made a chomping motion with his jaw, and Celine immediately twisted around, biting down hard on the dragonman’s wrist. By the time her teeth closed on the dragonman’s skin, Styke was already running, whipping his knife overhand as hard as he could.

Two things happened at once. The dragonman tossed Celine aside as easily as a doll, and he stepped to one side, snagging the knife out of midair as easily as if it were a ball. Styke slammed into him a moment later, not bothering with finesse, throwing all his weight at the dragonman’s chest.

Both his knife and the dragonman’s went flying. They crashed to the boardwalk, and Styke felt pricks like adder bites as the dragonman struck him flat-handed below the ribs. Styke ignored the punches and snatched the dragonman by the throat with his bad hand, drawing back his good into a fist. His heavy lancer’s ring connected with the dragonman’s nose, which broke beneath the blow, showering them both with blood.