Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“You were a lancer. I’d imagine that was part of the job.”

“You could say that. It’s hard to find horses strong enough for a prolonged charge in plate armor. I had to keep my eye out all the time.”

Tampo looked out over the floodplains, eyes squinted as if he could see all the way to the Tristan Basin. “I remember that horse you rode during the war. Biggest damn stallion I’ve ever seen.”

Styke felt a pang of regret, picturing the big, black warhorse in his mind’s eye. “Deshner,” he said. “He was a Deliv draft horse. Mean bastard, but we got along well.” And some damn officer put a bullet in his head right before they put me up against the wall, just to spite me. Styke fought down a surge of anger. He gripped his coffee cup and forced a smile. “Afternoon, Mr. Tampo. What can I help you with?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tampo,” Celine echoed without turning away from the ledge.

“May I sit?” Tampo asked.

Styke gestured to Celine’s unoccupied chair. Tampo took a seat and remained silent for several moments, studying Styke’s face with an uncomfortable intensity. Styke studied right back, searching Tampo for any kind of a tell. What was his game here? What did he want with Lady Flint? Styke felt a surge of protectiveness for Flint and reminded himself he’d known her only for a few days and would more than likely end up having to kill her. She seemed a good officer – but Tampo had earned his loyalty by bringing him out of the labor camp.

“What happened last night?” Tampo asked. There was a hint of accusation in his voice, and Styke suspected he already knew about the attack on Lady Flint.

How he knew was another question. “Someone tried to kill Flint.”

“I know. I trust you were there to protect her?”

“I wasn’t,” Styke said. No point in lying. Lying, in either the camps or the army, rarely made Styke’s job easier. It just gave him one more thing he had to remember. “Not until the end.”

“And why not?” Definitely accusatory. “I told you I needed her alive.”

Styke shrugged. “You said you wanted me to get close to her. She’s given me a task to do to get in her good graces. I’m not in the position to demand that she make me her bodyguard. Might be a bit suspicious if I did. Besides, from everything I’ve seen she can take care of herself pretty damn well.” Tampo remained silent, twirling his cane absently where it lay across his knee. Styke continued: “I half-expected you to be behind the assassination attempt, to be honest.”

To his surprise, Tampo smiled at that. “I appreciate the concern, but you are my plan regarding Lady Flint. She has powerful enemies in Landfall without even knowing it, and she may wind up being very useful to me in the future. I want her alive.”

Now that was interesting. Styke wondered what kind of people had it out for a mercenary general. “And if she proves not to be useful?”

“Then I’ll have you take care of the problem.” Tampo hesitated. “Tell me, Mr. Styke, do you think you could kill a powder mage?”

Celine left her spot at the railing and came over and pulled herself onto Styke’s knee, fixing Tampo with a flat stare. “Ben can kill anyone. Yesterday, he killed three Palo without breaking a sweat.”

“Is that so?” Tampo tilted his head at Styke, looking from him to Celine with some significance.

“Some Palo kid got in the way of a job I was doing,” Styke explained. “And Celine will keep her mouth shut around Lady Flint. Won’t you, Celine?”

Celine folded her arms. “I like Lady Flint. But if Ben has to kill her, then…” She held her hands up as if to say “oh well!”

“Regular old pair of mercenaries here,” Tampo commented. “Well, Mr. Styke, I’ll ask again. Could you kill a powder mage?”

Styke considered the question for a few moments. “In my current state? Not in a fair fight. But I don’t have a problem with fighting dirty. I’d probably be more worried about making my escape after killing Flint. I’d have to kill Colonel Olem, too, or risk him hunting me down, and those infantry seem pretty close to her, so it might get rough.”

“I’m glad you’re making plans for the eventuality, though I hope it does not come to that.”

There seemed to be a genuine note of regret in Tampo’s voice, and Styke wondered whether he was as cold a killer as Styke had originally pegged him to be. “Do I have a place in your plans?” Styke asked. “Beyond this thing with Lady Flint?”

“You’re a killer, Mr. Styke,” Tampo said matter-of-factly. “I always have use for a killer. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Styke said, giving Tampo a tight smile. “Planning for eventualities.”

Tampo sucked on his teeth, eyes narrowed, and returned to studying Styke in silence. Styke had to admit to himself that there was something unsettling in that gaze. Finally, Tampo said, “You’re too clever, Mr. Styke. I think that’s why they put you in the labor camp. You look like a thug, kill like a thug, but you think and talk like an officer. It confuses people – the looks and reputation give them expectations, and then you defy them all by being educated.”

“Are you saying you regret plucking me from the labor camps?” Styke tensed. He did not particularly like Tampo, but Tampo had bought his loyalty along with his freedom. He would do nothing from his own end to jeopardize their relationship, but if Tampo turned on them Styke would gut him like a pig.

The smile Tampo shot back was actually warm. “On the contrary. I’ve gotten exactly what I was looking for.”

“I thought you told me you wanted a blunt instrument.”

“Ever seen an old-fashioned war hammer? They put a spike on the back for a reason.” Tampo turned his attention suddenly to Celine, frowning, lifting the back of her hair gently to expose the red marks the dragonman had left on her neck. He gave Styke a sharp look.

“We ran into some trouble,” Styke said.

“What kind of trouble?”

“It was a dragonman,” Celine interjected, wiggling out of Styke’s lap and returning to the railing. “He grabbed me by the neck, but Ben punched him in the face and took his knife.”

Tampo’s head jerked around. There was a tense moment of silence, all of the congeniality having gone out of Tampo. “Did you say a dragonman?” he asked quietly.

“She did,” Styke answered.

“You saw one – you fought one?”

“More of a scuffle than a fight,” Styke said, glancing at Celine. This was not something he wanted to discuss with Tampo right now. “I tried to draw him out, he sent some of his acolytes to get a feel for me, then he slipped away. Celine and I followed him across the city and there was a confrontation.”

Tampo leaned across the table. Styke scooted his chair back slightly, not entirely sure what was eliciting Tampo’s intense response. Tampo said, “Back up and tell me everything.”

Styke ran through Lady Flint’s initial encounter with the dragonman in the Tristan Basin, her assignment, and then Styke’s plan to get one to show his face. He told Tampo about following the dragonman through the city and, at Tampo’s urging, listed all the places that the dragonman had visited on his errands. He finished with the scuffle, saying, “He ran when he saw the crowd. I suspect he’s not eager to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“And you’re sure he was a dragonman?”

“Same kind of black tattoos I’ve read about in the stories. Hard bastard, too. The only difference is… well, from the old stories you think of backwoods warriors straight out of the swamp.”

“He wasn’t?” Tampo asked.

“Too urbane. Wore a tailored suit, navigated the streets with ease. Another reason I think he was a Dynize, beyond the accent – he had the city written all over him and the only cities one might see a dragonman as commonplace these days are in Dynize.”