Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“In addition to searching for Mama Palo,” Vlora corrected.

“Do you take me for an idiot?”

“No. I take you for someone who understands the nuance of a long-term plan.” The words slipped out, and Vlora once again cursed herself for letting her temper get the better of her.

“You’re trying my patience, Lady Flint.”

“Should that bother me?” Vlora asked. “You gave me an assignment. You gave me two months. I’m less than two weeks in and you’re demanding results. I’m not sure what you expect.”

“I expect someone of your reputation to accomplish your work ahead of schedule. And yes, trying my patience should bother you. You act as if you own this place, Lady Flint. You act as if you’re in Adro, among your friends and admirers. You are not. You’re nothing but a cog in the wheel here, and I expect you to know your place.”

“Are you threatening me, Fidelis Jes?”

“I don’t threaten people, General. I just remind them who I am.”

Vlora bit back a retort. The last thing she needed was a dick-measuring contest. Fidelis Jes was famous for his early morning duels, as well as his rule against using sorcery. She had no doubt that a fight between them without sorcery would be a close one. But she was a powder mage. A sniff of black powder and she would tear through his Blackhats like so much rabble. Perhaps, she thought to herself, I’ve become too arrogant. Perhaps I need to be cautious. She glanced at the ring on his thumb. “Is Styke still at large?”

“Styke has been dealt with.”

Vlora reappraised the blood soaking through his clean shirt and the sweat on his brow when she first entered. Even now he was still flushed. She felt a moment of disquiet. Did he just fight Styke? After seeing what Styke did to the dragonman she couldn’t imagine a normal man living through a fight with him, though Styke had been hurting pretty badly when he left. Whether or not it had been a fair fight, Fidelis Jes was still standing – and he had Styke’s knife and ring.

He looked pretty smug about it, too, so maybe he did kill Styke himself.

“I’m moving the timeline up,” Jes said suddenly. “Things have changed, and we need Mama Palo apprehended immediately.”

“Excuse me?” Vlora didn’t bother to hide her shock. “I have six more weeks.”

“Not anymore.”

“I’ve put plans in motion to take care of this peacefully.”

“I don’t care,” Jes responded. “Bring in Mama Palo. You have three days.”

“That leaves me no other option than to march in there with an army to try to find her. It’ll be a bloodbath.”

“As I said: You’re mercenaries. You’re paid to kill and die. Your illusions of solving this with a little community outreach may be laudable, but don’t pretend to be something you aren’t.”

Vlora stiffened. “I’d like to speak with the Lady Chancellor.”

“The Lady Chancellor has more important things to do than waste time with a mercenary commander. Your men will receive a bonus for the change in the timeline, but you’re expected to fulfil your contract.”

Vlora felt like she’d been slapped. Anger churned inside her, threatening again and again to come out in words she would doubtless regret more than what she’d already said. Jes thought he was putting her in her place, but he was only pissing her off. The problem was she could do little about it. If it were just herself she would call him out and cut him down. But she had responsibilities – she had men to keep safe. He was right – this was not Adro, and she was not among friends.

But marching into Greenfire Depths was not going to do her men any favors.

She pushed down her anger, trying to think clearly. Why was he moving up the timeline? Did it have something to do with the Dynize in Greenfire Depths? Jes was peeved, maybe even shaken. Perhaps from his fight with Styke – if that’s indeed what happened – or perhaps from something else.

What wasn’t he telling her?

“I’ll see it done,” Vlora finally said, wrestling the words out.

“Very good.” Jes pointedly moved a file into the center of his desk, looking down at it in obvious dismissal. Vlora hesitated a moment, and then left.

Her honor guard – an insistence by Olem, who trusted the Blackhats almost as little as he trusted the Palo – stood just outside the Millinery. They had been joined by one of her men on horseback. The soldier tipped his cap. “Ma’am, message from Colonel Olem.”

Vlora pulled herself into her saddle, sighing. “It’s not good news, is it?”

“There’s been another attack.”

Shit. “Where?”

“Just inside Greenfire Depths. Meln-Dun was on a survey mission with a whole platoon.”

Vlora tugged on the reins, turning her horse around toward Loel’s Fort and urging it into a canter. Pit and damnation, Meln-Dun was the key to her entire strategy in the Depths. Even if her hand was forced to violence, she needed some kind of ally there.

The messenger kept pace. “We’ve thirteen casualties, but the platoon managed to pull out.”

“And Meln-Dun?”

“Barely escaped with his life. One of our boys took a bullet for him.”

Vlora bent over her saddle and urged her horse on harder, yelling for traffic to get out of her way.

Vlora swept through a report of the violence – an ambush by Palo insurgents in a narrow street in Greenfire Depths – and rushed into the fort administration office, where a shell-shocked Meln-Dun was having a gash on his face stitched up by a Riflejack medic.

The Palo businessman stared over her shoulder, frowning at nothing the first several times Vlora said his name. Finally he seemed to snap out of it, waving off the medic and meeting Vlora’s gaze. He licked his lips, clearing his throat, but couldn’t seem to be able to find anything to say. Vlora had seen this kind of thing before among green recruits or ordinary citizens caught in unexpected violence. Ambushes were terrifying no matter how experienced you were, and one in such a claustrophobic place like the Depths would be doubly so.

“It’s all right,” Vlora said, putting a hand on Meln-Dun’s shoulder. “I already got the report. I know what happened.”

“They attacked me,” Meln-Dun responded, eyes wide. “I’m trying to help them. I’m one of them!”

“They attacked my soldiers,” Vlora assured him.

“But I was there.” Meln-Dun touched his chest. “I was standing right there in the open where they could easily see me. My own people were down there with us. They killed Seren-Tel and Eleuia.”

“His surveyor and an assistant,” the medic explained quietly.

“I’ve been working with Seren-Tel for twenty years. He’s been a foreman at my quarry. I was going to…” Meln-Dun choked up, unable to speak any further.

Vlora exchanged a glance with the medic, who no doubt would like his patient left alone to collect himself. But Vlora didn’t have time to leave Meln-Dun to grieve. Pushing him would be a risk, but Fidelis Jes had given her an ultimatum and Vlora saw a way to get what she wanted without marching her whole army into the Depths.

“Who do you think did this?” she asked gently.

Meln-Dun averted his eyes, like a child who doesn’t want to tattle on a friend. Finally he said, “I believe it was Mama Palo’s men. No, I know it was Mama Palo’s men. I recognized one of her enforcers among the attackers.”

“And you’re sure they saw you in the crossfire?”

“I’m sure.” Meln-Dun shifted and allowed the medic to finish the stitches. “Lady Flint, I don’t think I should keep this from you.”

“What?”

“I believe they were coming for me.”

“Why would you say that?”