Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“The old woman who died wasn’t Mama Palo.”

Vlora opened her mouth, then closed it again. “You… son of a bitch, it’s Ka-poel, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. The old woman who went to the gallows was named Cherin-tes. She’s been a figurehead from the very beginning, and she knew it. And before you call me a monster for letting her die, a sickness in her blood would have seen her dead within the year anyway. She knew the risks.”

“And Mama Palo?”

“It’ll take Lindet a couple of months, but she’ll eventually figure out that she missed.”

“That I missed,” Vlora corrected.

“Yup.”

Vlora scowled. She didn’t like the idea of leaving town and having rumors spread over the winter that she’d botched a job. It would be terrible for the Riflejacks’ reputation. The intangible thing in the back of her mind was still bugging her. It was floating just outside her awareness, like a moth tapping against a windowpane. Suddenly, she reached out and snagged it. “The Dynize,” she said. “Meln-Dun. The dragonmen. What’s the connection?”

For the first time since their cab ride began, Taniel’s face went stony, his eyes narrowing. “That’s something entirely different,” he said quietly.

“Is it a problem for you?”

“The Dynize are clever. They’ve been very subtle about their infiltration of the Depths. We’ve been watching them, keeping our distance, but if I’ve put the pieces together right, and Meln-Dun tricked you into helping him remove Mama Palo…”

“He did,” Vlora growled.

“… and Meln-Dun has some sort of deal with the Dynize…”

“Seems little doubt of that,” Vlora interjected.

“… then Ka-poel and I are going to move against them soon.”

Vlora did not envy the Dynize who would be caught up in that purge. She knew what Ka-poel was capable of when she was angry, and if the sorcery disguising Taniel was any indication, she’d progressed even further since then. “Why are they here?” Vlora asked.

“We don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”

“Both. We have our suspicions, but…”

Vlora waited for him to finish the sentence. He didn’t. “You don’t trust me,” she finally said.

“You’re working for Lindet.”

“You just told me a lot more damning information than a few suspicions over Dynize spies.”

“Compared to our suspicions, all of this is inconsequential. Besides, nothing I told you could help you fight us. The Blackhats have been trying to catch the Red Hand for years. The only way I survive is by making certain there’s nothing to capture.”

“Taniel Red Hand, huh?”

“Just Red Hand. Taniel’s dead, remember?”

Vlora found herself troubled, wondering what suspicions Taniel could have about the Dynize that were even more sensitive than his war with Lindet. “The Riflejacks don’t work for Lindet anymore.”

Taniel’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

“We handed over Mama Palo. That was our job. I refused further employment.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Taniel said, sounding genuine.

Vlora waited for a few moments, then said, “What are your suspicions?”

Taniel gave her a tight smile. “How would you like a job?”

The question shouldn’t have taken Vlora off guard, but it did. She reeled mentally, taking a deep breath and leaning back in her seat to get her wits about her. She’d made up her mind to leave Fatrasta, maybe forever, and she was ready to board a ship by the end of the week. “What kind of a job?”

“I’m not sure yet. I might need an army sometime in the next couple of years. I could put you and the Riflejacks on retainer and have you wait around up north. Could come in handy.”

It sounded like a mercenary’s dream job. Be paid to wait around for pending orders. They wouldn’t have to keep up appearances, manage a garrison, or anything. Her men wouldn’t like the prospect of staying away from home for another two years – but they’d love the freedom of terrorizing the brothels and pubs of northern Fatrasta on someone else’s krana.

“We’re planning on heading home,” Vlora said. She could hear the hesitance in her own voice, and Taniel pounced on it.

“I’ll pay you whatever Lindet was paying you.”

“You’ve got money?”

“Remember how we agreed to split the inheritance after the war? You got the domestic holdings, I got the foreign ones?”

“Yes,” Vlora said slowly. She could have kept it all if she wanted. Despite their falling-out during the war, she was still Field Marshal Tamas’s adopted daughter – and Taniel was technically dead. Legally, everything Tamas had before his death belonged to her.

“Did you ever bother to check those accounts?” Taniel asked.

“Not that I recall.”

“Tamas was fabulously wealthy. He was the king’s favorite for most of his life and didn’t so much as buy himself a drink if he didn’t have to. His foreign holdings could have bought him a sultanate in Gurla.”

“Wish I’d known that before I became a damned mercenary commander,” Vlora muttered. She ran through the logistics in her head, already drifting toward the problem of keeping her men sharp while on a sort of permanent leave, and avoiding Lindet’s questions. Northern Fatrasta might be like a whole different country, but it was still ruled by Lindet. But there was one thing stopping her. “I can’t,” she finally said.

Taniel had the temerity to look hurt. “Why not?”

“I’m not getting involved in another revolution.”

“It’s not going to be a coup.”

“I don’t care,” Vlora said. “A revolution is a revolution, and I’ve got no interest. I’ve seen the outcome of good intentions, and I’m not going to put either myself or my soldiers through any of it.”

Taniel frowned, looking pensively at his gloved hands for some time. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The two of them sat in silence, eyes locked, studying each other. Vlora wondered what he was hiding – what he wasn’t telling her. What did he know about the Dynize and the Palo and Lindet? What were his plans? Taniel had never been ambitious, and beyond the defense of Adro she had never witnessed him involved in a cause to which he was truly committed. To what lengths would he go to reach his goals? More important, what were Ka-poel’s goals and motives in all of this?

A dozen more questions sat on the tip of her tongue, and a dozen times as many fears. Taniel was unreadable, but at least Vlora had once known him intimately; she might be able to foresee his intentions. Ka-poel was the truly terrifying one of the pair – both for her power, and her unpredictability.

Why were they here, struggling on behalf of a people who could not win a fight they did not want? Vlora guessed that the answer was in the question, that he and Ka-poel were the Palo’s only hope. But was there something more?

Vlora realized suddenly that they hadn’t moved for several minutes. Her throat went dry at the thought, her first instinct to be wary of ambush. “I’d like to return to the fort now.”

Taniel gave a sad nod and thumped on the roof of the cab. “Loel’s Fort,” he commanded.

“Won’t be going anywhere for a while, sir,” the driver responded. “Traffic’s all backed up.”

Vlora stuck her head out the window, looking up and down the street and a long line of cabs, carriages, and wagons. Drivers were shouting at one another, some standing up in their seats to try to see what the holdup was. Urchins darted among the wheels, taking the opportunity to snatch goods out of the back of wagons before retreating to nearby alleyways.

“What’s going on?” she asked.