Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“The what now?” Ibana asked, mouth falling open.

Styke managed to keep the shock off his face, but he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s not possible,” he said.

“Neither is Taniel Two-shot being alive,” Flint responded. “But there it is. At least forty ships of war and I have no idea how many support frigates.”

“The Dynize haven’t left their country for over a hundred years.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“How do they even have a fleet?” Ibana demanded.

“I’d love to figure that out,” Flint said, “but in the meantime I’d rather know why they’re here.”

There was a knock on the door and Styke jumped, only then realizing he’d been clutching the handle of his knife. Olem poked his head inside. “Vlora,” he started, then saw Styke and Ibana. “Ah. You’re still here.”

“Yes, they’re still here,” Flint responded, acid in her voice. “And you and I are going to talk about this later.”

“Sure,” Olem said coolly. “After we talk about Fidelis Jes standing in the muster yard.”

Styke was halfway to the door before he even knew he was moving. Flint threw out a hand, putting a surprisingly firm palm on his chest. “No,” she barked.

Styke clenched and unclenched his fists. This was his chance. He was healed, fresh, angry, armed. He didn’t care how many Blackhats Jes had with him out there, between him and Ibana they would carve through the lot and he’d pop Jes’s eyeballs like pimples. He tried to step forward, but Ibana put an arm around his chest and hauled him back. He growled at her, and she slapped him across the face. It was enough for him to get control of himself, and he stalked to the other end of the room and glared at both Ibana and Flint.

“What does he want?” Flint asked. “Is it about the fleet?”

“It is,” Olem answered.

Flint seemed to vacillate before pointing at Styke. “You, stay here. If you so much as put a finger outside this door I will put a bullet in your head. Olem, let Jes in the building.”

She disappeared, leaving Styke and Ibana alone inside her office once more. Styke took several deep breaths, letting himself calm down before shrugging Ibana’s hold off his shoulders. “I’m fine,” he said quietly. He’d imagined a quick apology and a quicker exit, and now he was stuck here with his worst enemy on the other side of the door. He should have had a better exit strategy. Slowly, he crept over and put his ear against the door.

In the next room, he heard Fidelis Jes enter and a cold exchange of pleasantries between the two.

“What’s going on?” Ibana whispered, joining him.

Styke listened carefully, only catching about half of the muffled conversation. “Jes is telling Flint about the fleet. Seems he wants to hire her.”

“She’s not working for him anymore?”

“No. That’s what Lindet said. Their contract was for Mama Palo.”

Ibana snorted. “You got lucky then. If she was still with him she would have handed us over. Or tried to.”

“I don’t think she would have,” Styke answered. He shushed her, trying to catch more of the exchange, but to no avail. “What are we going to do about this?”

“About what? Jes?” Ibana asked. “We’re going to kill him and use his skin to make you a new saddle.”

Styke rolled his eyes. “And people say I have anger problems. No, about the Dynize.”

“Sod the Dynize. We’re riding against the Blackhats.”

Styke stepped away from the door, taking Ibana by the arm and pulling her into the far corner, where they were less likely to be overheard. “If it’s true, and there’s a Dynize fleet out there, something is happening far bigger than you or I or the Mad Lancers.” He remembered Lindet’s warning to watch the horizon. Had she known this was coming?

Ibana lifted her face away from his, looking down her nose. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that we should lie low for a few months. See what happens. It may be that the Mad Lancers have more important things to do than slaughter Blackhats.”

“You’re going to let them get away with what they did to you?” Ibana hissed.

“Pit, no. I still want that saddle you promised me. But I formed the Mad Lancers to protect Fatrasta, not to avenge my own losses.”

“You did it for both.”

Styke chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Fair point. But something is happening.” He paused, a thought occurring to him. He replayed the conversation with Lindet last night through his head. “Pit,” he said breathlessly. “Lindet must have known they were coming.”

“How?” Ibana asked.

“She told me to watch the horizon. She said Fatrasta would face its greatest threat and that she didn’t think we would be prepared for it. I thought she was trying to throw me off the trail, but she was talking about the Dynize.” He was certain of it now, and he silently cursed Lindet for it. “Damn it, she could have just bloody well told me.”

“If she knew, why didn’t she say anything?”

“She didn’t think I needed to know,” Styke said bitterly. “You know that I’m the only person in the world who knows her birthday? If it’s not pertinent, she doesn’t share it. Just some bloody cryptic warnings. I –”

His next sentence was cut off by the door swinging open. Styke snatched for his knife, but it was just Lady Flint. She was wearing a scowl, looking like she’d aged five years in the time since she left the room. “Is Jes gone?” Styke asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?” Ibana demanded.

Flint crossed between them, rounding her desk and plopping down into a chair. Olem entered the room a moment later, taking up a spot just inside. Neither looked happy.

Finally, Flint said, “I need you and your Mad Lancers.”

“Excuse me?” Ibana did not sound pleased.

Flint’s tone was distant. “We’ll outfit you with horses and kit. I want you riding north within the hour. We’ve got eight hundred cuirassiers and three hundred dragoons stationed in Jedwar. You’re to take command of them and bring them back to the city.”

Styke’s chest was suddenly tight. “Why?”

“Because,” Flint said, “I’ve just been deputized as a general in the Fatrastan army. That fleet outside is making Lindet twitchy. I’ve been given complete control over the garrison and defenses of Landfall.”

“Is there going to be violence?”

“We don’t know. Lindet isn’t taking any chances, and I’m the best they’ve got.”

“What about Jes?” Styke asked.

Flint’s head turned, her eyes focusing on Styke with a single-minded determination that made him take half a step back. “You and the Blackhats are going to put aside your squabble until the danger outside has passed.”

“Like pit we will.” Ibana snorted.

“Like pit. You will ,” Flint ordered.

Ibana scowled back at her, then said in a slightly chastised tone, “It’s Jes you have to worry about.”

Styke glanced between the two women, wondering if this would still come to blows. He’d never heard anyone speak to Ibana that way and live to tell the tale. But Ibana was still listening, so that was a good sign.

“Jes will stay the bloody pit out of my way while I am in command,” Flint said, “or I’ll put him in front of a firing squad before Lindet can so much as sneeze. You two can either follow my orders or get out of my office. I have real work to do.”

Styke glanced at Ibana, then down at his own hands. It was right there at his fingertips, a new commission for him and his men, with horses and kit and a real purpose. All he had to do was reach out and take it. And put aside a decade of hatred.