Meln-Dun’s lips pursed. “Not that kind of local business. If you please.”
Michel paid careful attention to the ticks of the short exchange, curious about Meln-Dun’s relationship with the Dynize. He certainly seemed to think he was in charge, but the dragonman didn’t jump at his bidding. Interesting. Slowly, almost carelessly, the dragonman got to her feet and strode out the door, leaving it open behind her. Michel turned to watch her cross the catwalk, using the opportunity to lock eyes with Ichtracia. She gave the smallest shake of her head.
No recognition from either of them, it seemed.
“You’re the thief-takers I was told about?” Meln-Dun said. He pulled a cigarette out of one drawer of his desk, lit it, but didn’t offer any to Michel and Ichtracia. “I’m glad to hear we found you before the Dynize did.” His eyes dropped to the missing fingers on Michel’s hand, briefly, before returning to his face. “Dahre here has been chasing a problem all around the Depths for a couple months now without any real progress. I’m hoping you can change that.”
“I hope so, too.” Michel took his hat off, nodding to Meln-Dun before dropping into the dragonman’s still-warm seat. It was an affected mix of politeness and confidence that had always gotten him far in infiltrations. “If you need people found, we’re the ones to do it.” Ichtracia leaned against the door, and Michel caught Dahre eyeballing her body for a moment before he went to the one tiny window and squinted outside.
Meln-Dun took several drags on his cigarette. His fingers trembled ever so slightly, and Michel wondered just how much of his soul he’d had to sell to the Dynize to become the de facto king of Greenfire Depths. “I’m curious how you propose to find anything in Greenfire Depths if you’re from Brannon Bay. This place is, as you may have already noticed, unique.”
“I’m from here,” Michel said with a derisive snort. “Parents died when I was a boy. Ran the streets for a few years until an uncle up in Brannon Bay came and found me and gave me a trade. I agree that coming in blind would be foolish, but me? Well, I know the place. And Avenya here learns quick.”
“Do you still have local ties?” Meln-Dun asked, almost too quickly.
“Like I said, street kid,” Michel answered. “If I have any local ties, I haven’t talked to them since before the Revolution.”
“Excellent. We need trackers, but we’re more in need of eyes and ears without the preestablished… loyalties of the Depths. We need a woman found—a local folk hero of sorts. Goes by the name of Mama Palo.”
“Heard the name,” Michel said, digging in one ear with his remaining pinkie as if he wasn’t at all concerned by the person in question. “Freedom fighter, right?”
“That’s right.”
Michel spat on the wood floor. “I’ve dealt with their type before. Idealist pricks, the lot of ’em.”
A small smile grew behind Meln-Dun’s cigarette. “I think I like you, Mr.…”
“Tellurin.”
“I like you, Mr. Tellurin. You and your friend are hired. Discuss the terms with Dahre. He’s heading up the search and already has some boys working their way through this godforsaken rat’s nest.”
“I can have you join up with them tomorrow,” Dahre added, nodding along with his boss.
Michel got up, cocking his head and straightening his shirt. “Thank ya, right, sir. You won’t regret it. By the by, how do you want this lady brought in? Truncheon and ankles dragged in the dirt?”
“Dead,” Meln-Dun said mirthlessly, face hardening. “I want her and all her followers slaughtered. Will that be a problem?”
“The knife, then,” Michel said, pulling a face. “Price will be a little higher, especially if she’s as popular as you say and we have to disappear quick after the job.”
“Price isn’t an issue.”
“Then we have a deal.” Michel returned his hat to his head and touched the brim. “Right you are. Sir?” he said to Dahre.
Dahre led them out of the office and back along the catwalk. Michel lagged behind a little bit, glancing over his shoulder at Ichtracia as they passed the waiting dragonman. Once they had left her far behind and were back among the rest of the offices, he waited for Dahre to get far ahead of them and quietly asked, “That dragonman. Anyone you know?”
“Don’t think so. There are a lot of dragonmen. Don’t think she recognized me, either.”
“Didn’t look like it. But keep your eyes open.”
“Meln-Dun doesn’t want the Dynize to know that he’s having problems with Mama Palo,” Ichtracia said.
Michel resisted the urge to scratch at the painful stubs of his two fingers. “I got the same impression. We’ll have to figure out how to use that.”
“They seem awfully trusting,” she said cautiously as they approached Dahre’s office. She wasn’t outwardly nervous, but her eyes moved just a little too quickly, like someone trying to watch every angle at once.
“This isn’t high politics,” Michel answered quickly. They would have time to talk later, but anything he could do to calm Ichtracia’s nerves would help her stay in disguise better. “Down here, among the Palo, you get jobs on a handshake, a nod, and knowing a guy who knows a guy. People pass through all the time. If they screened them all they’d never do anything else.”
“That sounds… distractingly easy.”
“That’s not the hard part,” Michel responded. “The hard part will be shaking these assholes off our trail once we’re ready to move on.”
CHAPTER 10
The Adran Army marched down the coast for four days and swung around onto the Cape of New Adopest, where they descended from the hilly northland and onto a vast river delta that had long been stripped of its old forests. Cotton and tobacco plantations stretched to the horizon, broken only by the intertwining branches of the New Ad River.
Vlora sat on her horse, watching from a knoll beside an abandoned plantation house as her army marched over the first of a dozen bridges that stood between her and New Adopest. The distance wasn’t far—another twelve miles or so—but she fully expected it to be a hard-fought twelve miles, with burned bridges and a dug-in enemy waiting for them at the end.
Soldiers saluted her position as they passed, and Vlora returned the gesture a handful of times before it became too tiring to lift her arm and she fell to answering with a nod.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
The question brought her out of her foggy thoughts, and she turned to find that Norrine had ridden up beside her. She blinked sweat out of her eyes. “When did you get here? Where’s Davd?”
“Just relieved him, ma’am,” Norrine responded, pointing to where Davd was riding down to join the army on the road. “Do you want me to get him?”
“No,” Vlora answered, hearing the response come too quickly from her lips. “No, that’s okay. I just…” She hesitated for a few moments, before continuing in a quiet voice, “There are gaps in my memory from the Crease.”
“Perfectly normal, ma’am. You almost died.”
Vlora opened her mouth, frustrated at not being able to voice her frustration. “I know, I know. I’m just worried that the gaps are widening. That they’re happening to me still. Do you understand? I keep looking around for Olem, even though you and Davd and Bo have told me a dozen times that he’s on an errand.”
Norrine looked down at her rifle, which was slung across her saddle horn, then looked on toward the horizon without answering. Perhaps there was no answer. Vlora gestured dismissively. “Sorry, it’s not your problem.”
“It is my problem, ma’am,” Norrine responded slowly. “You’re my commanding officer. But I’m not great on advice. Better at shooting and fighting.”
“Me too, Norrine.”
“They say time heals all wounds. You probably just need time.”
“I don’t have any.”
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Vlora was relieved when she spotted Bo and Nila making their way from the column up toward her position. They approached
, turning their horses to fall in on her opposite side from Norrine. Bo scratched his head, jerking his chin toward the horizon in the direction of New Adopest. “Does something feel off about this?”
It took a moment for Vlora to retool her thoughts and focus on the strategies she’d need to employ for the next few days. She’d felt a vague unease since this morning, but she’d just chalked it up to the fear she felt over gaps in her memory. She swept her gaze across the horizon, finding nothing worrisome, and turned to Bo. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’m not, either,” Bo said. “You’re the trained strategist. I just feel like…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek.
It was Nila who spoke up. “Why is that bridge still there?”
The question set off a spark in Vlora’s mind, and that feeling of unease grew stronger. Bo was right. Something was wrong. She met Nila’s eyes. “They have to know we’re coming.”
“Absolutely,” Nila answered. “We have an entire field army. They should have known we were coming weeks ago and made preparations. And even if somehow they missed us, our fleet will have already engaged theirs. They know we’re here. They know about our approach.”
“I don’t follow,” Bo said.
Vlora snorted. For as brilliant as Bo was, he could be daft as pit at times. “There’s a Dynize field army between us and New Adopest, correct?”
“Yes.”
“If you knew that an enemy was on the way to relieve the city, wouldn’t you have burned all the bridges between you and them?”
Bo opened his mouth in a silent “ah-ha.”
“We’re not far,” Vlora continued. “We’ll be approaching their rear by the end of the day. So why aren’t they trying to slow us down? Where is their delaying action?”
“Maybe their general is an idiot?” Bo suggested.
“Maybe.” Vlora looked to the south, where the main trunk of the New Ad River slashed the Cape in two horizontally on the map. It was a wide, deep river and their destination was on the north bank—so she’d kept her army on the same side. But now something about its positioning bothered her. “Could this be a trap?”
“In what way?” Nila asked.
Vlora shook her head. “Perhaps they’re trying to lead us out onto the Cape and then bottle us out here with a bigger army?”
“That’s a terrible trap,” Bo pointed out. “We have an enormous fleet right off the coast. All we’d have to do is embark and land somewhere north or south of the Cape.”
“It would slow us down by a week or two,” Vlora reasoned. “Enough time for them to get reinforcements.”
“Are we reading too much into this?” Nila asked. “It could very well just be enemy complacence, or stupidity, or…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Put it to your generals. Or leave a brigade or two back here.”
The temptation to divide her forces was strong, but Vlora fought against it. Splitting the army now, with several field armies still south of them on the mainland, could just play into the enemy’s hands. This excursion to New Adopest was supposed to be a brief one, meant to isolate and break a portion of the enemy’s strength. “We stay as one.” She raised her hand, signaling for one of the half-dozen messengers awaiting her word down by the road. A boy in a loose-fitting uniform, probably no more than fifteen, rode up the hill and snapped a salute.
“Orders for General Sabastenien,” Vlora said. “I want him to send his cavalry across the New Ad, where they’ll shadow our movement, scout the south side of the river, and report back at regular intervals. Dismissed.” The messenger was off before she’d finished the last word, and she watched the boy go with a frown. “I do feel like I’m missing something,” she said.
“You have scouts ahead of the vanguard?” Nila asked.
“Of course.” Vlora stewed in her uncertainty. “If they haven’t burned any of the bridges, we’ll be within scouting range of the enemy siege by nightfall. We’ll find out what’s waiting for us then.”
The enemy, as it turned out, had only burned one bridge. It was the bridge between one of the smaller tributaries of the New Ad and the Dynize camp. The river was shallow enough to ford but deep enough to slow their crossing if the enemy decided to make a contest of it. And based on their defenses, they would make it a contest.
The Dynize army had formed a half-moon series of fortifications around the distant city of New Adopest with ditches, gun emplacements, and watchtowers. But they’d also done the same thing on the other side, facing outward, effectively turning their besieging army into a town capable of withstanding siege itself. The closest of the earthworks was placed just fifty yards beyond the river. Vlora could see, through her looking glass, the morion-helmed soldiers manning those earthworks and gun crews checking over the artillery that would face her were she to attempt a direct assault.
“They definitely knew we were coming,” Vlora said to no one in particular. She was surrounded by most of her general staff, all on horseback, and all examining the enemy and the city beyond them through their looking glasses.
“We can brush those aside with sorcery,” someone suggested. Vlora didn’t bother lowering her looking glass to see who.
“No, we can’t,” Nila shot back. “They have at least eight Privileged over there. I’m strong, but with just me and Bo we’ll have our hands full handling that many at once.”
“Davd?” Vlora asked.
Her powder mage hesitated for a moment before answering. “Those Privileged are hanging really damn far back. Almost to the front they have with New Adopest. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that they’ve learned not to get cocky around powder mages.”
“So they have strong positioning, and they’re being smart,” Vlora said. “That’s unfortunate.” She fought a spike of frustration. All of this would be so much easier with her own sorcery—she wouldn’t have to ask for reports on the enemy Privileged or use a looking glass to see the earthworks.
“It’s nothing we can’t take,” General Frylo said. He was an older man, a veteran of the army that Tamas built before the Adran-Kez War, and newly arrived with Bo and Nila. “But we’ll lose a lot of men doing it unless we can come up with something clever.”
Vlora swept her looking glass across the enemy fortifications, through the middle of their camp, and then to the buildings of New Adopest barely visible through the afternoon haze. There wasn’t a lot of high ground out here, so visibility was no more than a few miles, and even that was sketchy. The enemy could be doing practically anything behind those fortifications and she’d be none the wiser. She swung her looking glass to the river, where a few hundred Dynize cavalry were fording the river toward a token force holding south of the city.
“General Sabastenien, do we have word back from those scouts we sent across the river?”
Sabastenien shook his head. He was not much older than Vlora, in his mid-to-late thirties. He’d been a brigadier with the Wings of Adom mercenary company during the Adran-Kez War and then recruited to the regular army by Tamas. “They ran into resistance the moment they crossed. Dynize cavalry are screening us, keeping us from getting a foothold over there.”
“How many did you send?”
“Two hundred dragoons, with orders not to engage.”
“Send four hundred. I want to know what’s going on to our south, and I want to know by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Vlora considered the order, wondering if she should send more. The enemy might be contesting their scouts for some vital reason, or just to foul Vlora’s intelligence. She needed to know either way. But at what cost? “Make it five hundred,” she corrected. “And give their commanding officer discretion on whether to engage.”
“Of course, ma’am. Right away.”
Vlora turned her looking glass back on the enemy camp and listened for the distant report of cannon fire. If the Dynize had been shelling New Adopest before she arrived, they had stopped now. Perhaps they thought their guns would be bette
r turned in her direction? They wouldn’t be wrong, of course.
“Do you see that?” someone asked.
“What?” Vlora asked, lowering her looking glass for a moment and sweeping the horizon.
“There.” It was Sabastenien speaking. “One o’clock. From their camp.”
Vlora followed his instructions and used her looking glass to find a pair of Dynize riders coming over the earthworks. They forded the tributary and began the long trek toward the Adran lines, waving a white flag. Neither soldier wore a breastplate nor any decoration.
“Deserters or messengers?” Bo asked.
“Messengers, by the white flags,” Nila responded.
Vlora could hear a very pregnant question in the air. The entire general staff had an air of expectation, and she could practically feel Bo wanting to ask if she was going to give the orders to shoot them. The terrible urge in her stomach certainly wanted her to. But these weren’t the soldiers that had almost killed her. She had to remain in control of herself. She lowered her looking glass and took her reins in one hand, then headed at a slow pace out to meet them. “Bo, Davd,” she called over her shoulder. “With me.”
She drew up a few hundred yards in front of her own lines and waited for the messengers to reach her. One was a middle-aged man with short-cut hair, thoughtful eyes, and a clean-shaven face. The other was an older woman—very old, looking just on the edge of frail. Her hair was dyed as black as Vlora’s and she had deep smile lines on her cheeks. It was the man who spoke, in broken Adran. “We’re looking for General Flint.”
“You’ve found General Flint,” Vlora replied. “What do you want?”
“We’re here on behalf of General Etepali of the Spider Brigades of the Emperor’s Immortal Army.”
“On what errand?”
“To seek an audience with General Flint.”
Vlora examined the two, unable to keep her lip from curling. They were too sharp-eyed, too clean and well-mannered to be common soldiers and yet they weren’t wearing anything that marked them as officers. She wondered if word from Lower Blackguard had spread ahead of her. She remembered meeting with the Dynize general just before the Battle of Windy River. Her head had been nothing but a trophy to him. Arrogant prick.
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