The soldier had a Palo man by the collar. The Palo was of medium height with a short, wispy beard and a gaunt face. His left hand was wrapped in bloody bandages and looked like it was missing a couple of fingers. “Sorry, ma’am. He surrendered to our pickets. Claims he works for Taniel Two-shot and has urgent news. Thought you might want to talk to him.”
The Palo removed his flatcap. “Michel Bravis, Son of the Red Hand, at your service.”
CHAPTER 64
Michel’s escort dragged him across the riverbank, following Lady Flint to where a handful of camp followers had hastily erected an open-sided tent. A handful of important-looking officers with gold epaulets on their Adran blues had already found the shade of the tent. A table was brought in and covered with maps and reports in the matter of a few moments. Lady Flint rounded the table, sorting the papers around with a critical eye, and then barked off a series of orders. Waiting messengers scattered like pigeons in every direction.
She finally turned toward Michel and frowned at his escort. “Dismissed,” she said, and the man released Michel and took off after the messengers.
Michel stood just outside of the shade of the tent, looking around, hoping that he did not faint from loss of blood. His entire left arm throbbed from the pain in his hand, and while Tenik’s stitches were tight, the new bandages were already soaked with blood. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on the ground and fall asleep. But he couldn’t. Not while Ichtracia was still held by her grandfather.
“Taniel told me you were his best spy and to make contact when we reached Landfall,” Vlora suddenly said, still looking at her maps. It took Michel a moment to realize she was talking to him, and he gratefully stepped under the tent.
“I’m flattered.”
“And I would have completely forgotten if you hadn’t shown up,” Vlora said. Her tone was clipped—all business—and it seemed that every other breath was to give orders to another messenger or one of the officers gathered around. The command tent had, in just a few moments, become the nexus of the entire battle grinding into motion around them. “I’m a bit busy here, so you better make your report quickly.” She looked up, over his head, squinting into the distance. “Start with what’s going on in the city.”
Michel took a moment to sort through everything in his head, ordering information from most to least important. “We discovered that Sedial used Palo blood to unlock the restrictions Ka-poel made to the Landfall godstone. The Palo have risen up, and there are riots, barricades, and fighting in the streets. At least, there were. He’s ordered all of his soldiers out of Landfall to deal with you.”
Vlora looked up at her second-in-command. Michel remembered Colonel Olem from his time as their Blackhat liaison, and the man hadn’t changed a bit. He even had a cigarette still hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Olem gave Vlora a sharp nod. “That explains all the villages up north. They were probably using them for blood sacrifices as well.”
“I don’t follow,” Michel said.
“Sedial’s crimes extend far out of Landfall,” Olem said, but did not explain further. “Go on.”
“My people,” Michel continued, “have made contact with Sedial’s enemies among the Dynize. We’re doing what we can to gather an internal resistance against Sedial, but I don’t think there’s real time to do anything. The godstones have been active for over a month now. We can only guess that he’s waiting for the last godstone to make his move, but I suspect that if you win the day, he will attempt to use them regardless.”
He now had Vlora’s undivided attention. She peered at him thoughtfully, a serious look on her face. “He does have all three godstones.”
“Oh.”
“It’s broken,” Olem explained, “but he has the capstone. We have no idea if that’s enough for him to act.”
Michel took off his hat and ran his good hand through his hair, barking a laugh. It sounded desperate and manic to his ears. “If that’s all there is to be had, then he’s going to use them.”
“You’re sure?”
“I know what kind of man Sedial is. He will not risk losing this war.” Michel gestured toward the godstone and the battle that had begun to join to their south. He could hear the shouts of officers, then the crack of muskets and rifles. A cloud of powder smoke rose into the air and great battle cries rose from the ranks. It all sounded so close that it made him want to run back to the relative protection of the catacombs. None of the assembled officers appeared to even notice the hubbub.
Vlora seemed to consider Michel’s words. “Do you have any idea what kind of preparations he’ll need to undertake to use the godstones?”
“No. Blood, probably.”
“And do we have any idea what the godstones will do?” she asked Olem.
“Beyond making a god? Could be anything.”
Vlora let out a soft laugh. “So we don’t know when, and we don’t know what, but we’re sure that Sedial is about to do something. This is terrifying.” She didn’t look terrified. She looked annoyed, like someone who’d been given a bigger job than she’d expected and told to do it in half the time. “Fine. It’s all the more important that we kick in his door and take away his toys. Olem, send word to the brigadiers that we’re running out of time. Tell Silvia that she’s to have the flares ready for when darkness falls. We’re not stopping this offensive until we capture the fortress.”
“The casualties—” Olem began.
Vlora took a sharp breath, cutting him off with a nod. “I accept the risk and the responsibility.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The orders were given, and Olem returned to her side. What he said next was in a low tone, just loud enough that Michel could hear. “We do have another option.”
“Go on.”
“We can try to kill him.”
Vlora looked up from her maps once more. “If he shows his head, I’ve already given the mages permission to blow it off.”
“He’s not going to show his head,” Olem replied, “but after dark we can send a couple of mages to scale the walls and seek him out.”
Michel caught his breath, looking between the two Adrans. “There will be at least a handful of dragonmen and bone-eyes inside that fortress. And probably a garrison of thousands.”
“It would be a suicide mission,” Vlora agreed, rubbing her chin.
“But it might be worth it,” Olem said.
Vlora began to pace, scowling at the ground at her feet. Michel could practically see her weighing her options. He couldn’t imagine that even a powder mage could crack whatever guard Sedial had around him, but Vlora and Olem clearly thought otherwise.
He clenched his jaw, thinking of Ichtracia deep in the fortress. Alone, probably injured, awaiting whatever fate her grandfather had in store for her. Would she end up another sacrifice? Or just a casualty? And what happened if Vlora did kick in the door with artillery and sorcery and bayonets? Would Ichtracia survive the chaos that ensued? A plan began to form in Michel’s head, and he considered the idea of a couple of assassins not just for assassins’ sake, but as a distraction.
“It should be me,” Vlora finally said.
The words were barely out of her mouth when Olem responded, “Absolutely not.”
“Tamas would have done it,” Vlora responded, the corners of her eyes hardening with stubbornness.
“You’re not Tamas,” Olem replied, and it became clear that this was part of some wider argument that Michel could not fathom. “And if the assassination fails, you need to be here to make sure the army does not. Give me two of your mages and twenty grenadiers. I can do it myself.”
“No!” The word was almost desperate. “No,” Vlora repeated. “You’re not going anywhere. If I’m vital, then you’re vital.”
Olem seemed about to argue his point, but shook his head. “Then it’s not happening.”
“I’ll do it.” The voice cut through the tent, and a man shouldered his way through the small group to stand between Vlora and Olem. He carried a ri
fle and wore one of the silver keg pins of a powder mage.
Vlora cast him a hard look. “Davd. You’re supposed to be on artillery duty.”
“Silvia has the enemy artillery contained,” Davd reported. “At least until we get within range of the fortress. I actually came to suggest that we get someone close to deal with the artillery after dark, but if you want to assassinate Ka-Sedial, I’m your man.”
Vlora hesitated.
“All it takes is one bullet,” Davd pointed out. “I can get in, find a high spot, take a shot, and get out. If I can make it back to the base of the wall, no dragonman will be able to catch up with me.”
Olem and Vlora exchanged glances, and it became clear that Olem was more in favor of the idea than his general. Michel could feel his own hasty plans now falling into place. This could work. It had to work. He considered his discussions with Survivor and the route the old man had taken out of the fortress and across the marshes, painting it out in his head. “I can guide him there,” he suddenly blurted.
Everyone looked in his direction, and he nodded with a confidence that he forced himself to feel. One distraction, even a failed attempt on Sedial’s life, might be all he needed to get inside and retrieve Ichtracia. “I can do it,” he insisted. “Give me the mage and I’ll make sure he gets inside the fortress.”
CHAPTER 65
Styke stood at the end of the causeway leading to Etzi’s compound, facing the city and leaning on his broken lance. His side burned from the dragonman’s knife, while the rest of his body ached from a pounding that would be a myriad of bruises in a couple of days.
If, that was, he could survive that long.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Amrec’s body. Someone from the Household had emerged an hour ago and covered it reverently with a blanket, but that just seemed to make the poor creature’s corpse stand out more in the mess that remained of Sedial’s hired mob. Maetle walked through it all, tending to the wounded on both sides but clearly out of her depth. No surgeon, no matter how skilled, was ready for their first time of seeing true carnage. Styke sympathized. In another time, he might have reveled at the destruction he had caused. But having to put a bullet in the head of his own horse had taken all the glory out of his deeds. He felt tired, hurting, and sick to his stomach.
Only a handful of his Lancers were to be seen. The rest rode through the borough, establishing order at the tips of their lances, forcing peace on the immediate area surrounding Etzi’s compound. Occasionally a report came back to Styke. He barely listened. He’d put Ibana in charge of securing their location. He had no urge to deal with any more than he already had.
“Ben.” The soft voice forced him to take his eyes off Amrec’s covered corpse. Celine stood by his side. She looked across the mayhem with concern, then focused on his blood-covered face.
“I thought I told you to stay inside,” Styke rebuked her gently.
“They sent me to get you.”
“Who?”
“Etzi. Some of the Household heads have arrived. They’re pressuring Ka-poel to take on the mantle of the Great Ka and ally the Mad Lancers with their faction. They think you’ll help convince her.”
“They didn’t come out to get me themselves?” Styke scoffed.
“I think they’re afraid of you.”
Styke let his eyes play across what remained of the mob once more and tossed his broken lance aside. “Good.” He let Celine take him by his gore-slick gauntlet and lead him back across the causeway. He walked with a bit of a limp, his side burning, wondering if he should get out of his armor and deal with this wound before he bled out. As they passed through the gates of the compound, Etzi’s Household guard stared at Styke in silence. Only the boy, Jerio, approached him, holding up a mug of beer. Styke took it with grateful thanks, downing it in two long drafts, and then followed Celine into the Household amphitheater.
A table had been set up in the center of the space. Ka-poel sat at one end, Etzi at the other. Arrayed down either side were nine more figures. Styke had watched them all arrive, though he hadn’t paid attention to their identities. He could only assume that these were the Household heads. The only one he recognized was Meln-Sika, the woman who’d warned Etzi about the covert purge.
“Please sit, Colonel Styke,” Etzi said, pointing to the one empty chair at the table.
Styke looked down at his bloody armor, looked at the chair, then limped around to stand just behind Ka-poel. He gave each of the Household heads a long glance. A few of the Dynize shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others regarded him warily, as if reassessing him.
It was Meln-Sika who finally cleared her throat. “This is a poor quorum, my friends, but I believe this is the best we can manage. The rest of our allies are either dead or trapped inside their compounds. Do I have unanimous agreement to continue?” The ten Household heads each raised a hand. Meln-Sika acknowledged the vote with a nod, then lifted her chin toward Ka-poel. “At this, our most desperate hour, will you put your lot in with us? Will you become the Great Ka and help us force the emperor to dismiss Ka-Sedial?”
To Styke’s eyes, Ka-poel looked so small and fragile sitting there at his side. But her jaw was firm, her lips pursed. She began to gesture, and it was Celine who translated. I am not a trained politician. If I take on the mantle of the Great Ka, I’m sure every one of you is already too aware at how much help I will need.
“We’d be honored to stand by your side,” Meln-Sika replied, bowing her head.
“That’s not what she means,” Styke grunted.
Ka-poel pointed at him, a small smile fluttering across her lips. I will not be a puppet. You know my grandfather, so you already know my temperament. If you put me forward as Great Ka, you are accepting the risk of my rule. I will accept guidance. I will not be controlled.
Silence descended at the table. Styke could see the Household heads considering her words. Etzi was the only one who seemed to take them as a matter of course and had already made his decision. “Understood,” he told her. “Do you have further demands?”
Ka-poel’s fingers flashed. I am hesitant to make a decision without my husband, but I know that time is short and we cannot afford to wait for him. She let out a soft sigh. I have one further demand: that no one interfere when I destroy the godstone.
Meln-Sika inhaled sharply. Several of the Household heads appeared visibly shocked. Once again, only Etzi was unsurprised, but Styke knew he had had several weeks to get to know Ka-poel. He knew what to expect. “It is our inheritance,” Meln-Sika said, her shaky tone betraying her fear. “It is our hope as a people.”
Hope? Ka-poel answered through Celine. Her lip curled as she gestured. It is a rock imbued with the power of a million dead. There is no hope to be had from any of the godstones. They are nothing but an avenue toward power. The only hope the Dynize people need is that of unity.
“We haven’t had unity since our god was murdered,” a man halfway down the table objected. “Not until Sedial gave us the hope of the godstones.”
Sedial gave you the godstones because he knew that you all hated him so much, he could never unite you himself. I won’t have that problem. Ka-poel tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully before continuing. I am here. I will destroy the godstone. Whether you choose to place me in a position of power once I have accomplished my task is up to you. Decide quickly.
It was the second time speed had been mentioned, and Styke leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Are we in a rush?”
She nodded. Yes.
“Why?”
She did not answer the question. Etzi raised his hand and, once he had everyone’s attention, said, “I’ve spoken with my brother. Based on the number of dragonman sightings throughout the city today, we estimate that the emperor is practically undefended. If we want to force him to renounce Ka-Sedial, this might be our only chance to do so.” His expression hardened. “You,” he said to Ka-poel, “may have to break Sedial’s hold on the emperor before we can force his han
d. I truly believe that Sedial would kill the emperor before relinquishing power.”
Meln-Sika sniffed. “This assumes we agree to allow the destruction of the godstone.”
“And if we don’t?” Etzi rounded on his colleague, thrusting a hand toward Styke. “You expect us to fight Sedial’s mobs and defend the godstone against the Mad Lancers? We have no choice. Ka-poel is right. The godstone was a symbol to unite us. If there is power to be got from it, do you think that Sedial will share? We do not need a god to make us whole again. We need a Great Ka who does not contrive to enslave us.”
“We barely know her,” Meln-Sika retorted. “How do we know that isn’t exactly what she will do?”
Etzi threw up his hands. “We can have an enemy who will murder us all, or we can have an untested ally. There are no other choices—no one else has the birthright to unite us and the power to challenge Ka-Sedial. Choose your graves.”
“I…” Meln-Sika began, only for Ka-poel to slam her fist on the table. The entire room jumped, including Styke, and he looked down to find Ka-poel leaning forward, eyes wild, a look of focus on her face. She gestured emphatically.
You must decide now! Celine translated.
“We’ve barely had time to discuss it,” Meln-Sika objected.
Ka-poel lurched to her feet, and Styke reached out to catch her by the arm. She shook him off and glared at the group. Ka-Sedial is preparing to move. Decide!
Etzi blinked back at her for a moment, then gestured to the rest of the Household heads. “A vote, then, for our small quorum. Those willing to back Ka-poel as the Great Ka?” He raised his hand.
Two more hands shot up immediately. Three followed slowly. Meln-Sika grimaced and hesitantly raised her own, and once she had acquiesced, the remaining four joined her. Another unanimous vote, though Styke could tell that many of them were unhappy with the speed at which the discussion had taken place. Good, Ka-poel gestured. Styke, gather your Lancers. We go to the imperial palace immediately.
Blood of Empire Page 55
