Vlora pulled her thoughts away from Landfall and turned her eyes toward the harbor, where two ships lay at anchor. One of them was a big, powerful, clumsy ship with black sails—closer to a floating palace than to a true ship of the line. It had brought with it a number of Dynize diplomats and fresh correspondents from the new Dynize empress less than a week ago. The other ship was small and fast, a Rosvelean-built vessel flying Adran colors.
Both ships had orders to sail to their countries of origin with the next outgoing tide.
“Vlora?”
Vlora lifted her head from her contemplations and turned toward the stairs, where Olem had appeared. He paused briefly, cigarette smoke streaming from his nostrils, then ashed his cigarette and joined her.
“Still haven’t decided?” he asked.
Vlora shook her head. “Are the last of the coffins on board the Adran ship?”
“They are,” he answered.
“Davd and Sabastenien?”
“It’ll be a good trip for them. The captain assures me that none of the coffins will slide around.”
“Good. I… I still wonder if I did the right thing.”
“We all wonder that,” Olem responded.
“That I did the right thing?”
“Each of us wonder about ourselves,” he amended.
“I was joking.”
Olem snorted and leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek before lighting a new cigarette. “You’re going to have to decide. You have twenty-five minutes before our luggage has to be loaded into one of those ships.”
Vlora pulled a pair of letters from her jacket, opened them both, then spread them on the ramparts, using one hand to smooth the folds. On the left was a letter from Taniel, inviting her and Olem to visit the court of the new Dynize empress. On the right was a letter from the government of Adro, demanding that Vlora return to Adro to answer for getting Adran soldiers involved in a foreign war.
She considered that second letter. Most of her soldiers had gone home months ago, accompanying Bo, Nila, and the fleet. This was, after all, no longer an Adran matter. Their army was dissolved, the matter put to rest. They had won. Vlora had stopped a would-be god.
She hadn’t told anyone but Olem about that moment in the Else, when Ka-poel seized that blackest of black. None of the new “empress’s” correspondents had referred to her godhood. She wondered how long until the news got out—how long until her compatriots back home found out that she had, in fact, failed in her mission.
She wondered if Ka-poel was equipped for godhood, or if a new nightmare had been born.
“If we go home,” she told Olem, “there is a distinct possibility that we will both be arrested and court-martialed. Delia has been there for four months, putting her own spin on what happened here, no doubt telling everyone that you murdered Provost Marshal Valeer in cold blood.”
If the prospect of facing a trial bothered Olem, it didn’t show on his face. “Bo and Nila have both been back for a couple of months, as well as most of the general staff. After Delia’s betrayal, they won’t let her lies stand.”
“And yet our arrest is still a possibility.”
Olem tapped his finger on the letter from Adro. “It is,” he conceded. “We could go to Dynize. Taniel has as much promised you a letter of recommendation, an ambassadorship, and the full protection of the Dynize throne.”
“And it would give us a chance to see what Ka-poel has really become,” Vlora mused.
“Last I heard, Major Gustar is still hanging around there to make sure Adro has some representation in the Dynize court until a proper ambassador arrives. It would be good to see him.”
Vlora looked from one letter to the other, then back again. A war raged in her chest as she considered the possibilities of both, the benefits and the dangers. There were too many to name. The idea of returning to Adro and facing a country that had made it clear it didn’t want its war heroes around anymore was terrifying. The possibility of conflict—of putting her talents to use in Dynize—had a certain allure.
“You support whichever decision I make?” she asked Olem, though she’d asked him the same a dozen times in the last few days.
“I do.”
She picked up the letter from Dynize, folded it, and placed it back in her pocket. “No more running from home,” she told him, taking the other letter and handing it to him. “I have a story to tell in Adro, and I’m going to tell it, no matter what Delia and her friends try to do to us.”
“It’ll be good to see the mountains again,” Olem said, a small smile spreading across his face. “What about Ka-poel?”
“I’m tired, Olem. God or not, it’s going to take her years to repair Dynize. I think I’ve earned time to deal with more personal matters. Besides.” She frowned, thinking back to those few minutes in the Else. “Adom was there, and he did not stop her. I have the feeling things are going to work out.”
“Right. I suppose we can ask him in person in a couple of months.” Olem offered her his arm. “Well, my Lady Flint. Will you accompany me to our ship?”
She hooked her arm into his. “Gladly.”
Styke watched a tree fall, listening to the satisfying snap of limbs as it gained speed in its descent and finally crunched to the ground with a sound that echoed throughout the forest. He took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow, and shouldered his ax. His left hand hurt terribly, the fingers that Emperor Janen broke still aching on cool days, and his side decidedly tender after so much hard labor.
But both pains were good ones. They reminded him that he was alive, but mortal.
Styke proceeded to strip the tree of all its branches—a job that took him several hours. By the time he was finished, it was getting near noon and Celine had joined him, setting up two armies of carved cavalry on the nearby stump of a tree he’d felled last week. Styke watched her play with the two warring forces for a few moments, then fetched a reinforced leather strap. Wrapping the strap around the trunk of the tree, then around his shoulders, Styke dragged the trunk across the soft ground until he’d removed it from the area that would be, one of these days, his new house and yard.
“You know we have horses, right, Ben?” Celine called from her play.
Styke reached his destination and dropped it, letting it roll down a slight incline toward a pile of other trunks. “No need to use a horse for what a man can do on his own.”
A sudden neigh caught Styke’s attention, turning his gaze away from his own horse pen and toward the forest. About thirty yards away, watching him from their mounts, was a small procession. His sister sat at the front—straight-backed and proper in her saddle, face expressionless. A number of bodyguards and servants were arrayed around her, most of them looking far more impressed than their master.
Once she knew she’d been spotted, Lindet flipped the reins and approached. Styke wiped his face with his shirt.
“After all you’ve been through,” Lindet said as she approached, “you’re still an ox. I can’t believe it.”
Styke stretched his hand and ignored a twinge in his side. “You expect me to fall to sloth in my retirement?”
“I didn’t expect you to retire,” she snorted. At a gesture, her companions came to a stop, while Lindet herself brought her horse right up next to Styke and dismounted. She draped the reins over a nearby branch. “Let me get something straight: This new Dynize empress pries the entire Hammer out of my hands as a concession for removing her armies peaceably from Fatrasta, and then turns around and gives it to you? What the pit did you do in Dynize to earn that kind of gratitude?”
“It’s just a bit of land.”
“It’s thousands of square miles of land, largely unpopulated, with several abandoned frontier forts and a proper fortress on the coast. And I’m to understand you own it all, now?” Lindet’s tone seemed to waver between impressed and annoyed.
Styke scratched the back of his head, stifling a smile. “I’ve given a lot of it to my old Lancers, and I let the town
s keep their land, but yeah. I own the Hammer.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Damned if I know. I’ve never actually owned land before. For now, I’m going to build a cabin, then get working on a stable. I figure in a few years I can have a proper horse farm up and running. I’ve also been promised three hundred Dynize horses. I’m gonna start breeding them with some of ours and see what comes out the other side.”
Lindet sighed. “You. A horse farmer. There’s been a lot of madness in my life the last couple of years, but this might be the most insane.” She waved away a fly, but managed to turn it into a dismissive gesture. “Fine. Show me the grave.”
Styke glanced at Lindet’s retinue. They were still mounted, and keeping their distance. He let his grin drop and jerked his head. “This way.” He led Lindet away from his new clearing and about fifty yards through the woods, then across a river and past an arrow-shaped boulder. At the base of a big beech tree sat a rectangle of white marble, marked with the name “Marguerie je Lind.” Styke had only done basic maintenance on the small memorial since that night crossing the Hammer last year. It was a shaded, pleasant spot, but he half expected Lindet to demand why he hadn’t erected something more grand.
Instead, his sister pursed her lips and gazed down at the marble marker, hands clasped, regarding it in silence for several minutes. “I always wondered where you buried her.”
“I thought you didn’t want to know,” Styke replied. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Celine hanging around, close enough to eavesdrop but far enough to remain respectful.
“I didn’t,” Lindet replied. “At least, I thought I didn’t. I believed her weak for being unable to protect herself from him. But I’ve reassessed those beliefs.”
Styke was tempted to reignite an argument long forgotten. He bit his tongue. “That’s good.”
A smile touched the corners of Lindet’s mouth, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I’m on a tour of the country,” she suddenly said, looking up to meet his eye.
“Oh?”
“It’s been almost a year since the war ended. Relations with the Nine are normalizing. The Dynize empress, beyond the initial concessions she wrung out of me, has been nothing but warm. The Palo are icy but coming around. It’s time to rebuild in earnest, and I need to know every corner of the country that requires help so that I can distribute it.”
“I see.” Styke eyeballed his sister. There was something different about her—a very faint hesitation that had never been there before. “I was in Bellport a few weeks ago. The newspapers are claiming that you’re going to remain Lady Chancellor for six more years and then hold a general election. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for giving up power.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for becoming a horse farmer,” she shot back.
“That’s fair.” Styke looked around until he found one of his spare lances that he’d left against a nearby tree. He leaned on it, still watching his sister. “Will the election be real?”
Lindet seemed to consider this question for several moments. Speaking in a quiet voice, she said, “I’ve spent the last ten years preparing for a Dynize invasion that I was certain would come sooner rather than later. It arrived as I suspected, and yet even with all my sacrifices and preparations and control, I still wasn’t ready. It… it taught me a valuable lesson.
“Next week I’m announcing the dissolution of the Blackhats. No more secret police. No more systematic oppression. It didn’t work before and now that I see that, well…” She shrugged. “I can either spend the rest of my life trying to hold on to power for fear of what will happen when I lose it, or I can put into place a system in which I can retire in peace without everyone on the continent hating me. So, yes. The elections will be real.”
“Will you run in them?”
“It depends on whether I’ve managed to get everyone to forget how much they hate me by then.”
“That’s awfully ambitious for six years,” Styke said glibly.
“Have you ever known me not to be ambitious?”
“Point taken.” Styke tapped his ring against his lance. “Will you stay a couple days? We haven’t spoken at length in… quite some time.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“I’ve got a proper house in a nearby town, until I’ve finished building my new one here.”
For the first time since she was a little girl, Styke saw his sister smile—a real smile, without cruelty or hidden intention. “I’d like that, thank you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I heard you legally adopted the girl?”
Styke gave those papers a wary glance. “I did.”
“Good. This is a list of schools in Fatrasta, and the best universities in the world. I know you’re a fan of learning in the saddle, but my niece will be educated. We can discuss those options over dinner tonight.” Glancing once more down at their mother’s grave, Lindet turned to walk back toward her waiting retinue.
Celine waited until she’d gone before joining Styke at the graveside. He looked down at her and snorted. “Lindet wants to send you to school.”
“I heard,” she replied thoughtfully. “I’m not sure that I’ll like school.”
“It would be good for you.”
“Did you go to school?”
“I did. Boarding, then university, then the continental military academy. Hated every minute of it, but I did learn a few things. Would you rather go off to school now, or help me get the horse farm set up first?”
Celine’s forehead creased. She stared at nothing in deep thought, then looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell Auntie Lindet about your deal with Ka-poel?”
“Telling her to her face that a foreign empress has made me her prison warden won’t go over well. She might be learning, but Lindet is still a proud woman. Either she’ll get thirsty for power again and find out that I’m here to check her power, or it’ll never come up. I’m hoping it’s the latter.”
Celine nodded along with the explanation. “When will Lindet want me to go to school?”
“Immediately, I’m guessing.”
“And when will Ibana be back from Dynize?”
“She’s going to oversee the new imperial guard for another year, then join us. She wants to rebuild her father’s smithy over there.” Styke pointed off into the woods.
Celine considered for several more moments. “I’d like to be here to watch your new town grow. I can go to school when I’m older, right?”
“Absolutely.” Styke took his lance and walked over to his mother’s grave. He leaned on the shaft, sinking it butt-down into the soft earth until the point was at chest level. Removing his big Lancer ring, he placed it on the tip of the lance and stepped back to view his handiwork. Nodding to himself, he offered his hand to Celine. “Agreed. Now, let’s go pretend to be interested in Lindet’s schools.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my wonderful editor, Brit Hvide, for helping me finish out this series with a bang. Thanks to my fantastic agent, Caitlin Blasdell, and all her colleagues at Liza Dawson Associates, without whom the Powder Mage universe wouldn’t be what it is today. Also thank you to the awesome staff at Orbit who work hard to make sure that my books are edited, marketed, printed, given cover art, and so much more.
Thanks to my wife, Michele, for all the work she’s spent editing this and all the previous books—for giving me great ideas and pointing out where I go wrong and cheering me on when I get it right.
And of course, thanks to my beta readers, Mark Lindberg and Peter Keep, for taking a look at an early manuscript and giving me valuable feedback. Their help has saved me countless headaches.
Finally, thanks again to my old editor Devi Pillai. Her job change may have prevented her from finishing out the series, but she’s the one who gave me my first big break and bought both the Powder Mage Trilogy and Gods of Blood and Powder. Without her support I
probably wouldn’t have gotten this far.
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BY BRIAN MCCLELLAN
GODS OF BLOOD AND POWDER
Sins of Empire
Wrath of Empire
Blood of Empire
Return to Honor (novella)
THE POWDER MAGE TRILOGY
Promise of Blood
The Crimson Campaign
The Autumn Republic
The Powder Mage Trilogy (omnibus edition)
Forsworn (novella)
Servant of the Crown (novella)
Murder at the Kinnen Hotel (novella)
Ghosts of the Tristan Basin (novella)
In the Field Marshal’s Shadow (collection)
Blood of Empire Page 60
