Ghosts of the Tristan Basin: A Powder Mage Novella

by Brian McClellan

  The thumping of his own heart transfixed Taniel for several long seconds, until Ka-poel’s light touch brought him out of his reverie. She pointed toward the Kez camp.

  The Privileged!

  Taniel scrambled up several branches, ignoring the pain in his chest, until he gained a new perch. His head spun from the fight, but he had to work through it. No time to change positions, no time to run. He found the Privileged heading toward him on horseback, galloping at full speed with gloved hands raised above his head. Taniel cleared the barrel of his rifle, reloading.

  He remembered the trap, the shield of air. The Privileged wasn’t even bothering to hide himself—or the shield—this time. He was coming on hard, protected by an invisible wall of sorcery that Taniel’s bullets could not pierce.

  The wall, however, was only between them.

  Taniel aimed high, pulling the trigger. He floated the bullet along for over a mile before letting it drop naturally. With its current arc, it would overshoot the Privileged by thirty feet. At the last moment, Taniel burned an extra powder charge, pushing the bullet straight down.

  The bullet missed the shield of air, piercing the top of the Privileged’s head. Gloved hands dropped, and the Privileged tumbled from his saddle.

  Taniel slumped backward, allowing himself a long breath of relief. Ka-poel sat immediately behind him, looking over his shoulder, and without her presence he might have tumbled from his perch. He handed his rifle over his shoulder and, once he’d stopped trembling, began the downward climb.

  Taniel and Ka-poel entered Planth in darkness. The outskirts of the city were quiet, with barely any signs of life, but as they drew closer to the center, they found families urgently packing wagons, merchants boarding up their shops, and just as many settlers on stoops, cleaning muskets and blunderbusses in preparation for a last stand.

  Planth would not go down without a fight, but Taniel had heard the stories of what happened to Little Starland and a half dozen other cities. It would be a slaughter.

  He found Bertreau and Styke had taken over Lindet’s headquarters in the chapel. Neither looked like they had gotten much sleep. Bertreau sat behind Lindet’s desk, perusing reports from the garrison and attempting to take stock of their situation while Styke lounged nonchalantly on one of the pews.

  “Well?” Styke asked, half-turning to watch Taniel approach.

  Taniel set his rifle on a pew and sat down next to it, feeling achy and weary. He’d let his powder trance lag in the hope he might catch a few hours of sleep, but was less than optimistic about the prospect. His head, chest, and muscles ached, and he reached for a spare powder charge.

  “Three Privileged and a Warden,” Taniel said.

  “Hah!” Styke barked. “Well done, Two-shot”

  Bertreau gave a sigh of relief without looking up from her reports. “Thank Kresimir for that. At least we’ll be able to go down fighting instead of in a flash of sorcery.” She picked up a piece of paper, reading it silently, before finally looking up. “According to Lindet’s reports—which she so kindly left behind—there may be two more Wardens with them.”

  Styke spat on the floor. “We’ll ride them down just like the rest.”

  “You don’t ride down a Warden,” Taniel said.

  “You can ride down anything if your horse is big enough.” Styke leaned toward him. “I have a really big horse.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me.”

  Taniel shook his head. Don’t trust Styke, Lindet had warned. It was folly for any sane person to expect to just run down a couple of Wardens. Taniel had barely escaped from that creature in the swamp with his life. Styke’s lancers wouldn’t have a prayer, enchanted armor or not.

  “The evacuation?” Taniel asked.

  “There are only two roads out of Planth and the Kez are blocking one of them,” Bertreau said. “About three thousand people have managed to leave so far, with that many again trying to get out before the Kez attack.”

  Taniel put his head in his hands. Sorcery may not be a threat any longer, but steel would finish the job just as well.

  Bertreau continued, “Our garrison is eight hundred with volunteers. I’ve taken command of them, and you’ll take the Ghost Irregulars tomorrow as we agreed. All we have to do is try to buy the people another couple of days. Then we’ll pull out.”

  And let everyone else die. Taniel nodded. “All right, I…” his thoughts trailed off, his mind hardly able to focus. He glanced behind him, only to find Ka-poel curled up on the next pew, snoring softly. “I need some rest. So do the both of you.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Styke replied, grinning to himself.

  “Right. I’m sure you’ll get your chance soon enough.” Taniel took off his jacket and folded it into a pillow, lying down on the hard pew.

  “Oh,” Bertreau said, glancing sidelong at Styke as if he was a dog that might bite, “the Kez have asked for a parley. Tomorrow at noon.”

  Taniel was already fading. “Tomorrow at noon,” he repeated. Then the real fight begins.

  “I expect nothing less than the complete and unconditional surrender of Planth.”

  The Kez general was a little taller than Taniel with haughty shoulders, an arrogant black mustache, a dozen medals on his dress uniform, and a smallsword hanging from his belt. He adopted what Taniel liked to think of as a “portrait” stance, with one leg forward and hands on his hips, head held high like he was waiting for the artist to finish a glorious rendition.

  “I’m sorry,” Styke said, looking down on the general. “Who are you?”

  The Kez general sneered. “My name is General Weslin je Jiffou. And you, I presume, are Ben Styke, the Mad Lancer.” If he was intimidated by Styke’s size, he was doing a remarkable job hiding it.

  “Colonel Ben Styke,” Styke corrected.

  “Yes, yes. Is that the best you have? I will not parley with an animal. I’ll speak with the general in charge or with that traitor Lindet.”

  Styke spread his hands. “I’m all you get, Jiffy. The Lady Chancellor is too busy to deal with you and if you think calling me an animal will get a rise…” He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse by better.”

  Jiffou made a face like he was holding in a sneeze—though in this case it was probably an indignant sputter. Taniel examined his eyes, watching for what his father called the “noble madness” —that moment when noble officers lost their temper at small things. But instead of an exclamation or a string of curses, Jiffou forced himself to relax. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked from Styke to Bertreau to Taniel and then back to Styke.

  “You can parlay with Two-shot here if you’d like,” Styke suggested, jerking a thumb toward Taniel. “He’s got the military lineage for it, if not the rank.” Taniel cleared his throat, hoping his cheeks didn’t redden. He was a marksmen and a soldier—not a negotiator. He opened his mouth, but Jiffou beat him to the punch.

  “Ah, the infamous Taniel Two-shot. I suppose I should offer you my thanks. Your murder of two of my superior officers has landed me a field promotion. One which I intend to keep once I’ve handed Lindet’s head to the colonial governor.” Jiffou’s smile broadened. “Lindet sends a mad colonel, a nameless major, and a swamp marksmen out to parley? She must be more desperate than I suspected.”

  Taniel swallowed. This parley needed to accomplish two very important things: it needed to convince Jiffou that Lindet was still in Planth and that the defenders had the upper hand. It appeared he already assumed the former. It was the latter Taniel was worried about. They needed him to hesitate.

  “We’ve called in every militia for a hundred miles,” Taniel retorted. “It’ll be more than enough to deal with a Kez brigade.”

  “You speak like you have the might of the famous Adran infantry behind you,” Jiffou said. “You don’t. You have, at best, a few dozen disorganized militias. I am no fool. Now, let us get this over with. I expect the unconditional surrender of
the city and for Lindet to be brought to me in chains.”

  “Withdraw your men from the borders of the city immediately,” Styke replied. “Return to New Adopest and inform the colonial governor that Ben Styke had a lovely time with his daughter at the regional gala two years ago and he looks forward to seeing her again.”

  Bertreau coughed into her hand, unsuccessfully covering a laugh. Jiffou’s eyes narrowed. “Jest if you like,” he said. “It won’t save your necks from the noose.”

  We’re acting too cavalier, Taniel thought. Overplaying our hand.

  “You have a city full of civilians there,” Jiffou said, spreading his hands. He relaxed his “portrait” stance, as if to say he could be a reasonable man. “My orders are to put the city to the torch, but I have the leniency to spare the city if you hand Lindet and her cabinet over to me at once.”

  “And the defenders?” Taniel asked.

  “You’ll be arrested and tried as traitors to the crown, of course.”

  “Huh,” Styke said, “you’re not very good at this negotiating thing, are you?”

  “What is my alternative? Set the city on fire and let you walk free?”

  “That sounds more pleasant to me,” Styke said.

  “You’d let ten thousand people die for the chance to save your own neck?” Jiffou asked.

  “You wouldn’t?”

  Taniel glanced at the colonel sidelong. The two words were blunt, forceful, and had no sound of a bluff about them. He wondered if Styke had really agreed to defend the city out of a sense of duty. Was he just looking for an impossible fight? Was he suicidal—or would he retreat too early and cost them all their lives?

  “What makes you think the Lady Chancellor is even here?” Bertreau asked.

  Jiffou responded with a moment of silence, looking past Styke to weigh Bertreau thoughtfully. “Has she fled?” he asked, before answering himself, “No. It’s a bit late for that bluff, major. My spies would have informed me.”

  Taniel glanced at Bertreau. Her face was unreadable, but she had to be thinking the same thing he was: Lindet’s Blackhats in Planth had managed to turn or expose every single one of the Kez spies. Impressive.

  “Hand over Lindet and her cabinet,” Jiffou said, “And I’ll tell my superiors that the people of Planth were cooperative and offered no resistance, and that I found no military presence in the city when I arrived.”

  “You’d let us just… walk away?” Taniel asked.

  “I would. If you give me Lindet.”

  So far, Jiffou hadn’t displayed the hallmarks of a Kez officer who’d purchased his commission like all the others. He was confident and in control, without being a total fool. He was willing to ignore orders to fry the bigger fish. But Taniel could see the eagerness in his eyes. Capturing Lindet would end this revolution and make Jiffou’s career.

  “Give us three days to consider,” Styke said.

  Jiffou scoffed. “You have an hour.”

  “There are a large number of militias here,” Bertreau pointed out. “To peaceably hand over Lindet we’ll have to get the approval of the militia commanders. That will take at least three days.”

  “Yes, while you wait for reinforcements. I’m familiar with your frontier tricks, major.” Jiffou tapped his chin, eying the city. He was no doubt willing to sacrifice his entire brigade for a chance at Lindet—but a bloodless finish would be quite the coup. “I’ll give you a day,” he said. “That is my final offer.”

  “Done,” Styke responded.

  The two parties split, Jiffou returning to his camp with his bodyguards while Taniel walked back toward the city with his companions. As soon as they were out of earshot, Styke made a growling sound in the back of his throat, like a dog eager for a fight.

  “I’ll try to keep their scouts at bay this evening,” he said, “but you’ve got until noon tomorrow to get as many people out of the city as possible. Make every second count.”

  Taniel was pulled out of his bed by the distant thunder of artillery. He sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, wondering whether it was a dream before a whistling sound caught his ears. There were a series of loud crashes, far too close for comfort, and then he was up and running, pulling his jacket on as he went. It was barely light, no later than six in the morning.

  “Pole! We’ve got a fight,” he shouted, slapping the canvas of her tent as he passed.

  Church bells began to ring, and Taniel found Styke’s men rousing from the makeshift barracks they’d set up in the city square. Armor clattered as man and horse alike were armed in the ancient plate. Taniel found Styke leaving his tent, hopping along with one arm in his cavalry jacket and his pants around his ankles.

  Styke saw Taniel and let out a string of expletives.

  “I thought we had until noon?” Taniel shouted above the whistling of Kez shells.

  “Damned Kez must have figured out our game. Bloody pit and bloody damn blasted son of a bitch. You better hope they plan on a good shelling before they send in their infantry because it takes real damned long to get this armor on.” Styke gestured to the big warhorse his groom was rubbing down and the ten stone of armor laid out on the ground next to it. “Tell Bertreau to buy us some time.”

  Bertreau, it seemed, was already ahead of Styke. Taniel arrived at Fort Planth to find the entire garrison already lining up in formation while the fort cannons were aimed and loaded.

  Taniel and Ka-poel joined Bertreau on one of the fort lookout towers and stared across the fog-covered field to the Kez camp almost two miles away. At some point during the night their artillery had been moved up—six light mortars and eight guns—and the army were already in formation, waiting for the order to advance.

  It took five minutes for Fort Planth’s six light cannons to return fire, and only fifteen minutes before one of them had already been slagged by the enemy artillery. The Kez had the weight, range, and numbers on the heavy guns. Taniel returned fire with his rifle when he could, picking off gun crews and mid-ranking officers but it seemed that the Kez had a replacement ready for each soldier he killed.

  The field was soon obscured by powder smoke, making his opportunities fewer and farther between.

  “Looks like he’s just going to sit out there and shell the city,” Bertreau said glumly.

  “It’ll give Styke time to get ready, at least.”

  Bertreau shot Taniel a look. She pointed at the slagged cannon less than fifty yards from them. “It doesn’t matter whether we have Styke or not. If Jiffou shells us until he runs out of ammunition half the city will be on fire and we’ll be lucky if there’s a garrison left to defend it.” She shouted for a messenger to evacuate the remaining civilians from the southern half of the city.

  “Would you rather walk out into their grapeshot?” Taniel asked.

  “I’d rather,” Bertreau said sourly, “they come to us.”

  Their entire strategy depended on exactly that. If the Kez advanced, the garrison could hold the center, gradually withdrawing through the city while Styke made passing strikes at the enemy’s right. Taniel and his Ghost Irregulars already had canoes waiting in the river, allowing them to skirt the enemy left and hit them from behind. But Jiffou, it seemed, was having none of it.

  A nearby explosion made Taniel jump, and he turned just in time to see one of the other fort towers take a direct hit from a mortar and topple on its side, sending its occupants tumbling like toys.

  Bertreau relocated her vantage point to a chapel bell tower further into the city, though smoke from spreading house fires and spent powder obscured almost the entire battlefield. Taniel squinted into the haze, listening carefully for the sound of snare drums that would indicate the Kez advance.

  “They’re not coming,” Bertreau finally said after nearly two hours of the constant bombardment. The last of the garrison cannons had been destroyed. Nothing opposed the Kez artillery and Taniel had the gut-wrenching feeling, deep down, that Bertreau was right. The Kez would continue their attack from a dista
nce until there was nothing left to fight them.

  The garrison hid in the dubious shelter of blasted buildings, their numbers depleted by exploding shot, their faces grim. Taniel could see the doubt in their eyes—only three-quarters remained able-bodied. A few hours ago they were ready to die for their homes and families and now they wondered if they still had time to run. Of the assembled men, only Ka-poel seemed unfazed.

  The strike of horseshoes on cobbles approached, and Taniel caught sight of Ben Styke riding along down the street, an imposing figure on his armored warhorse, lance balanced on his stirrup. He stopped below the church, putting up his visor, and called up to them.

  “I’ve had my lancers riding lookout for over an hour. The Kez aren’t even trying to flank or cut us off.”

  “They don’t have to,” Bertreau replied bitterly. “They’ll sift through the ashes of the city in a few days then ride down any survivors.”

  Styke’s horse pranced beneath him, and Taniel wondered how any creature could feel giddy with so much weight on its back. Styke patted its armored neck with one gauntlet. “I’m not going to wait around to die.”

  “If we retreat, these people die.” Bertreau gestured at the city around them, several dozen blocks of which were already in ruins.

  “Retreat?” Styke laughed. “Who said anything about retreating?”

  Taniel did some quick math in his head. The numbers—and the feeling in his gut—told him that their best chance was still to fight a defensive battle. “If we charge, we’re giving up any chance of withdrawal,” he said.

  “I’ve got three hundred heavy lancers, Two-shot. My lancers do not withdraw. We’re preparing to charge as we speak.”

  “You’ll get cut to ribbons by that artillery!”

  “They won’t even see what hits them,” Styke shot back.

  Taniel felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Damn it, Styke was suicidal. Styke stared up at him for several moments before lowering his visor and riding back the way he’d come. Taniel thought once again about Lindet’s warning. Styke would get them all killed.