CHAPTER 37

Styke sat in the corner of the courtyard of Etzi’s Household compound, tucked in the shade while he whittled horses out of Cypress wood and watched Celine play in the shallow bowl of the amphitheater. It was early afternoon, and the heat had already made him sweat through his shirt. All around him the Household carried on its duties; washerwomen, cleaners, and gardeners passed through the courtyard regularly. It had been two days since Styke had been introduced, and they still glanced at him furtively every time they came near.

The children seemed less bothered by his presence. Jerio, Celine’s quiet, serious, chubby little friend, had taken to stealing pastries from the kitchens every morning and bringing them to Styke. It was not a subtle gesture—very clearly meant to win Styke’s favor—and it was working well. Any boy clever enough to keep Celine’s attention was a good kid in Styke’s mind.

The pastries didn’t hurt.

He finished whittling a horse and blew the dust off his fingers, then set it down with a half-dozen others. He’d already distributed one to each of the children in the compound, but this group was being saved for something special.

He adjusted each of the horses so that they stood in a perfect line on the flagstone, then raised his eyes to check on Ka-poel. Unlike Celine, she hadn’t taken to the Household. The language barrier saw to that. She spent her time shadowing Styke, watching people come and go, and fiddling with little bobs and bits that she kept concealed in her lap. Knowing a little how her sorcery worked, he wondered if she was gathering leverage over the Household or simply taking stock of what she’d already gathered. She didn’t bother to tell him.

Etzi had very pointedly not told his Household that she was a bone-eye. He’d told them nothing about her, as far as Styke could discover, beyond the fact that she was a guest and was to be treated as such. Even her connection with Styke was not explicit, though the Household must have picked up on it at some point.

He left her to her devices and turned his head at the steady sound of approaching footsteps. A few moments later, Etzi emerged from a corridor, walking unhurriedly but businesslike toward Styke. It was the first time since Styke’s introduction to the Household that he’d even seen the Household head. Whether Etzi was avoiding him or just busy, Styke couldn’t say.

They exchanged a cool nod, and Styke climbed to his feet and dusted off his trousers. “Afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Ben,” Etzi said with a friendly but tired smile. “I apologize for my scarcity—this suit has taken up every second of my time the last few days.”

“Of course,” Styke said, resisting the urge to demand an update. He was still trying to follow Celine’s rules for going unnoticed, and one of them was simply not acting like himself. He needed to be polite. Gracious.

“I do have news, both good and bad,” Etzi said. “The bad news is that I haven’t been able to get your men released into my care.”

Styke wasn’t surprised. “And the good?”

“You have permission to speak with them. I have an hour of spare time right now, and a carriage waiting. It’ll go easier if I accompany you.”

“Excellent.” Styke forced himself to smile. He needed an opportunity to put his own plans in motion, and although Etzi might be a better chaperone than an escort of prison guards, he also spoke flawless Adran—which meant he could overhear whatever Styke said to his men. “I would appreciate it. Celine!” he called, then gestured at the horses he’d been carving. Celine paused in her play to nod. He then exchanged a glance with Ka-poel. “Let’s go,” he told Etzi.

The carriage was not ideal. It was small and narrow, with two seats facing each other in a covered box and a driver out front directing a single horse. The wheels squealed loudly beneath Styke’s weight, and he could tell by the nonplussed expression on Etzi’s face that such a sound was not common. They rode in silence for a couple of minutes before Etzi gave him an embarrassed smile.

“I’ll get a larger carriage next time,” he promised. “It’s easy to forget just how big you really are.”

Styke hunched his shoulders to keep them from splitting through the thin wooden walls, and resisted the urge to get out and walk. “Don’t mention it.”

“It’s better this way,” Etzi went on. “You’re the buzz of town right now, and even on foot you’re likely to draw crowds.”

Styke leaned forward to look out the narrow window, watching the people pass. Occasionally someone spotted his face and exclaimed to a companion, pointing, but by the time they’d made a ruckus, the carriage had long passed.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I was able to retrieve your men’s horses from the foreigner’s inn where they’d been lodged,” Etzi said.

Styke perked up. “Yes, I am. Thank you for that. And…”

“And that strange armor, yes, I’ve retrieved that, too.” Etzi got a peculiar look on his face. He reached beneath his seat and drew out a bundle. “You’re lucky the innkeep didn’t take too close a look at those saddlebags, else that armor would have disappeared by the end of the first day. Magical armor.” The last two words were more of a mutter than anything else, and he pinched the bundle by one corner and held it up in the small space between them, letting it unfurl. It was the skull-and-lance of the Mad Lancers. Probably came right from Jackal’s saddlebags.

“Company standard,” Styke explained. That peculiar look was beginning to bother him.

“Yes, so I gathered. Very striking. Striking enough that it caught my memory.” Etzi reached beneath the seat again and drew out a book—very nice, leatherbound, if rather worn. Styke recognized the stitched title down the side: A History of the Fatrastan Revolution. They’d only gotten books occasionally in the labor camps, but this one was hard to miss. It was written four years after the end of the Revolution and had become a best seller overnight.

Styke clenched his teeth while Etzi flipped to an earmarked page.

“Our spies have smuggled us many books over the last few years,” Etzi explained. “The heads of larger Households get the pick of them, of course, but a few trickled down to me. It says here that this is the standard of the Mad Lancers. There’s even a sketch, which is what caught my memory.” Etzi turned the book to show Styke a rendering of the flag that was lying across Etzi’s lap.

Etzi closed the book, set it on the seat beside him, then carefully folded the flag back up. Styke remained silent throughout the process. When he was done, Etzi said, “The odd thing to me was that Colonel Ben Styke, an apparently infamous hero of that war, was executed for treason. The Mad Lancers were disbanded. Odder still, a cavalry unit under this banner was seen at the Dynize capture of Landfall. Fighting for the Fatrastans.”

Styke stared at the banner for a few moments, considering. His position was fraught, and he’d never been a good liar. What was it that Markus had once told him? The easiest way to lie is to tell a half-truth? To steer the conversation? “Ben Styke wasn’t executed,” he finally said. “He was put up against a wall and shot.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an execution.”

Styke tapped the still-visible scar on the side of his jaw, then the one on the back of his hand. “Not if you’re more stubborn than a dozen bullets.”

“I see.” Etzi opened the book again, flipping through it seemingly at random. “This Ben Styke was a giant of a man, a monster and a hero. A god among men, if the author is to be believed.”

“There are a few exaggerations.”

“The one about killing a Kez Warden with your bare hands?”

Styke did not fail to notice that Etzi had switched from “he” to “you.” He grimaced. “I was a lot younger then.”

“You know, when you said that you’ve killed dragonmen, I assumed it a boast. Perhaps, I thought, you finished one on the battlefield. But the man described in this little chapter here—this tall tale—would be more than capable of fighting one of our emperor’s holy warriors.”

Styke cleared his throat and looked out the window. If Etzi knew who he was, and knew that Styke fought for the Fatrastans, it made both their positions weaker. It made Styke’s position downright dangerous.

“I don’t want to know,” Etzi said.

“Eh?” Styke looked up at his host sharply.

“I don’t want to know,” Etzi repeated. “I don’t want to know why you’re here. I don’t want to know whose side you’re on, or what you intend to do in my country. I don’t believe you’re a spy, and if you’re part of an invasion force, your presence here on your own is testament that it has failed spectacularly.”

He continued, “Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. I’ve begun a legal battle that I cannot—that I will not—stop, and you and Orz are the linchpins. All this”—he gestured at the book and the folded battle standard—“will remain hidden. No need to let it out, as long as both you and your men remain silent. All you need is a few weeks for Orz to recover enough to walk. Then you’ll be out of my hands, and whatever comes out, I can claim ignorance.”

Styke decided not to tell him just how close his guess was. “You’re taking a great risk.”

“Revenge isn’t sweet without risk,” Etzi said with a cold smile that reminded Styke of Orz. “My greatest hope is to have Ji-Patten executed for the murder of my mother. But at the very least, I will have given Ka-Sedial a handful of sleepless nights.”

“That doesn’t seem worth it,” Styke observed.

“It takes a lot of work to make the Great Ka lose sleep.”

Their conversation was cut short by the carriage lurching to a stop. Etzi leaned forward and looked out the window. “We’re here,” he announced. A moment later the driver opened the door for them, and Styke followed Etzi out into the sunlight.

Styke found himself in a walled courtyard of rough-cut red stone. The courtyard was large enough to accommodate a dozen carriages like theirs, and was about half full. The traffic continued around them, citizens coming and going, and more than a few stopping to stare at Styke. Etzi ignored them, so Styke followed suit, continuing after his host across the dusty drive and up a wide set of stairs. They proceeded down a high-arched corridor and then a side hall toward a suite of offices.

Despite the archaic look of the building—it was more ancient castle than the rest of the construction in the city—it had a very modern feel to it that reminded him of the prisons in Fatrasta. The hallways bustled with activity, city guardsmen marching here and there, long-coated investigators speaking with administrators and lawyers in low voices, slouching criminals in irons being ferried about.

Etzi strode past them all without stopping, until they reached a large, official-looking door. Etzi announced himself to the guardsman outside, who nodded briskly and disappeared, only to reappear a moment later with a handful of keys. “Good afternoon, Meln-Etzi,” the guard said, nodding to the Household head but not taking his eyes off Styke. “Arrangements have been made. If you’ll follow me?”

Styke tried to ignore the work stoppages as he passed, his shoulder blades itching from the feel of eyes following his every move. They wound back through the halls, then took a short causeway out through the open air and entered a second building. It looked more like a prison and less like an administration hall—the windows were barred, the doors double-hinged. Cells marched down either side of the dank hall and around a corner.

“Ben?” His name was echoed a dozen times, and suddenly faces appeared at the bars of those cells. Three or four to a cell, his Lancers began a clamor that the guard unsuccessfully attempted to silence.

Styke searched the faces for a few moments. No one seemed hurt or otherwise mistreated. They seemed surprised to see him, with a mixture of giddiness and caution. “All right, quiet down,” he said. Silence fell.

The guards glared at Ben. “They won’t say a word for three days, and now he arrives and they won’t shut up,” one of them muttered in Dynize.

Styke looked up and down the row of cells again, then glanced to Etzi. “Can I get any privacy with them?”

“I’m afraid not,” Etzi replied. He coughed into his hand. “I thought they had taken a vow of silence?”

“They’re not great at it. Everyone all right?”

A round of nods. “The food here sucks, Ben,” someone grumbled loudly.

“I prefer our road rations.”

“They seem to be in good spirits,” Etzi commented.

“They’re hard to get down. All right, you idiots. Etzi here is Orz’s brother. He’s working on a lawsuit to get you released. He’s our friend.”

One of the guards stepped forward. “Speak in Dynize,” he snapped.

Styke grinned at him. “You don’t understand me?” he asked in Adran.

“I’m watching you,” the guard warned.

“How about now?” Styke switched to Kez. He received a blank look, so he continued in that language. “Etzi is trying to get you out,” he repeated, “but you’re not to trust anyone here. Don’t tell anyone anything. Got it?”

Another round of nods. “How’s Celine and Pole?” someone asked.

“They’re with me, safe. We’re staying at Etzi’s compound. Orz and I were ambushed by enemy agents. Etzi has taken us in. That’s all you need to know for now. Hopefully you won’t be here long.” More nods, and Styke ran a hand over his face. No grumbling. No remonstration. He deserved both, for leading them into this shitty mess. He wished again that Ibana were here, just so someone would tell him he was an idiot.

“What language is that?” Etzi asked.

“Kez,” Styke answered, searching the faces for Jackal. He found the Palo leaning against the wall toward the end of the hall, and headed down that way. The guards followed him, scowling, and he grinned over his shoulder at them.

Jackal nodded to him as he approached and said in a low voice, “The woman guard there speaks a few words of Kez, so don’t let them fool you. One of the men speaks passable Adran. They’re listening.”

Styke leaned against the cell, one hand on the cold stone. “Sorry about the other night. We were ambushed.”

“I gathered as much. They told us you were captured, but once Pole and Celine disappeared, I figured everything would work out.”

“Have they questioned you?”

“Quite a lot. We’ve given up nothing.”

“They didn’t bother to collect your things from the inn,” Styke said. “Etzi grabbed them. He knows who we are but is keeping silent.” He spoke quickly, in Kez, hoping that the words would be too fast for a half-schooled Dynize guard to keep up. By the frown of concentration on her face, he was right.

“Are we safe?”

“Speak up!” one of the guards said angrily. “No whispering! Speak in Dynize!”

“For now,” Styke answered, ignoring the guard. “But I still have no intelligence on Ibana.”

Jackal gave a small nod. “Do you remember that marshal in New Adopest?”

Styke had to search his memory. Jackal had been picked up as a “public nuisance” by a marshal in New Adopest while on leave during one of the few short lulls during the Revolution. Styke hadn’t even had to get involved—Jackal simply escaped the city prison and rejoined the Lancers before news of his arrest had even reached Styke.

“Similar situation?” Styke asked, resisting the urge to case the locks, bars, and walls.

“Yes.”

“Good. If you need anything—anything—just look for Etzi’s Household.”

Another small nod. “Yes, sir.”

Their conversation was finally broken up by the irritated guards, who made a stink about a time limit. They hurried Styke and Etzi out of the prison and back to the main administration building. Etzi argued with them the entire way—complaining about the time limit—but didn’t physically resist. The guards grumbled about foreign languages and secret deals. Styke didn’t object. He’d gotten what he came for.

They were soon alone in the courtyard, waiting for their carriage to return. “You should have spoken in Dynize if you wanted longer,” Etzi told Styke.

“My men barely understand it,” Styke replied, staring up into the sky in thought. He wondered how long it would be until Jackal attempted to escape. The last thing he needed was Jackal getting caught and killed—or worse, taken alive—but the risk was necessary. He needed to find out about Ibana.

Etzi shrugged. “I can ask for you to meet with them again soon, but you’d probably have to agree to speak a language the guards can understand.”

“It’s all right,” Styke assured him. “I just wanted to make sure that they were being treated well.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am. For now. I’m guessing they don’t like us having visits like that.”

“You guess correctly.”

“Would it be easier if you had one of your Household check in on them every day?”

“Significantly.”

“Do that, then.” Styke remembered to add a “please” and “thank you” at the end, hoping it didn’t sound insincere. It wasn’t as if he was ungrateful—he just wasn’t used to being all that polite.

“Of course.” Etzi waved it off. He scowled as their carriage rolled into the courtyard. There was a boy riding on the running board, and the moment the boy saw Etzi, he leapt off and ran on ahead. “Master, master!”

“Yes?” Etzi asked, greeting the boy with a touch on the shoulder.

The boy looked both directions, wide-eyed, and then leaned forward to whisper loudly. “Master, Orz is awake!”