CHAPTER 58

Styke sat in the corridor outside his shared room, whittling horses by lamplight and listening to the distant sounds of a sleeping city. Talunlica was, in his experience, an extremely quiet city after dark, even with the riots that consumed the daylight. But that didn’t mean it was silent—the rumble of delivery wagons, the march of patrolling city guards, the barking of dogs, the gentle lap of water against the compound’s outer wall. He found those sounds, and the stillness of the compound, to be comforting in these hours of sleeplessness.

He finished one of the horses, holding it up to the lamplight to make small, final adjustments, before setting it aside and preparing a new piece of wood for whittling. He was almost finished with the entire set. All the whittling had given his hands something to do while he planned how, exactly, he was going to get Ka-poel near the godstone.

Etzi spoke of escalating conflict and his fears of violence. Styke longed for it. His knife hand twitched constantly, and last night he’d spent several hours in the stables seeing to all of the Lancers’ horses, just to give himself something to do. He longed to throw himself back in the saddle, lower a lance, and charge an enemy.

But he had to keep himself in check. He was a guest here. Ka-poel and Celine were under his protection, and he was under Etzi’s protection. He did not feel guilt over the mob attack yesterday, but he understood that it may have been in response to his murder of Ji-Patten and that he shouldn’t be personally involved in further escalation. No need to push Etzi’s hospitality.

Styke heard a throat clear and looked up from his whittling, expecting to find Etzi or Maetle out for a midnight stroll. Instead, he discovered a figure dressed in a loose Dynize traveling smock leaning on a wall at the end of the corridor as if he’d been watching Styke for several minutes.

“Jackal?” Styke asked cautiously.

The hood of the traveling cloak was thrown back to reveal the Palo warrior. Jackal approached, coming into the light of the lantern and lowering himself down beside Styke as if they were meeting casually in a park or on the street. Jackal had gotten significantly more weather-beaten in the last nine days: cheeks dark, hair looking redder. Perhaps it was the clothing, but he seemed oddly more Dynize, as if he’d been absorbing the energy of the people.

“Took you long enough,” Styke snorted.

“Sorry. Took me longer than I expected to find Ibana—an alarm was put out after my escape and I had to take a longer route.”

“But you did find her?” Styke set his whittling aside and stared at Jackal eagerly.

“Once I was away from the godstone, I just needed to avoid patrols and listen to the spirits.” Jackal tapped the side of his head.

“And?”

“Roughly ninety percent of our fleet arrived safely. They put to shore at the rendezvous point almost a month ago. Just as Orz told us, the rendezvous was deep enough in the swamp that they haven’t been discovered. The Dynize claim they tamed the Jagged Fens, but they’ve really only cleaned up a corridor along the main highway. Everywhere else…” Jackal shrugged. “Nobody goes that deep into the swamp, and Ibana has been being really damned careful. She even dismissed the fleet so they wouldn’t be spotted from the sea.”

Styke felt his eyes widen. “Dismiss the fleet? You’re joking.”

“Ibana seems confident that we’ll be able to commandeer a fleet once we’ve accomplished our task.”

“Does she have any idea how badly we messed up with the maps?” Styke gestured at the city around them.

“Some,” Jackal answered hesitantly. “She’s been using our Palo as scouts, hoping they blend in. They’ve hunted to conserve rations and stayed well away from the roads. They’ve lost some soldiers and horses to the ravages of the swamp, but were in higher spirits than I would have expected. So far, they haven’t been discovered.”

“You updated them?”

“I did. Ibana wasn’t happy.”

“I can imagine.”

“But she’s pleased that you’re alive. She hid it well, but I could tell.”

“What do you mean she ‘hid it well’?”

“There was a lot of swearing and cursing your name. I got the feeling that she regretted dismissing the fleet and probably would have gone back to Fatrasta by now if she hadn’t.” Jackal hesitated again, long enough that Styke could tell he wanted to say something else.

“Spit it out,” Styke said.

“Well,” Jackal drew out the word. “They’re running low on rations. Now that Ibana knows you’re alive, and knows about Talunlica, she wants to move on the city.”

Styke felt his stomach lurch. His wish for something to happen was about to come true. “How soon?”

“She was mobilizing everyone before I left.”

“How long ago?”

“Two days.”

“Shit.” Styke spat the word and resisted the urge to throw his whittling knife across the corridor. “She needs to hold off. Sedial’s goons are using the Lancers still imprisoned against me—the moment they find out we have an army here, they’ll execute the lot.”

“I told her about Zak. She said it was an acceptable loss.”

Styke felt his hackles rise. “How could you possibly know about Zak? You were two days out of the city when it happened.”

Jackal tapped the side of his head again. The damned spirits.

Styke swore. “She wants to get me killed, too?”

“She assumes you’re safe enough.”

“Like pit I am. Etzi has stood up for us so far, but I can’t imagine me and Ka-poel will be welcome when they find out we have a foreign army on their shores.”

Jackal spread his hands as a show of helplessness. “Ibana is champing at the bit.”

“No stopping her. Damn it, she’s supposed to be the cautious one.” Styke rubbed furiously at his Lancer ring with one thumb. He should probably be happy to hear that the Mad Lancers were coming to get him. But the chaos in the city was too unpredictable. The appearance of a foreign army might make Talunlica fall to bits, allowing them to storm in and crush the city garrison. Or it might unite the Dynize against a common threat. Styke was willing to bet it would do the latter.

“All right,” he breathed. “This is what we’re going to do. I need you to return to Ibana as quickly as possible. If you can reach her before she leaves her hiding spot, you need to tell her to stay put—a direct order from me. If not… well, you need to keep her from riding into the city. It’ll be a tempting target for her, but I want to have a couple of days to get me and the others out. Tell her to come within four miles and hold for my order. If she doesn’t hear from me within a couple days, she can torch the city.”

“Four miles, two days.” Jackal nodded. “I’ll ride as fast as I can.”

“Good. Get moving.”

Jackal disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared. Styke heard the scrape of someone shimmying over the compound wall but nothing else. He listened for several minutes and then, troubled, picked his whittling back up. No hope of sleep now, not unless he could calm himself down a little—and his mind was racing, his heart eager for a fight, but his thoughts cautious.

He was a fighter, not a strategist. A million variables could make things go wrong between now and Ibana’s arrival. He resisted the urge to bolt right away—to saddle his horse, grab Ka-poel and Celine, and follow Jackal out of the city. Never mind the risk of such a flight; he refused to leave Markus, Sunin, and the rest to die in a Dynize prison.

He finally tossed aside his whittling and climbed to his feet.

It had been days since he’d spoken to Orz. The dragonman had been given a small recovery room just beside Maetle’s infirmary, and according to the compound gossip, he was healing at an astonishing speed. He’d been seen walking on his own—albeit slowly—just yesterday. Unfortunately, Styke needed more than just “walking” right now. He approached Orz’s quarters and knocked gently on the door before stepping inside. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. Like every other building in the compound, it had been built to take up as little space as possible. Just stepping inside put Styke immediately beside the one small bed.

Styke felt something press against his inner thigh. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “It’s Styke,” he said.

“Should have known,” Orz answered. “The emperor doesn’t have any assassins that cast that big of a shadow.” Orz’s voice was weak, not much above a whisper. He pulled his knife away. “You have news?”

Styke lowered himself down beside Orz’s head. The dragonman hadn’t attempted to sit up, eyeballing Styke from his supine position. Styke couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t want to move, or couldn’t. “Why does everyone seem to know things before me?”

“I heard someone slip over the wall, then bits of a whispered conversation, and then they went back over the wall. I can only assume it’s the man you had break out of prison the day I woke up. Jackal, right?”

“That was halfway across the compound,” Styke grumbled.

“I have very good hearing, and it’s hard to sleep when Maetle won’t give me more mala until tomorrow night.”

Styke tapped the side of his ring. “You’re right, I have news. Jackal found Ibana.”

“Is she where she was supposed to be?”

“She is, and by some miracle she hasn’t been discovered yet. But she’s running low on rations and champing at the bit. As far as we know, she left the swamp the moment Jackal headed back to find me.”

“So news might reach the city at any time.” Orz sounded resigned.

“Correct.”

“They’ll come for us,” Orz said. “It’s just the excuse Sedial’s people will need—perfectly justified.”

“Agreed.”

“And Etzi won’t be able to protect us, whether or not he wants to. We should leave tonight.”

Styke held up two fingers, unsure as to whether Orz could see them. “First, I’m not sure if you can ride. Second, I’m not leaving the rest of my Lancers in that prison to be tortured and executed.”

“I can ride,” Orz said. He sat up, as if to emphasize his health, but nearly toppled out of the bed. Styke caught him by his shoulder to steady him.

“I’m not leaving without them,” Styke reiterated. “I don’t mind throwing you over a saddle and putting your recovery back weeks—you’ll survive. But the others…” Styke trailed off. He could practically feel Orz’s disagreement. He probably agreed with Ibana; the captured soldiers were acceptable casualties. If they were twenty random recruits, Styke might agree. But these were the oldest of his Lancers, men and women who’d been with him since the very beginning of the Fatrastan War for Independence, and some of them from even before that. “Do I tell Etzi about the army?”

Orz was silent for some time. Styke was beginning to think he’d nodded off, when he finally spoke again. “Etzi told me that you killed Ji-Patten.”

“I did.”

“You gave him one of Ji-Patten’s knives. Who is the other for?”

“Markus. Zak’s brother.”

Another long pause. “I would have liked to have killed him myself.”

“It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Etzi told me that, too.” Orz hesitated. “You should know something.”

“What is that?”

“Etzi is making plans. Plans that he hasn’t mentioned to you.”

Styke took a sharp breath. “And?”

“He sees an opportunity in Ka-poel. He’s been spending a lot of time with her as of late.”

“No one told me this.” Styke scowled.

“It has little to do with you, and everything to do with her.”

“She is my ward.” Styke felt himself growing angry and not a little bit confused. The fact that he hadn’t noticed the two of them speaking even once indicated that they were going behind his back—and what purpose would there be in that unless it was about a betrayal?

“It doesn’t involve you,” Orz insisted, as if reading Styke’s mind. “You have enough to think about that Ka-poel didn’t want to bring it to your attention.”

“What is ‘it’?” Styke demanded.

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Then why bring it up?” Styke wanted to shake Orz by the throat.

“To warn you,” Orz said flatly. “Etzi wants to use Ka-poel in his politics. He has confirmed her identity, and revealed her presence to several of his allies.”

Styke felt like a cold bucket of water had been poured over him. “Did she agree to this?”

“It took some time for him to bring her around. She wants nothing more than to destroy the godstone and return to Fatrasta. But Etzi wants to use her as a counter for Sedial. She has the power, and she has the birthright. All she has to do is use them.”

“And stick her neck into Dynize politics. The moment Sedial finds out for certain that Ka-poel is here, he will send dragonmen to fetch her.”

“Etzi has been cautious,” Orz said defensively.

“He better damn well have been.” Styke swore. First Ibana, and now Ka-poel. He hadn’t had control of things for a month, but what little agency he did have seemed to have disappeared in a puff of smoke. Nothing to do now but wait for the tidal wave to hit and hope he could ride it out. “What do I do with this?” he whispered to himself.

There was a beat of silence, and then Orz said, “If Ka-poel agrees to work with Etzi and his allies, you might be protected. She claims her birthright as an adviser of the emperor, denounces Ka-Sedial and the war with Fatrasta, and claims you and the Lancers as her bodyguard. It won’t go down easily, but it might mean that the city doesn’t immediately try to execute you and march an army out to meet Ibana.”

“That sounds like a whole lot of being hopeful,” Styke growled.

“I agree. But sometimes that’s all we can do.”

“You realize if this all goes south, you’re going to die with me, right?” Styke said petulantly.

“I am very aware,” Orz replied.

“Good. I just want to make sure.” He felt a swirl of emotions, none of them positive. Beneath the eagerness to fight and the anger at this uncertainty, he felt fear—the world was about to explode around him, and Celine would no doubt be caught in the maelstrom. Etzi’s Household, too, and though he didn’t want to admit it, he did care. Etzi had shown his true colors yesterday, defending Styke at the cost of his own soldiers. He’d been a protective, loyal host, and the city was about to find out he’d been harboring an enemy officer. No matter how he spun it, he would lose out.

It did not leave a good feeling in the pit of Styke’s stomach.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Orz said gently.

“Small chance of that.” Styke stood up, turning toward the door.

“Then what will you do?”

“The politics of all this are well beyond me, so I’m going to do the one thing I can to prepare: sharpen my knife and polish my armor.”