CHAPTER 9

Vlora drank cold coffee at the table in the middle of her tent. She stared absently at the maps laid out in front of her and noticed that her hand was trembling. Olem sat on the corner of her cot, fiddling with the metal tin he kept his matches in. His face mirrored her expression: absent, lost—shell-shocked. He licked his lips, opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. She hadn’t seen him this out of sorts since the Adran-Kez War. Taniel and Ka-poel were standing just outside their tent, waiting for Vlora’s decision on the news they’d brought from Landfall.

“Taniel wants us to go find these other two godstones,” Vlora said. “Is it our responsibility?”

Olem looked up, blinking away his own thoughts.

Vlora continued before he could reply. “We’re Adrans. We have no horse in this race. The Fatrastans, Dynize, and Palo are going to spend the next few months—maybe even years—killing each other over these things. Why should we get involved?” She slapped her palm on the table, almost spilling her coffee, feeling a sudden swell of anger. “We’re in this damned situation because I couldn’t just keep my head down and do a job. I tried to arrest Lindet over these stupid things, and I managed to lose our allies on this continent in the process.”

Olem clicked his match tin against the wooden frame of her cot, his expression conflicted. “We’ve seen what gods can do to a country,” he said.

“This isn’t our country. We’re mercenaries, and after a year in the swamps and two major battles the men are almost spent. I’m not going to appeal to their patriotism, because this isn’t an Adran matter.”

“I agree with that.”

“Then answer me this: Is this our responsibility?”

“No,” Olem said. He tilted his head, as if pained, and said, “And … yes.”

“Explain.”

“Less responsibility,” Olem said, “and more necessity. Back in Landfall you said that the world doesn’t need any more gods, and I think you’re still right about that. These consequences that you and I understand—I think it makes us responsible, even if our men are not. This world is not as large as it once was. You’re still a member of the Adran Cabal, and we’re both still Adran generals. We can either deal with a new god once this continent has finished warring over the stones, or we can try to prevent one from being born in the first place.”

“So you’d argue that it is an Adran matter?”

“I’d argue that it will be. Unfortunately, we aren’t accompanied by the Adran Army. We’re accompanied by mercenaries.”

“So what do we do? Send the men home and you and I offer to join whatever it is Taniel is stirring up?”

“It’s an option,” Olem said. “But these things will probably be much easier with an army at our back, even if it’s a little mauled right now.”

Vlora finished off her coffee, spitting the dregs out on the ground and returning her gaze to the map on her table. Taniel had left two pins in the map. One of them was located on the edge of the Ironhook Mountains, not all that far from here. The other was located on the west coast of Fatrasta. Vlora tapped her finger on the tip of each pin, and then on New Adopest—the closest large port not in the hands of the Dynize, and the best chance she had of getting an army back to Adro.

“Taniel!” she shouted.

A moment passed before the tent flap was thrown back. Taniel and Ka-poel entered. Ka-poel immediately rounded the table to examine the map in silence, while Taniel looked from Vlora to Olem with an irritating air of expectation.

Vlora said, “You told me once that you still have Tamas’s foreign wealth at your command.”

“I do,” Taniel said, pulling back somewhat. This was not the question he had expected.

“Good. Because Olem and I are in. This is a matter for the Adran Army and the Adran Cabal, and we’re the only representatives on the continent. However, this isn’t the responsibility of my men.” She paused for a beat. “But I’m not going to do this without an army. You’re going to hire the Riflejacks. I expect every soldier out there who survives, and all the widows and widowers of the ones who don’t, to leave this conflict as wealthy people. Understand?”

Taniel cocked an eyebrow. Across the table, Ka-poel grinned and nodded. Done.

“I offered to hire you before,” Taniel said.

“That was before I grasped the stakes. Besides, I’m serious when I say ‘wealthy.’ Our prices went up significantly since we last spoke.”

Ka-poel shrugged and twirled her finger, as if saying the conversation was already finished and she was ready to move on. “All right,” Taniel said. “We’ll hammer out details on the road.”

“One other thing,” Vlora added. “You will give us objectives, but I will decide how they’re carried out. You’re not going to dictate what happens to the godstones once we find them. Understand?”

“I see.” Taniel’s eyes narrowed, and Vlora could tell he was rethinking the idea.

She leaned on the table, looking him in the eye. “I intend to destroy those things. That is my goal—no, that is the goal of the Adran Republic Cabal. No new gods.”

“You’re making a lot of demands for a mercenary.”

“You didn’t hear what I just said. I have a mercenary army, but I represent Adro in this matter. And you have a look on your face that seems awfully uncertain for someone hoping for my help. I’m ready to go home right now, Taniel. Take it or leave it.”

Taniel looked to Ka-poel, and the two shared a long, silent gaze. “Taken,” Taniel said with finality.

Vlora swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She wished she had a few days to sleep on the decision. She wished she had a bigger, healthier army. And she wished she didn’t feel like events were about to spiral out of her control.

“What are you going to do about these armies we’re pinned between?” Taniel asked.

“Olem,” Vlora said, “when is dawn?”

“Two hours or so.”

“And what will the weather be like?”

“We’ve had a chilly night. Same as last night, and yesterday morning we had a thick fog until ten. I don’t see things being different today.”

Vlora took the pins out of her maps and began to roll them up carefully. “Get everyone moving. I want us on track to be gone within two hours.”

“And you think the Fatrastans and Dynize are just going to let you leave?” Taniel asked flatly. “I understand both are looking for your head.”

“Fog will give us a head start,” Vlora said. “The rest … well, I have an idea. Olem, I want to see Styke, Gustar, and my senior officer corps. Vallencian, too. I think he crossed the river, so you’ll have to do that quietly. Now, get out of here so I can write some letters.”

Dawn was almost upon them, and Vlora stood by her horse and watched as the rest of her camp vanished before her eyes. Soldiers finished packing their kit, officers kept things orderly, and quartermasters examined the wagons of supplies they’d managed to bring over from the Fatrastan camp followers in the darkness.

The fog Olem had predicted was thinner than she would have liked. It would mask their movements, but for only so long—within hours both the Dynize and Fatrastans would know that she’d given them the slip. The question Vlora needed answered most of all was whether they would turn their focus on one another, or whether either general was dogmatic enough to come for her.

A familiar figure appeared through the gloom, torch held high over his head, the scrap of bearskin still clinging to his shoulders. Vallencian Habbabberden, known more widely as the Ice Baron, was nothing short of a walking miracle. He’d saved the Battle of Landfall by riding his merchant ships out on the tide to crash into and sow chaos among the Dynize fleet. Somehow, he’d managed to swim back to shore against the currents and recover from half drowning, only to be on his feet again to help with the evacuation of the city. He’d spent every moment since then as a whirlwind through the refugee camp, redistributing supplies, breaking up fights, tending to the sick, and organizing former small-time politicians into a genuine leadership for the refugees.

Vallencian had grown gaunt since they’d first met in Landfall a couple of months ago. He’d lost weight, his hair had grayed at the edges and remained uncombed, and his face seemed fixed by a frustrated scowl.

“You’re leaving,” he said brusquely.

“We are.”

“Does General Holm know? I’ve been a guest of hers for the last day and she is very intent on presenting you to Lindet.”

Vlora produced a letter she had written less than an hour ago and offered it to Vallencian. “She will when you give her this letter.”

Vallencian stared down his nose at the paper and did not reach for it. After a long moment’s consideration, he said in a low voice, “Don’t leave me with them.”

“Excuse me?” Vlora was shocked to hear genuine dismay in his tone. “Are they mistreating you?”

“Quite the opposite. Holm has assigned me an entourage. I think she’s having me watched. I had to pretend I needed a shit just to sneak out of my tent when your summons came. They’re making me sleep in a real bed. And these damned refugees are trying to elect me as mayor of this moving city we have gathered.”

Despite her frayed nerves, Vlora had to stifle a smile. “I can’t think of anyone better suited.”

“I could name a dozen in a single breath. Probably a hundred if you give me the chance to think.” Vallencian paced, gesturing as he spoke. “These refugees don’t need a mayor, and Holm has no intention of allowing it. They’ll be split up and sent to whatever towns and cities can take them, as quickly as can be managed. I have no interest in being the general’s guest and I have no interest in being bullied into a position of leadership.”

“I thought you had taken well to helping …”

Vallencian stopped his pacing long enough to shake a thick finger beneath her nose. “Helping!” he exclaimed. “Not leading. I’m a reluctant businessman at best. I will not be a politician.”

“You’re very good with people,” Vlora ventured. “They could use your help, at least until this refugee camp has been dissolved.”

“Absolutely not. I will come with you, Lady Flint.”

Vlora resisted the urge to point out he hadn’t been invited. “You won’t stay with them? At least for a few weeks?”

“No.”

“Even if I request it personally?”

Vallencian came to a stop and turned toward her cautiously. “Why would you want me to stay with them? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Vlora could think of nothing more pleasurable or frustrating than the idea of having Vallencian along on Taniel’s mission. “I swear I am not. I know that you have done much for me—you damned well ended the Battle of Landfall—but I need a personal favor.”

“I sacrificed my ships for Fatrasta,” Vallencian declared. “I would not humble myself to claim a favor for such an act. In fact, I intend on charging Lindet for those ships, and the revenue I’ve lost from their destruction.”

“Reluctant businessman indeed,” Vlora murmured. “Vallencian, I have about seven hundred men who are too wounded to march. I have discharged them from the company so they won’t be treated as enemy combatants, but I need someone to care for them—to advocate for them—and if need be, to protect them.”

Vallencian drew himself up, chest puffing out. “And you would trust me with such a task?”

“If it’s not too …”

“Too much? It would be an honor!”

Vlora saw the movement too late. “Vallencian, don’t … hug me.” She found herself crushed against his broad chest, then thrust back at arm’s length like a father examining his daughter on her wedding day. His face was red, his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Please don’t cry,” Vlora said.

“I won’t.” Vallencian’s voice cracked, and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with his bearskin. Vlora tried to reconcile the avenging angel piloting burning ships into the enemy fleet with the man standing before her on the edge of tears. “I won’t,” he said with more confidence. “But I will have you know that I accept this task, and I will take it very seriously. Your wounded soldiers will not be neglected or used as bargaining chips or in any way mistreated while I still live.”

Vlora wondered if there was a more genuine man in the entire world, and had no doubt that he would do as promised. “Some will die from their wounds,” she said quietly. “Some will be cripples for life. Hopefully more will recover fully. You can send them on to New Adopest to take a ship home where they can claim their pension. If they are hale, they can come find me.”

“You’re not going back to Adro?” Vallencian’s eyes narrowed curiously.

“It’s best I not tell you where we’re headed.”

“I understand.” Vallencian reached out and plucked the letter from Vlora’s fingers. “I will deliver this to Holm immediately.”

Vlora held up a hand. “If you would wait two hours, actually.”

“Exactly?” Vallencian produced a pocket watch. “It will be done. Good-bye, Lady Flint. May we meet again under more favorable circumstances.” He gave a flourishing bow and backed away, then turned and disappeared into the fog.

Vlora watched him go, then turned to find Ben Styke waiting for her. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“What a strange person,” Styke said.

“He’s a good one,” Vlora said, somewhat more defensively than she’d intended.

Styke spread his hands. “I heard what he did with his ships at Landfall. ‘Strange’ isn’t an insult coming from me. You wanted to see me, Flint?”

“I expect you figured out we’re leaving.”

“I gathered. My lancers are ready to ride, but no one knows where to.”

Vlora stood on her toes, peering into the dark fog for some sign of Olem. She spotted him nearby, his jacket discarded while he and a trio of soldiers replaced a wagon wheel. “Where is Taniel?” she called to him.

“One, two …” Olem grunted as he helped lift the wagon, and replied in a strained voice and the jerk of his head. “Last I saw, he was getting a new horse.”

“Come with me,” Vlora told Styke. They walked over to a corral of captured Dynize horses, and found Taniel and Ka-poel going through the herd with a critical eye. She beckoned them over. While she waited, she turned to Styke. “You remember the godstone, correct?”

“The thing we fought the Dynize for south of Landfall?” He rubbed his nose vigorously. “That thing reeked of old sorcery. I didn’t like it.”

“I’ll give you the short version,” Vlora said. “That godstone is an artifact of immense sorcerous power. It is one of three that in conjunction can be used to create a new god. Taniel has hired us to find, secure, and hopefully destroy the other two godstones before either Lindet or the Dynize can find and use them.”

Styke stuck a tongue into his cheek. “Huh.”

“I don’t really care if you believe me. You and your lancers will be paid the same as my own Adrans—and Taniel is going to bleed gold for this.”

“I’ve heard weirder things,” Styke grunted.

“Are you in?”

“Perhaps. Where is our objective?”

“The western coast of Fatrasta, at the end of the Hammer.”

Styke lifted his eyes to the sky, his lips moving silently, as if he were examining a map in his head. A small, strange smile touched the corners of his mouth. “The money sounds good, and keeping Lindet away from her prize will delight the pit out of my lancers. So yes, I’m in.” Taniel and Ka-poel joined them, and Styke gave each a nod. He eyed Ka-poel for several seconds before turning his attention back to Vlora.

“Excellent,” Vlora said. She had expected more questions, defiance, or … she didn’t really know. Styke’s legend never included him being easy to work with, so his quick answer was a relief. “Taniel and Ka-poel managed to dig through the archives Lindet was forced to abandon in Landfall.”

“Her personal archives,” Taniel interjected.

Styke gave a low whistle. “I bet those were full of fun.”

“You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” Styke said with a tight smile.

Vlora continued. “Lindet has the approximate location of both of the other godstones, but as far as we know, she hasn’t actually found them yet. We don’t know if they’re hidden, or buried by time, or what. One of them is located in the Ironhook Mountains near a gold-mining town called Yellow Creek. I’m taking my army up to try and find it.”

“And you want the lancers to find the other one?”

“Our information on the other one is more vague,” Taniel spoke up. “We know it’s out on the Hammer, probably in the vicinity of Starlight. We need someone mobile to go looking for it.”

Styke looked from Taniel, to Ka-poel, to Vlora. Slowly, he took off his big ring and breathed on it, polishing the skull on the breast of his faded cavalry jacket. “Have the Dynize landed on the west coast?”

“That’s what Taniel’s intelligence says,” Vlora said. “Though not in as big numbers as at Landfall.” She watched Styke’s face for some hint of hesitation. She needed to go after both stones, but splitting her infantry was the worst possible scenario.

“And Lindet will no doubt have troops in the area,” Styke added.

“Without a doubt,” Vlora said. “I intend on putting Major Gustar and the remnants of his cuirassiers and dragoons under your command. You’ll be riding with close to a thousand seasoned cavalry.”

Styke replaced his ring and opened and closed his hand, eyes on a thin white scar over the tendons of his wrist. “Fewer might be better in this situation,” he said. “But Gustar knows what he’s doing. I’ll take them.” He nodded to himself, and Vlora let out a soft sigh of relief. Losing her cavalry would be rough, but Styke could use them more fully on the coast than she could up in the mountains. Styke opened his mouth, and Vlora tensed in the face of protestations. He said, “I can smell sorcery. I have a few other Knacked in my company. But if Lindet’s Privileged haven’t found it yet, how do you expect a bunch of lancers to do it?”

Vlora glanced at Taniel, who snorted out a laugh. “You remember that favor you owe me, Colonel?” Taniel asked.

“I do,” Styke said slowly.

Ka-poel grinned, and Taniel put his arm around her waist. “Well, I’m calling it in. You’re not going to find the godstone. She is, and you’re going to make sure she survives, even if it costs the lives of you and every one of your men.”

Vlora dismissed Styke and left Ka-poel and Taniel to pick out their horses for the journey ahead, hoping she’d made the right decision in giving Styke her cavalry. Something nagged at the back of her mind, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She put it aside and found Olem just as the first company of Riflejack infantry began their march out of camp.

“Everything set with Styke?” Olem asked.

“He’s in,” Vlora said. “He’ll take Ka-poel and go cause havoc in the west. Taniel will come with us to find and secure the other godstone.”

“Does Styke know he’s a distraction?”

Vlora grimaced. “ ‘Distraction’ is a harsh word. He has his orders, and he has Ka-poel. I daresay he has a better chance of finding and destroying his godstone than we do ours.”

“But sending him out across Fatrasta will draw attention away from us.”

“Styke is not a subtle man. I think he’s well aware of that and the dangers it entails. What’s done is done. Oh, I gave Vallencian a letter for Holm.” Vlora dug into her pocket and produced a second letter, handing it to Olem. “Wait an hour, then send a runner to the Dynize camp.”

Olem took the letter and held it with both hands, as if weighing it. “What do they say?”

“The first letter,” Vlora said, watching the last vestiges of the camp disappear as soldiers fell into marching formation, “tells General Holm that I’m leaving. It also tells her that the Dynize general has orders to take my head and will march after me. She can either give chase, or she can use the opportunity to press on toward Landfall.”

“And this letter?” Olem hefted the other note.

“It tells the Dynize general that I’m leaving, and that the Fatrastans also want my head and will give chase and that he can deal with whichever he deems to be the largest threat.”

Olem stared curiously at the letter. “So you told them both the truth, more or less.”

“A half-truth, yes. The difference is that I expect Holm to believe me. I don’t expect the Dynize to believe me. The Dynize will shore up their defenses, maybe even send a couple brigades after us, while Holm—being a competent general—will not want an enemy force behind her. She’ll attack the Dynize as soon as possible.”

“We should have done this two days ago.”

“I didn’t know the character of the enemy generals then,” Vlora said. “Find me my horse and let’s get going. I hope this works.”