CHAPTER 14

The Mad Lancers rode hard after splitting with the Riflejacks, circumventing the Fatrastan Army and heading southwest across the countryside. Plantations seemed to stretch forever in every direction, broken only by the slight roll of the land and lines of willow and birch that divided the fields. Every plantation they passed told the same story—laborers scurrying in the fields to try to get in an early harvest, while the households packed up everything of value and prepared to head toward safety.

Styke wondered if safety was even an option at this point. Each new town was filled with panicked rumors—that the Dynize had landed on the west, south, and east coasts. That nothing within fifty miles of the ocean was safe from their barbarity. A passing farmer claimed that Swinshire had been burned to the ground, while a cobbler said that Redstone itself was under siege.

The lancers took roads when they could and forged their own paths across the vast plantation fields when they couldn’t. At this point, Styke wanted nothing more than speed. They had a thousand men and three times as many horses. Subtlety was not an option, and he had an itch between his shoulders that told him they were being followed.

He called a stop on the afternoon of the third day to let their horses rest and graze, regrouping in a field next to one of the thousands of nameless roads that crisscrossed Fatrasta.

Styke leaned on his saddle just off the road, letting Amrec graze without a harness. Celine lay on her stomach in the grass, feet bare, picking the heads off flowers with her toes. Normally, Styke would enjoy watching her foolery for a few quiet minutes, but he found his gaze drawn to the bone-eye witch wandering among the men and horses.

Ka-poel hadn’t communicated in three days, sticking to herself at the back of the column, stopping frequently to scramble in the dust and then riding hard to catch up. Sometimes she ranged on ahead with the scouts, sniffing the air like a bloodhound, her fingers pressing against the wind as if touching a pane of glass.

Styke found himself drawn to her—she was amusing to watch in much the same way as Celine—but he had an inkling that her antics had a much darker purpose than childlike wonder, and he didn’t like it.

“Have you found me a horse?”

Styke pulled himself away from watching Ka-poel and turned his attention to Celine. “Still looking,” he said. “Anyone catch your eye from our reserves?”

Celine plucked a piece of grass and stuck it between her teeth. “You said I can’t have any of the horses that someone is already riding.”

“Right. Don’t take a man’s horse. Not unless you’ve paid him, killed him, or stolen it fair and square.”

Celine pouted. “And I can’t steal from our men.”

“No, you cannot.”

“Then, no. I haven’t found a horse I like.”

The problem, Styke found, was that first-rate horses were rare. Most of the men in his cavalry were riding second-rate horses already, and there wasn’t a single first-rate horse left that didn’t have a saddle on it.

Now, there was nothing wrong with a second-rate horse. They could be strong, fast, smart, dependable, but not all of the above. He wanted Celine to have a creature that wouldn’t let her down, one she could bond with. He’d find it one of these days, but not among the horses they had with them.

Until then, she’d ride with either him or Sunin.

“Colonel,” a voice called. Styke looked up to find Zac and Markus riding up the column toward him. The two brothers, in addition to their normal rags, tended to ride junk horses that none of his other lancers would spare a glance. Perhaps it was part of their scouting disguise, but Styke didn’t understand it himself. A good horse was worth more than any amount of blending in.

Styke nodded to the pair as they approached.

Zac snapped a sloppy salute. “Colonel, we had a question, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“Are we heading on a fixed course?”

Styke cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“This direction we’ve been going. We continuing on for the next few days?”

“Why?”

Markus cleared his throat. “Because, sir, you’re going to miss Bad Tenny Wiles.”

Styke perked up. “That’s right. He’s nearby, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He owns a plantation about forty miles south of here. Big ol’ building right next to a bend in a stream, surrounded by birches. You know the Cottonseed tributary?”

Styke pictured a map in his head, considering the location. He nodded.

“The plantation sits on the land near the spring that feeds the tributary.”

“Ah. I think I might know the plantation itself. Not far from where we picked up Little Gamble during the war?”

“That’s right.”

Styke nodded to himself, thoughts turning. “Thanks for that. Where’s Ibana?”

“Bit farther back, sir.”

Styke headed that direction and soon found Ibana dismounted by an old stump. Her warhorse grazed nearby, and she and Jackal bent over a map. “Since when do you use a map?” he asked Ibana.

“It’s been almost six years since I’ve crossed this part of the country,” Ibana retorted. “I’d like to know what we’re looking at the next few hundred miles.”

Styke couldn’t fault that logic. He shouldered his way in to stand between them and squinted at the tiny roads and town names. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the way the map was drawn, and he was soon picking out old haunts and prominent landmarks, orienting himself to their location.

“We’re here,” Ibana said. She pointed to their location, then drew an imaginary line with her finger cutting north of Little Starland and going straight to the Hammer on the west coast of Fatrasta. “Ka-poel says that our search is going to start somewhere around here. You still want to head straight across the middle of the continent?”

Styke considered the question. “Jackal, are your spirits telling you anything useful?”

“Hard to keep up a good conversation with the dead while we ride,” Jackal responded, his voice matter-of-fact. Ibana gave Styke an irritated look, as if to say, Don’t encourage him. She was not, she had made it clear, a believer in Jackal’s ability to talk to spirits. “However,” Jackal continued, “there are a lot of dead coming from the coasts—all the coasts. There’s fighting in every direction. Swinshire is almost certainly gone. Maybe Little Starland, too.”

“That’s not good. Are we going to run into any serious enemies?”

Neither Ibana nor Jackal seemed to know the answer to the question. Hesitantly, Ibana said, “If the fighting is still on the coasts, then we shouldn’t have too much of a problem till we reach the Hammer. We might run into a Fatrastan field army, but they should be pretty preoccupied with reaching the front line. I think we’re safe making a beeline to the Hammer.” She tapped on a dot on the map. “Once we reach Belltower, though, things will get tricky. And if Lindet finds out what we’re up to …”

The idea did not please Styke. “We’ll just have to keep her in the dark as long as possible. Pit, our own men don’t even know what we’re really up to. How is she going to find out?”

“Since when has Lindet not known exactly what was going on?” Ibana countered.

“Right. You remember our talk with Agoston?”

“I remember cleaning his blood spatter off of my jacket.”

“Markus and Zac say that Bad Tenny Wiles is about forty miles south of our current position.”

Ibana’s eyes narrowed. “You want us to change directions.”

“Nah. This is something I’m going to handle myself. I want you to keep heading toward our objective.” He turned his attention back to the map, poring over the roads and towns before pointing to one about eighty miles to their southwest. “I’ll catch up with you here,” he said. “In a week. Shouldn’t take longer. If things get hairy, you can keep moving and I’ll find you farther down the road.”

“All right. Make it quick.”

“Have you ever known me to linger over a kill?” Styke ended the conversation by rolling up the map and handing it to Jackal. He returned to Amrec and began to put the saddle back on while Celine still lay in the grass nearby.

“You’re going to ride with Sunin for the next few days,” Styke told her.

Celine rolled over, staring at him. “Why?”

“Because I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Oh?” Celine sat up. “You going to kill someone?”

“What gives you that idea?”

“Rumors going around the lancers that you found out about some traitors—the ones who sent you to the firing squad.”

Markus and Zac and their damned loose lips. Styke swore under his breath. “Yeah,” he answered half-heartedly. “I’m going to kill someone.”

“I want to come.”

“You can’t.”

“You took me into battle, but you won’t take me to kill one man?”

Styke finished with the buckles and ran his hand along Amrec’s flank, then patted him on the nose. He thought through a dozen reasons why this was different, knowing that Celine would fight him about each one. Truthfully, he could move quicker and quieter without her. On the other hand, she was his responsibility. Handing her to Sunin every time he wanted her out of the way felt a lot like how his father had treated him as a boy.

The thought caused a sour feeling in Styke’s stomach.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They slipped away from the lancers and turned south, quickly putting a hill between them and the cavalry. Styke preferred to be away before anyone noticed, and back before anyone had the courage to ask Ibana questions, and they were almost a mile down the road before a horse caught up with them at a gallop.

It was Ka-poel. She put her horse in front of Amrec, forcing Styke to pull on the reins.

Her hands moved in a quick, demanding flurry. He could guess what she wanted to know, but instead he just sighed. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Ka-poel snorted at him. She produced a piece of slate, like children in a schoolhouse might use to practice sums, and wrote out a sentence, showing it to him. Where are you going?

“Business,” Styke said. “I’ll meet up with you again next week. Stay with Ibana and the lancers.”

No.

“What do you mean?”

I’m coming, Ka-poel scribbled.

Styke looked down at Celine. “What is this? Are the two of you in cahoots? I’ve got work to do, and I can’t protect you by myself. Stay with the lancers.”

I don’t need a bodyguard.

“Damn it.” Styke rubbed his eyes, wishing she’d just turn around and go away. She made him uneasy at best, and he needed his mind clear for this. Having Celine along was already trying enough. “Ibana thinks you’re with her.”

I told her I’m going with you.

“I don’t take orders from you, girl,” Styke warned.

Most people shied away when Styke became visibly annoyed. Ka-poel just smiled at him coldly. She wrote, I ride with you or I follow. Choose.

Styke stared at her for a few moments, then ran his hand through his hair. “Have it your way. Let’s move.”