Blood of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  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!”

  CHAPTER 38

  Michel gave the old man a day to recover—a good meal, sleep in a real bed, a bath and shave, and gentle conversation. Still, he refused to give his name. Whether he did not want to be associated with a checkered past or simply feared the telling of his tale to come back and haunt him, Michel could not decipher. He dubbed the old man Survivor, and he took him and the three children to Jiniel and her lieutenants and listened carefully while he told his tale.

  The reactions varied. Devin-Mezi looked on in horror. Another lieutenant was aghast with disbelief. Two more wept openly. Jiniel herself listened in stoic silence, her jaw tightening, veins bulging from her forehead as more det
ails came out. Once Survivor had finished his story, she gestured for the children to give their own testimonies. Everyone was finally sent away, leaving Michel and Ichtracia with Jiniel and her four lieutenants.

  No one spoke. Michel could read the shock on their faces. He gave them several minutes to process the information before he cleared his throat.

  “You wanted evidence,” he said.

  Devin-Mezi swore.

  “I did not imagine…” Jiniel trailed off.

  “I didn’t, either,” Michel replied. “I suspected the details, but I didn’t consider the real implications of this.”

  Jiniel looked around at her lieutenants, then focused her eyes on Michel. “What do we do?” There was a note of helplessness in her voice. “We are outnumbered. Outgunned. The Dynize hold everything. We have been doing what we can to safeguard the Palo from our position here, but we’ve been operating on the assumption that the Dynize are our friends. Now we know they aren’t. They are using us, just as everyone else has used us.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Michel said. He’d been thinking about this for weeks. Planning. Considering.

  “About what?”

  “That we’re outnumbered and outgunned. The Dynize have recruited Palo into every facet of their lives. We clean their houses, run their new labor camps, build their citadel around the godstone. They’re even training us to fight for them. They may have the armies, but this is our land. We outnumber them ten to one. We exist here. They made a tactical choice to include us in their new empire—a good choice, from their perspective. But they then thought they could steal away our lowliest citizens and use them in their blood magic. If they’d stopped at the first, you and I might be reaching out to help them take their fight to Lindet. But they didn’t.”

  “So we have the people,” Devin-Mezi replied bitterly. “But we are outgunned. We have what, a few thousand fighters?”

  “Right now? Yes. But an angry population can mobilize to arms in a frighteningly short amount of time.”

  “You’re suggesting we rise up?” Jiniel asked.

  “I am.”

  “We’ll be slaughtered.”

  “There will be casualties,” Michel admitted. The idea stuck a knife in his gut, but he had to ignore it. “There might be a lot of casualties. But if we don’t stop the Dynize now, we will forever be a people in bondage.”

  Jiniel examined him over steepled fingers. “Michel and Ichtracia, can you give us a moment?”

  Michel nodded. He and Ichtracia retreated to the hall, where they stood in silence while a murmur of voices came to them through the door to Jiniel’s office. Ichtracia still looked shell-shocked with anger. Of all the people here, Survivor’s story seemed to have struck her the deepest. Michel thought about what she’d said weeks ago—of her claim that all that blood could have been avoided if she’d just offered her own. He wondered if she still felt the same way. He wondered if she had doubts. He knew he did.

  “I might be goading my people into walking into a slaughter,” he said quietly.

  “You’re hesitating?”

  “Of course I’m hesitating. Like I said, I might be—”

  “Don’t.” The word was whispered forcefully. “Just… don’t. These people—your people—need to fight. You’re giving them the best chance.”

  Michel did not reply. He sank into his own thoughts and plans, turning them over and over again in his mind while they waited. Finally, after what felt like hours, they were summoned back inside.

  Mama Palo and her council looked shaken but determined. “You’ve clearly considered this,” Jiniel said. “And we’ve agreed that you should be in command. How do we do this? How do we rouse the Palo? How do we fight back?”

  Michel sat down. “Word travels fast in the Depths,” he began. “We are going to fight the Dynize the same way that Lindet has kept us down and divided—the same way the Dynize have tried to keep us down. Putting all this in motion won’t take long, but the results could come in a week, or in months. So we begin our propaganda campaign immediately.”

  “You have a plan for this?” Jiniel asked.

  “I do. But also know this: Once we unleash this thing, there is no going back. There is no controlling it. Landfall will suffer. We will suffer.”

  Jiniel looked around at her lieutenants once more. “We are agreed.”

  “Good. It’s time to start the fire that will burn everything down.”

  Styke stood outside the Etzi Household infirmary, trying not to listen to the rising voices within. On the other side of the doorway stood Maetle, her eyes on the ground, twiddling her thumbs.

  A particularly loud shout issued from within, mostly consisting of a string of obscenities. Everyone else had already cleared out of this wing of the compound, leaving Styke and Maetle alone. He wished he had his whittling, or something to read, or anything to pass the time while the two brothers fought inside.

  “Should I go?” he asked Maetle.

  The nurse finally looked up, met his eyes momentarily, then resumed staring at the opposite wall. “He said to wait here.” She shrugged. “So we wait here.”

  “Is this sort of thing normal?”

  “The shouting? Oh, no.” Maetle scowled, as if the question itself were impertinent. “You overhear arguments and lesser dramas living with the Household, but Etzi is a gentle man. His relationship with his family, though…” She trailed off.

  Styke didn’t push her further. “Understood.”

  It was at least fifteen minutes before the arguing died down to something more civil, the words less pronounced and more difficult to make out. Another ten minutes after that passed before the door opened and Etzi emerged, red-faced and hair mussed. “Stubborn bastard,” he muttered, running a hand across his face. He seemed to realize he was not alone, looking first to Maetle and then to Styke.

  “Did he hurt himself?” Maetle asked in a gentle tone.

  Etzi had the wherewithal to look embarrassed. “He might have strained himself a little.”

  “I need to check on him.”

  “Wait.” Etzi held up one hand. “First, he wants to talk to Ben. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.” Etzi strode off, muttering under his breath, gesturing angrily to himself.

  Styke watched him go, then turned to Maetle. She shook her head. “Best see what he wants. Try not to get him too worked up. I know dragonmen are tough, but the more he exerts himself, the longer it will take him to recover.”

  “Right.” Styke stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Orz lay on his back, his head craned forward. He was as pale as a ghost, with rivulets of sweat pouring down his brow and cheeks. His eyes opened when Styke reached his side, and they took a few moments to focus on Styke’s face.

  “You stupid piece of shit,” Orz said weakly in Adran.

  Styke rolled his eyes and sat down beside the bed, drawing his knife and using the tip to clean dirt from beneath his fingernails. He’d been accosted by more than one angry, injured soldier in his time. Nothing to do but weather it. “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t ‘you’re welcome’ me. I told you I didn’t want to involve my brother.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have much choice after you walked into an ambush.”

  “You should have left me to die.”

  “Maybe.” Styke shrugged. “But I didn’t. I still have use for you.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Orz closed his eyes, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged gasps. Just when Styke thought that he might have passed out, his eyes flashed open once more. “He thinks I got our mother killed.”

  “You kind of did.”

  Orz’s brow wrinkled. Another tense silence, and he let out a wheezing laugh. “You would have made a terrible doctor.”

  “There’s a reason I do what I do.”

  “Yes. And despite what Etzi may think, my conscience is clean. I did not kill her. I was trying to save her.” He made a fist, then let his fingers relax, then repe
ated the effort as if to judge his own strength. “I thought I knew Sedial’s mind. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Probably for the best,” Styke commented.

  “Etzi knows nothing of our designs here?”

  “I haven’t told him and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to know.”

  “Etzi is no fool.”

  “He told you about the suit?”

  “Yes. It’s our best chance at vengeance, but it may still get him and his entire Household killed. He’s being careful not to attack Sedial openly, but the Ka will still see it as a slap in the face. When he returns—”

  “If he returns.”

  Orz took a few long breaths. “You think your sister can best him? When we left, she had all but lost the continent.”

  “She was on the back foot,” Styke admitted. “But she’s not a fool, either, and she won’t pull punches.”

  Orz eyeballed Styke. “No, I imagine she won’t. You know, I was spying on a group of officers camped outside of Starlight when the rumor came around that you were her brother. One of them actually spit his drink on the other two.” He let out a weak chuckle.

  “There’s a reason we kept it hidden for most of our lives.”

  “Family provides a weakness that can be exploited by your enemies,” Orz said, touching his bandaged chest with two fingers.

  “Among other things, yes.” Styke used the tip of the knife to root a blackberry seed out from between his teeth. “This sorcery you’ve got keeping you together—is it strong enough to put you back in a saddle?”

  “Not immediately. But not nearly as long as a normal person, either.”

  “How long?”

  “A few weeks, I’d say. It’ll hurt, but I’ll be able to ride.”

  Styke didn’t think they had that long. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible. Preferably before someone finds my army down south.”

  “Have you confirmed that they made landfall?”

  “No. But I’ve dispatched a man to do so.”

  “And if they haven’t?”

  “Then I’ll have to change my plans right quick.” Styke twirled his big Lancer ring with one finger. “We’ll get you out of the city, head down the coast, and try to find a port where we can bribe, threaten, or beg our way back to Fatrasta.”