Ghosts of the Tristan Basin: A Powder Mage Novella

by Brian McClellan

  But Ka-poel was right. He would need help.

  Taniel sent Ka-poel with a note for Bertreau and then went through the city on his own, asking for directions until he got the information he wanted: the Mad Lancers were camped on the far side of Planth where their horses could take advantage of a pair of fields for fresh grazing.

  Traffic between the lancers’ camp and Planth was sparse, and there was a wide berth between them and the closest militia camp. Taniel had heard stories about the Mad Lancers; suicidal charges, flouting orders, whole towns full of Kez sympathizers put to the torch. They sounded like a commanding officer’s worst nightmare and only their reputation for saving lost battles and coming to the aid of the common people had managed to associate their name with an admiring word rather than a curse.

  Rumor had it that even the regular army avoided them.

  Taniel approached their camp cautiously and was more than a little surprised to find a proper guard circling the perimeter in regular intervals. There were two men and a woman, all three of them wearing the same yellow cavalry jackets as their colonel. They stopped Taniel with a barked command, carbines lowered.

  “I’m here to see Colonel Styke,” Taniel said, raising his hands.

  The woman, taller than the two men by over a hand—nearly as tall as Styke himself—gave Taniel a looking over. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Captain Taniel Two-shot.”

  “The Tristan Ghost Irregulars?”

  “That’s me.”

  The woman lowered her carbine and her two companions did the same. “Major Ibana ja Fles,” she introduced herself. “What business do you have with Ben?”

  “Just hoping to talk,” Taniel said. He wondered at the suspicion in the major’s voice. He glanced her over, noting the sword at her side. Her name implied she had some Kez noble blood in her, but more than a few colonial Kez had defected at the beginning of the war. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

  “Some of us more than others,” Ibana replied. “Come with me.” She nodded for the two men to continue their circuit and fell in beside Taniel, walking them toward the camp before breaking the momentary silence. “Ben says you’re a good hand with a rifle.”

  “It’s what I was trained for.”

  Ibana nodded approvingly. “Heard you’ve spent almost the entire war holed up in the swamps, raiding Kez supplies. That true?”

  “It is.”

  “Good,” Ibana glanced around, lowering her voice. “That means you haven’t gotten involved with the politics of this war. Word to the wise—don’t get involved. And trust Lindet as far as you can throw her.”

  Taniel snorted.

  “Something funny, Two-shot?”

  “Sorry, major. Just that Colonel Styke seems pretty friendly with her.”

  “Friendly? That’s a laugh. Lindet puts up with Ben because we’ve won her a handful of battles that she should have lost. Ben puts up with her because… pit, I don’t know why Ben puts up with her. Let’s just say there’s no love lost and this is one of the few times they’ve actually crossed paths.”

  “Fair enough,” Taniel said, feeling suddenly out of his depth. He tried to stay as far away from politics as possible—that was his father’s realm. He didn’t know enough to grasp the nuances of the situation, nor to argue with Ibana’s advice. As far as he could see, Lindet was in charge of everything around here. People respected, admired, or feared her and that kept the revolution going. He shook his head. He didn’t need to get any more involved. He was just here to fight the Kez and, in this situation, try to save Planth.

  Ibana led him to a series of small tents clustered around a campfire. Half a dozen marsh hares roasted on a spit, and just as many soldiers lounged around on camp stools or bedrolls. They were an odd lot—men and women, including a boy of fourteen and a woman well into her sixties. Half of them wore cavalry jackets, two wore buckskins, and a third wore a faded old suit jacket that probably originally cost two months of a cavalryman’s wages.

  “This here is the company officers,” Ibana said. “Little Gamble, Steffan je Lent, Chraston, Sunnintiel, Ferlisia, and the kid is our bugalist, Jack. Everyone, this is Taniel Two-shot.”

  “Two-shot?” the old woman asked, craning her head as if her hearing wasn’t that good. “The powder mage? What’s Ben have to say about having another genuine hero in the city?”

  “Shut up, Sunnin,” Ibana said. “Where’s Ben?”

  “He went to have a talk with the Blackhats. Should be back any minute.”

  Ibana swore under her breath. “You let him deal with those thugs by himself? What’s wrong with you fools?”

  “It’s fine, Ibana.” Styke emerged from the tents, his cavalry jacket thrown over one shoulder and the biggest knife Taniel had ever seen strapped to his belt. The side of his face was caked with blood, but no one around the fire seemed all that surprised. “Just had to sort some things out with our friends in town.”

  “What happened?” Ibana asked, pointing to the gash over his eye.

  Styke frowned at her, then touched his fingers to his forehead and rubbed the blood between his thumb and forefinger. “Huh. Must have hit me with something. The talking went south. I had to teach Devan a little respect.”

  Ibana tensed. “Trouble?”

  “Nah. He and his friends were off-duty. I think we understand each other now.”

  Taniel grimaced at the blood. It looked like Styke had been bashed across the head with a millstone, but he seemed no worse for the wear. “Who are the Blackhats?” he asked.

  “Two-shot,” Styke grunted. “Didn’t expect you here. The Blackhats are Lindet’s hatchetmen. They’re the ones with the vests and bowler caps you saw in Planth. Thugs and spies, the lot of them, but they’re good at their job. Surprised Ibana let you in the camp. Thought I gave orders to keep things tight around here.”

  “Go to the pit,” Ibana responded. “You want me to break your nose again?”

  Styke laughed. Taniel looked between them, wondering what kind of an officer relationship this was. That kind of language would end you up on latrine duty for a month, even if you were friendly with your commanding officer.

  He cleared his throat. “Was hoping to talk with you. In private.”

  “Yeah? Sure, we can do that.”

  Styke led them through the camp, over to the impromptu corral the Mad Lancers had built. He pulled a carrot out of his pocket, feeding the first horse to come nuzzle him, and patting it gently on the flank. It was an oddly gentle gesture for a man with such a brutal reputation.

  “What do you need, Two-shot?” he asked.

  Taniel looked up at the afternoon sun, suddenly feeling like he didn’t know where to start. His anger with Lindet had faded, and he wanted to just head off to find the Ghost Irregulars and get some rest. He realized that he hadn’t slept much for days, and not at all since yesterday morning.

  “This might seem a little strange,” he said. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, except by reputation. But I need help.”

  Styke removed his big knife from its sheath, scowling at it and rubbing some blood out of the groove with his thumb. “What kind of help?”

  “You heard Lindet’s plans this afternoon. She means to abandon the city to the Kez in order to make her escape and she wants us to provide a screen and then withdraw ourselves. I assume she doesn’t want to lose any of her local assets protecting a doomed city, but I don’t think it’s doomed.”

  Styke stared at him.

  Taniel cleared his throat and continued. “The garrison will stay behind, assuming they’re local. Two days isn’t enough time for the rest of the city to evacuate but I’m thinking about...stretching the terms of my orders and sticking around a bit longer. Maybe trying to buy the people who want to leave enough time to get out of reach of the Kez. I wondered if you’d be interested in doing the same.”

  “Huh,” Styke grunted. He pointed his knife at Taniel. “You’re going to stretch your orders.
”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lindet is only leaving skirmishers behind. She’s sending everyone else to wherever they’re needed. The Mad Lancers are supposed to head north, then east to deal with Kez cuirassiers cutting up the countryside a hundred miles from here.”

  Taniel swore to himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Of course Styke wouldn’t be participating in the delaying action. The Mad Lancers were heavy cavalry—as heavy as you get. If they engaged the Kez, they wouldn’t be un-engaging until the battle was over.

  “I see,” he said. “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, thanks for your time.” He turned away, angry that he’d wasted an hour on a fruitless pursuit. Maybe he’d reconsider his idea of heading to the newspaper, without Ka-poel to stop him.

  “Hold up,” Styke said.

  Taniel turned back. Styke was idly picking his teeth with the tip of his knife. “Just out of curiosity,” he said, “why’d you come to me?”

  Taniel considered the question. “I’ve spent the last twelve months shooting Kez out in the swamp. I’ve got a name, I guess, but I don’t know anyone. Don’t know the politics here. You’re the most senior officer I’ve met. Back with Lindet, you seemed like the only person vaguely bothered that she’s leaving Planth to burn. Everyone knows your name, and everyone knows you fight lost causes. I thought you’d be willing to help. Or at least try to convince Lindet to extend the delaying action.”

  Styke chuckled. “You’re right you don’t know the politics. Lindet isn’t the type to be convinced by anyone. You’re either with her or you’re against her, and there’s very little in between. You might be able to get away with extending your delaying action. But us sticking around? She wouldn’t like that at all.”

  Taniel smiled, kicking himself inwardly. “I don’t think I know you enough to ask you to outright disobey orders.”

  “Probably not,” Styke conceded. “Do me a favor, though. Tell me why you’re here.”

  Taniel frowned. “To defend Planth.”

  “Not here, here. In Fatrasta. What are you? Nineteen? Twenty? You’re the son of the most decorated war hero in the Nine. Why are you an ocean away from home, creeping around the swamps, instead of whoring your way through a university in the Nine?”

  “It’s… “ Taniel began. “It’s personal.”

  Styke shrugged. “Everything’s personal, Two-shot.”

  Taniel hesitated for a moment. He didn’t like to talk about his father, or about much of anything regarding home. It always sounded too much like whining. But Styke was good enough to give him a few moments of his time. He deserved an honest answer.

  “My father sent me abroad to widen my worldview,” he said. “I didn’t want to go, and he forced it. Sent me away from my friends, my fiancée—everything I knew. I’m not even sure what I was being punished for, but it was definitely a punishment of some kind. Anyways, I managed two weeks of a tour of the Fatrastan coast before the revolution started. I had an excuse to head home, but the Kez killed my mother when I was a boy, so I signed up to shoot at them. I figured it was something that would make my father proud and piss him off all at once.”

  Styke rolled his tongue around in his cheek, and Taniel could tell he was trying not to laugh. But his grin was companionable, and Taniel found it hard to take offense. “Impertinence, stubbornness, and vengeance all rolled into one,” Styke said. “I like it. It has flavor. So what’s your plan to defend Planth?”

  Taniel didn’t dare to hope Styke would offer his help. But Styke was an experienced cavalryman and he’d won more real battles than Taniel had ever fought. Any advice of his would be warmly welcomed.

  “Delays,” he said. “Not everyone will be willing—or able—to leave Planth but if we can give the rest an extra day or two it might save thousands of lives. I’ll start by killing their other three Privileged and then we’ll bluff, bargain, and fight until the very last moment.”

  “And you expect to pull out of it alive?”

  “If anyone can, it’ll be the Tristan Ghost Irregulars,” Taniel said. Of that, he was confident. Of the plan itself… “But if we can’t, defending a helpless city isn’t a bad way to die.”

  “You’re not the commanding officer of the Ghost Irregulars,” Styke pointed out. “Is your Major Bertreau on board with this?”

  “She doesn’t care much for politics. She likes to fight lost causes, so it won’t be hard to bring her around.”

  “My kind of woman.” Styke grinned, an expression that split his broad face in two. “I like you, Two-shot. You’ve got balls. Come here, let me show you something.” Taniel followed Styke back into the camp, where Styke pointed at one of the officers that Ibana had introduced earlier. “That’s Little Gamble,” he said. “He’s a total coward. Hasn’t lifted a weapon his whole life. We found him next to the graves of his wife and daughters after a Kez patrol swept through and he’s been our quartermaster and banner man ever since.”

  “The old woman next to him, Sunnin, she buried seven sons after the Kez burned Little Starland to the ground. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her but she can aim a lance better than I can. Chraston’s farm was torched. Jack’s parents were hung for trying to defend their own cattle.”

  “The story is the same all around here. Everyone fighting the Kez has lost someone close but here, in the Mad Lancers, we take the very worst of them. We take the beaten and broken, the ones without anyone left, the ones who no one believes can fight, and we teach them to ride, to fight, to kill.”

  “I’ve got three hundred lances under my command. We’ve buried at least that many along the way, and every one of them has ridden through the gates of the pit with the wind in their hair, a beloved name on their lips, and a Kez spine pinioned to the end of their lance.”

  Stunned, Taniel turned to Styke. He’d heard the stories of the Mad Lancers just like everyone else. But he’d had no idea. He opened his mouth, not sure what to say.

  “We’re the chaff,” Styke said. “Lindet doesn’t give a damn about our lives and we don’t give a damn about her orders. If you want to stay behind and protect Planth, you bet the medals on your daddy’s jacket the Mad Lancers will stay with you.” He reached out, clasping Taniel’s hand.

  Taniel could do nothing but clasp back.

  Taniel started awake in the darkness, sitting up in his bedroll with sweat rolling down the back of his neck. He remained still for several moments, trying to orient his foggy mind, before seeing a shape at the entrance to his tent.

  “Pole?” he asked.

  The figure nodded. Or at least, he thought it nodded. He reached for his kit and found an old snuff tin, tapping a line of black powder on the back of his hand. One quick snort later, and his night-vision improved ten-fold as the powder trance kicked in. He could see Ka-poel kneeling at the flap of his tent and behind her, someone else.

  “What is it, Pole?”

  “Get out here, Two-shot,” a voice called gruffly. “The Lady Chancellor wants to see you.”

  Ka-poel jerked her thumb over her shoulder as if to say that. Taniel stiffened. What could Lindet possibly want at this hour? He dressed quickly, tucking a knife into his belt and taking an extra hit of powder as a precaution before climbing out of his tent and finding four of Lindet’s thugs gathered just outside. What had Styke called them again? Blackhats.

  This didn’t look like a social call.

  What was going on? Did Styke betray him, telling Lindet about Taniel’s plans to keep the Ghost Irregulars behind longer than planned? He almost grabbed his rifle but thought better of it. Nothing was going to happen, he reassured himself. Maybe this was just a social call—a last series of orders before she made her escape.

  Of course, they wouldn’t send four men to bring him in if that was the case.

  Taniel accompanied the Blackhats through the militia camp and into Planth, passing the city center until they reached the point at which the highway left the northern part of the city. Taniel expected a wagon trai
n waiting to move Lindet’s government on to her next hiding spot and was surprised to see less than a hundred mounted riders waiting beside the road. No carts, no carriages.

  Taniel could sense Lindet’s lone Privileged among the group and recognized some of the faces he’d seen in the church the day before, both administrators and Blackhats. The former had heavy saddlebags, while the latter were armed with blunderbusses and carbines. Lindet, it seemed, packed light. No wonder she’d managed to stay ahead of the Kez all this time.

  Taniel was directed toward the middle of the column, where he found Lindet standing next to her horse, giving quiet directions to one of her footmen. She was wrapped in a cloak despite the warmth, and she seemed small and unimposing to him at first glance. But when she turned those eyes upon him, fiery and critical, he had to keep himself from taking a step back.

  “Two-shot,” she greeted him.

  “Lady Chancellor.”

  Taniel clasped his hands behind his back, falling into an at-ease position. It was instinctual for a soldier like him, but it also let him keep one hand near his belt knife. He could feel the Blackhats still lurking behind him.

  “Let’s do each other a favor,” Lindet said, her tone almost pleasant. “You’re not going to pretend that you haven’t been plotting to disobey my orders. In return, I’m not going to pretend that your life means even the slightest bit to me. Does that seem fair?”

  “I didn’t know we were pretending either of those things,” Taniel said. “Though I am curious how you knew. Did Styke tell you?”

  “Styke didn’t have to tell me anything. It’s in his nature to disobey me and I half-expected it in this case, even if I did give him a juicy assignment up north. The man’s a prat and will one day go too far. But you… I expected better from you, considering your father.”

  She seemed less like an angry officer and more like a schoolteacher lecturing a wayward youth. Taniel felt suddenly angry. He was a foreigner. A volunteer in this war. He could abandon his post and head home right now, never to return, and no one in Adro would think less of him for it. She should be begging for his help, asking for his council, and instead Taniel got… this.