“Kresimir,” Bertreau swore. Taniel couldn’t help but echo the oath silently.
“Kez are tracking you,” the rider said in a throaty growl, voice echoing from his helmet. He flipped up the visor, gazing down at Taniel and Bertreau with an expression only slightly less intimidating than his horse. “I’m looking for Major Bertreau.”
Bertreau, for the year that Taniel had known her, was fairly unflappable. She was more liable to show anger than fear, and not a lot impressed her. Her eyes still fixed on the severed head, she gave a low whistle before finally looking up at the rider.
“Reporting,” Bertreau said, snapping a salute. She elbowed Taniel in the ribs and reluctantly he threw up his own salute, still trying to get his mind around what he saw before him. A man with severed heads in a sack, riding a fully-armored warhorse into a damned swamp like it was a ride in the countryside, wearing enchanted armor! The armor, he decided, was the hardest part to get over.
The big man surveying the camp, nodding slowly to himself. His face was handsome in an open, honest sort of way, worn rough by the elements and criss-crossed with scars. Dirty-blond hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. Taniel guessed he was in his mid-thirties. “I’m Colonel Ben Styke. You assholes are a pain to find.”
“That’s kind of the point, sir,” Taniel said. Inwardly, he repeated Bertreau’s whistle. He should have recognized that armor from the stories. Mad Ben Styke and his Mad Lancers were a damned legend. Rumors said they were a company of volunteer cavalrymen who’d looted a Kez governor’s collection of ancient cavalry armor and taken to wearing the stuff. Taniel never really believed it. And he certainly hadn’t guessed that the armor was enchanted. Bloody pit.
“Pole, what are you… “ Taniel wasn’t able to catch her in time as Ka-poel slipped past him and approached the horse.
“Careful, girl,” Styke said. “He’ll bite your whole hand off.”
Ka-poel seemed less than worried. She patted the beast’s armored nose, rubbing its exposed neck beneath the armor. The horse shook its head, then leaned into her for a nuzzle that almost planted her on her ass.
“I’ll be damned,” Styke said. “He doesn’t like many people, girl. Take that as an honor.” He leaned over Ka-poel, sniffing, then turned toward Taniel. “You smell of powder and sorcery. You must be Taniel Two-shot.”
“That’s me,” Taniel said, lifting his chin. He’d known plenty of big men like this in the Adran Army – grenadiers, usually – and they rarely respected anything but strength. Someone this size would ride all over you unless you took a stand.
“Good,” Styke said, his face suddenly splitting in a grin. “Pleasure to meet you. Heard you’ve been popping Privileged left and right, and for that I owe you a drink.”
Taniel opened his mouth with a retort that died on his tongue. “I, uh... thank you, sir.”
“Thank me when you’ve got a drink in hand,” Styke said. “Could be a while. Lindet appreciates what you’ve been doing down here to slow the Kez, but you,” he nodded to Bertreau and the rest of the camp, “are needed in Planth immediately.”
“She knows we’re here?” Taniel asked.
“Lindet knows just about everything. She’s got spies crawling out her ass. We best get moving soon, though.”
Bertreau looked around, and Taniel could tell she was more than a little star-struck. This was Ben Styke, after all. In the flesh. Taniel, despite his sorcery, was feeling more than a little intimidated himself. Not that he’d ever admit it.
“It’s getting late,” Bertreau said. “It’ll be dark within the hour.”
“Just enough time to pack the camp and get moving,” Styke replied. He leaned forward, banging his mailed fist against the armor on his mount’s neck. “We’ve got twenty-five miles to make before noon tomorrow. Best get started.”
Taniel exchanged another look with Bertreau. After all their work, they still had to head to Planth. And no getting around a direct order this time. He headed toward his hammock. “Camp!” he called. “Get ready to move!”
The Ghost Irregulars skirted the Kez army in the darkness, taking the river north toward Planth. They lost Styke during the night, but by the time they finally hid their canoes and made their way over to the Basin Highway, he was already waiting for them atop his enormous warhorse, ready to accompany them the last couple of miles.
For someone who’d been out in the swamps for almost a full year, the sight of Planth was like a light at the end of a long, wet, snake-infested tunnel. The Ghost Irregulars had ranged all over the Basin, passing through towns and forts to re-provision, send post, and get their orders, but Planth was almost big enough to be a proper city.
Built atop of a stony ridge jutting from the swamps, it had begun as a trading fort on a bend in the Tristan River and had grown into a hamlet, then a town, and now boasted almost ten thousand settlers of a dozen different nationalities, including a fair number of Palo. Land for miles around had been cleared and drained for farming. While the fort still dominated the stony ridge, the city itself sprawled along the side of the river, unprotected by walls or palisades.
Taniel was surprised to see an enormous camp on the outskirts of the city. There were hundreds of tents, impromptu stables, hastily-built outhouses, and all the trappings of an army at rest that would have made him think of home had it not been so hodge-podge. No dozen tents were the same color and so many different flags were raised above the camp he lost count.
He could tell at a glance this was not an army. This was a hastily-gathered militia pulled from the nearest towns and outposts. It would fall beneath the Kez brigade in a few hours – sooner, if the Kez unleashed their remaining Privileged.
Bertreau sent Taniel on with Styke, opting to go looking for a tavern with the parting words, “You’re the Privileged-killing hero. You deal with the politicians.”
The city was crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder. Men wearing the dark yellow coats of the Fatrastan Continental Army rubbed shoulders with buckskin-clad frontiersmen, plain-clothed settlers, and fancily-dressed businessmen. Practically everyone had a musket or rifle on their shoulder and a fight in their eyes, and Taniel allowed himself to be led through it all by Styke. Ka-poel tagged along at his heels, barely keeping up.
“Are we in that much of a hurry?” Taniel asked. “This place is chaos. I’d like to ask around for news from home.”
“Chancellor first,” Styke replied. “I don’t worry about keeping her waiting but you probably should.” He paused at a crossroad and pointed forward. “I’ve got to go stable my horse. Go straight on till you find the big church and tell them you’re to see Lindet immediately.”
Abandoned, Taniel and Ka-poel shoved and cursed through the press. While she was utterly undeterred by Styke or his enormous warhorse, Ka-poel seemed a little more intimidated by the sheer number of people. She was shoved and knocked around, and almost drew her machete on a passing frontiersmen, before Taniel finally planted her firmly behind him and told her to hang on to his belt.
Even with him leading, they got turned around twice before eventually made their way to the very center of the city where the square was dominated by big yellow tents, each of them waving the flag of the Continental Army. There seemed to be lines everywhere – a tangle of humanity streaming in and out of pubs, whorehouses, hotels, and privies.
There was a church on the northern side of the square, and even it had a line – a mix of soldiers, militiamen, and townsfolk, all waving orders or contracts, arguing amongst themselves. They were kept organized by a varied group of well-dressed city men in black vests and bowler caps. The line wrapped around the church twice, and Taniel stared glumly at the end before heading straight up to the big door.