Free Indomitus Vivat (The Fovean Chronicles) by Robert Brady

might be, if they’d wanted them.
         They had only one gate, but the walls had the same kind of towers, only shorter.  Someone had probably seen Outpost IX before they made this city, and then came as close to it as their budget would allow.
         I walked in with my wizards and a 50 Wolf Soldier retinue, more to show off five squads than because I thought I needed them.  Five squads wouldn’t hold off the whole city guard, no matter who they were.
         We marched down the central way to the palace.  Wolf Soldiers who were veterans of the sack of Outpost IX looked on in wonder and recognition, just as I did.  I hadn’t been here before, but it felt like I had.
         The palace gates were open.  I doubted those would close until we actually attacked.  The streets were crowded with civilian onlookers, some watching quiet and dour, others waving scraps of cloth with my Wolf’s Head insignia drawn on them and shouting, “The Conqueror!”  News of a military victory travels fast, and no one loves the Uman-Chi.  Still, I think that most of them didn’t like that army outside of the gate.
         We entered the palace, and here my expertise ended because I hadn’t been in the palace at Outpost IX.  I saw a similarity to the palace at Steel City, where the inner gates were a straight shot from the outer gates.  The palace exterior included towers and tiers and a grand marble stair leading up to its double doors.  We marched past liveried Uman warriors and in to a main hall that mirrored Outpost X, right down to the gallery on the right hand side.
         Cheyak tradition ran deep.
         Yerel sat on a raised dais, on a throne carved of stone.  He had no one there to advise him like Glennen and I did.  He looked the same as when I had seen him in my home in Thera, except that he looked angrier now than then.
         “Your Highness,” he greeted me.
         “Your Grace,” I returned.
         “I am told that you are here to collect taxes,” he said.  He came straight to the point.  I didn’t feel like sparring with him, anyway.
         Well, the conversation wasn’t over, either.
         “You are delinquent,” I said.  “Are you able to deliver?”
         “I can deliver,” he said, “but I see no reason to do so for the Heir.  You have no authority to collect tax or tithe.”
         “You will note,” I said, politely, my helmet under my arm, “that I am not here as an Eldadorian, but as a member of the Free Legion.”
         “And I find that strange,” he said, leaning forward, “because the Free Legion are under my employ.”
         Didn’t see that one coming.
         “They are?” I asked him.  I felt my scar twitch.  “That would not explain the troops on your gate.”
         “Oh, I assure you, I hired the Free Legion last month, to clean out Aschire raiders near my city,” he said, half of a smile on his face.  “They have been busy for me.”
         Now, that would suck, I thought.  We had an agreement with the Aschire, an agreement through me, and that I depended on, that said that there would be no combat between the Aschire and the Free Legion.
         I knew for a fact that every member of the Free Legion knew of that agreement.  If they broke it we would never be able to incorporate the Aschire into our larger plans.
         My first instinct right then was to bail from here, hunt down Ancenon and smack him down for screwing this up.  I actually put weight on my left heel for a quick turn when it occurred to me.
         Ancenon did a better job planning than that.  He’d lived much longer and learned much more than I had.  Ancenon Aurelias would not screw himself in the long term for some short-term gain, because Uman-Chi live for centuries, and they just don’t think in the short term.
         Yerel had tried to play me, and he knew just how to do it.  That was pretty smart.  I couldn’t