The Company of Shadows (Wellington Undead Book 3) by Richard Estep Page B

certainty, down in his very marrow, that despite all the odds that were so heavily stacked against him, this campaign against the Marathas would be no different.
    “Confidence is a valuable trait in a general,” Tipu said, his gaze locking with Wellesley’s own. Neither man looked away. “Arrogance less so.”
    Arthur regarded him impassively. “You have not yet told me how you escaped from wherever it was that Kali sent you. Escaped…or did she allow you to leave?”
    The momentary downcast flicker of Tipu’s eyes gave him all the answer he needed. The Sultan had been permitted to return and visit with him once more. The question was: why?
    “I am the bearer of a message,” Tipu said at last. He seemed fidgety, as befit the bearer of ill tidings.
    “Well? Out with it, man!” Arthur could feel his sudden annoyance already giving way to the first kindlings of anger. His tone was harsher than he would have liked, for he felt no personal enmity toward the Sultan. His daughter, on the other hand…
    Taking a deep breath, the potentate closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to center himself, and then began, “The most mighty and munificent goddess Kali, the Dark Mother, sends this message to Major General Arthur Wellesley, the vampire who leads the illegal incursion into Maratha territory…”
    “Illegal? Ha!” Wellesley snorted, a harsh bray that put the Sultan off his stroke. “My brother is the appointed crown representative of all India. Do not speak to me of legality, if you please.”
    “…illegal incursion into Maratha territory,” Tipu went on, ignoring the vampire’s interruption. “The message is as follows: the vampire general shall immediately turn around, and return with his troops to the island-citadel of Mysore, never to return.” It may have been Arthur’s imagination, but he could have sworn that Tipu’s voice wavered ever so slightly as he mentioned his former seat of power. Tipu’s body still lay entombed in a mausoleum there, next to those of his parents and others of his line.
    “And if I do not?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious.
    “Should he fail to do so, then the forces of the Maratha Confederacy will meet the British invader once more upon the field of battle.”
    “I heartily encourage them to try. It has not turned out well for them so far.”
    “The tigress Jamelia, chosen instrument of the Dark Mother, has been bestowed with the power to command the risen dead, no matter how great their number. Under her direction, the army of the dead shall hound the British at every turn, eroding the ranks of the invader while swelling their own.” Wellesley’s face hardened at this, for his imagination was already conjuring up unbidden images of the shuffling, wailing bodies of the dead, clad in bright red jackets and howling for the flesh of the living. Blasphemy. An abomination in the eyes of God. Every single one of his fallen redcoats who came back to an obscene parody of the life they had once known was one too many – an insult, and one that Arthur took very personally indeed. “Kali is not entirely without mercy, my Irish friend, and so she offers you this one last chance: leave these lands, now and for all time. Otherwise, I fear that it shall not go well for you, or for those red-coated cattle you so blithely lead to the slaughter.
    “Heed my warning, Wellesley, for I have grown really quite fond of you since my death.” Tipu smiled again, though there was little warmth behind it. “The Deccan plain shall become your burial ground if you insist on pursuing this imperialistic venture. Nor shall it be a quiet burial ground, for though you and your vampire cohort shall meet your ends, no such eternal peace will be granted to your men…their hungry corpses will roam the wilderness for many years to come, feasting upon the flesh of animals and what few stragglers they can catch unawares. There is no dignity in such a living death.
    “Please, my dear vampire – leave now.