Blood of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  “They’re not,” Vlora confirmed.

  “Did we not have an understanding? Aren’t I trying to end this war?”

  “We do have an understanding,” Vlora replied coolly. “That understanding is that I am still very much in charge of the army. We are at a critical moment, and I’ve suspended passes for nonvital personnel.”

  “You cannot!”

  “I can, and I did.” Vlora swallowed her annoyance and tried a different tactic. She still wasn’t entirely certain that Delia had betrayed them. She needed to be careful. “This isn’t personal, Delia. I’m undertaking a bit of very delicate maneuvering. That fighting you hear? Our entire cavalry force is out there providing a skirmisher’s screen so that I can move my troops around with impunity. I don’t want any of your messengers coming or going, because if they were to be questioned about my movements, it may ruin my entire strategy.”

  The reasonable tone seemed to have an effect on Delia. Her posture relaxed slightly and she sniffed at Bo and Nila’s dressing gowns. “I thought you told me you weren’t going to attack them.”

  “Not a real attack. Just a screening maneuver.”

  “And how long will this last?”

  “Just the next thirty-six hours,” Vlora said reassuringly.

  “I see.” Delia regarded Vlora with a cold look. “Are you going to tell me what those maneuvers are?”

  “I’m not. As I said, they’re very delicate. Very secret.” Vlora spread her hands. “You’re welcome to take it up with the general staff, but most of them are in the dark as well. They understand the need for keeping things quiet.”

  Delia sniffed again and, without another word, spun on her heel and marched back into camp. Vlora was glad to see her go, but she couldn’t help but feel a little unsettled. She shouldn’t have to distrust her political liaison so deeply. She should be able to discuss strategy openly. But here she was.

  “That was bullshit, wasn’t it?” Bo asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “The general staff doesn’t know we’re making a run for Landfall?”

  “Oh, they know. I told them about forty minutes ago. But they also know that it depends on us getting about fifty more keelboats. If we can’t get the keelboats, then we’re going to go to the second plan.”

  “Which is?”

  “Break these two field armies right here and now, and then march to Landfall. Ah, here’s Prime.” She caught sight of the Predeii walking along the opposite bank, coming up from the keelboat where they’d secured the godstone. She headed toward the bridge and was followed by Bo and Nila. They met the old man halfway across, where he raised a hand in greeting and studiously avoided making eye contact with Nila.

  “Good morning, Lady Flint. Borbador. Nila.”

  “Morning, Prime. So what is this damned thing that we captured? Was it worth the effort?”

  Prime ran his fingers along the birthmark that crossed his face and scalp. “Yes, yes I do believe it was. And as I suspected, it is not a pedestal. Come with me.”

  The small group followed him back across the opposite bank and boarded the keelboat, where Prime brought their attention to a number of symbols chiseled into the stone. They were little more than gobbledygook to Vlora, but Nila and Bo just frowned. “I thought we agreed those are meaningless?” Bo said.

  “We did!” Prime said excitedly. “But an old memory floated through my head last night, and I cross-referenced these symbols with a book I have outlining some of the very earliest known samples of Old Deliv. They match. At least, once you turn them upside down they do.”

  “And?” Vlora asked.

  “And these symbols are a simple instruction. It translates very literally as ‘Put the blood here.’” He pointed to the side of the stone, where there was a slight depression beneath the words. Or rather, Vlora realized, craning her head, just above the words. “Wait, are we looking at this thing sideways?”

  “Sideways and upside down,” Prime declared. He slapped the stone. “This is actually the top.”

  “‘Put the blood here,’” Vlora mused. “I assume that’s a sacrificial thing?”

  “See this?” Prime said, hurrying around and climbing up a ladder until he was on the top of the stone. Vlora followed him. He pointed to a ridge, then produced a piece of paper. “This is a sketch I made of the godstone before we destroyed it. Once I realized that we were looking at the top rather than the side, and now we’re standing on the side rather than the top, I surmised that this ridge fits against the base of the godstone. Like a puzzle piece.”

  Vlora looked down at Bo and Nila, who were still staring at the symbols. “Are you following any of this?”

  Nila and Bo glanced at each other. Nila pointed to one of the symbols and said something in a low voice to Bo. He shook his head. She said something else, and he grimaced, then slowly nodded. Nila looked up at Prime. “You think it’s an altar?”

  “For blood sacrifices, yes,” Prime replied matter-of-factly. “I believe that it is a sort of key to the godstone. The lines match up too well for it not to be. Slide it up against the base of the godstone, connect it via sorcery, then apply the required blood and…” He gestured expansively.

  “You could have told me this before I climbed on the thing.” Vlora had a sudden, powerful urge to bathe. She climbed down and headed to the riverbank, where she waited for her friends to join her. “So we know what it is. What do we do with it?”

  “Destroy it, preferably,” Prime said.

  “What little blasting oil we have left we’re saving for the godstone in Landfall.”

  Prime wrinkled his nose. “No doubt, they have uncovered a similar altar for the other godstone.”

  “We’ll deal with that when we get to it.” Vlora gazed at the thing, feeling deeply unsettled. An altar for blood sacrifices. She had no illusions about how the bone-eyes got their power, but an altar of this size seemed created for more than the occasional bit of blood. She could only imagine how many throats had been slit over this thing. “All right. We take it with us to Landfall. Once we rendezvous with the fleet, we put it on a ship and take it out to sea, where we dump it someplace deep.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to take it toward its original destination?” Prime asked.

  “We’re cut off from the coast by three field armies,” Vlora replied flatly. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  “I don’t.”

  “The good news,” Bo pointed out, “is that for Sedial to capture the damn thing he’ll have to kill us all.”

  “That’s not good news, dear,” Nila said gently.

  “It just means we won’t have to deal with whatever god he creates.”

  Vlora rubbed her temples. “Yes, I suppose that’s a silver lining.” She looked up, taken aback by a sudden cheer around the bend of the river. The cheer carried on for several moments, then grew quiet. She could hear a ruckus in that direction and shook her head. “Any idea what’s going on down there?” she asked.

  “Beats me,” Bo replied. “It’s on the other side of our keelboat fleet.”

  Vlora walked back to the bridge and crossed to the riverbank and the edge of camp. Several more cheers had followed the first. She had half a mind to go find the source of it, but the sounds of gunshots from her cavalry screen seemed more worthy of her attention. She needed to check in with her officers and with the artillery—make sure everything was going smoothly. “Go put some pants on, and find out what everyone’s cheering about,” she tossed over her shoulder at Bo, heading up the side of the bank.

  She hadn’t reached the top of the hill when the gallop of hooves caught her attention. It was Davd, and his face was flushed. He sawed at the reins, calming his horse, and breathlessly saluted.

  “What’s going on?” Vlora asked.

  Davd grinned down at her. “They’re back!”

  “Who’s back?”

  “The soldiers we left after Windy River. Vallencian and all the wounded.”

  Vlora wave
d at the news, pleased. That would be several hundred recovered veterans. She hadn’t enjoyed leaving them behind, and rescuing them from the Fatrastans had been one of the things she’d worried about accomplishing before leaving the continent. “Good, good. Send the Ice Baron to see me when he gets the chance.” She turned to go. “Wait, how did they find us?”

  Davd’s grin grew wider. “That’s not all, ma’am. Colonel Olem is with them.”

  Vlora stood back, watching as dozens of keelboats poled up to the bank of the Hadshaw and began to disgorge the soldiers she had left in the care of the Ice Baron after the Battle of Windy River. The group included both wounded and recovered, and it appeared that they had brought with them far more supplies than they had when they had left. The mercenaries in their crimson uniforms embraced their regular-army brethren, the two groups intermingling happily. Spontaneous “huzzahs” broke out among reunited squads.

  Vallencian stood out among the group, rushing back and forth, trying to keep everyone organized as they spilled off the keelboats. He was largely ignored. He finally threw his hands up in distress and looked around, his face lighting up when he spotted Vlora. She braced herself as he rushed up the hillside toward her.

  “Lady Flint!” he bellowed.

  “Vallencian,” she replied, offering her hand. She tried not to be rude to the man who had cared for her wounded for the last few months, but she also looked around him, trying to pick Olem out of all the faces on the riverbank. It was so much harder without her sorcery. “Wait, don’t…” Vallencian barely slowed as he barreled toward her, pulling her into a hug that lifted her clear off the ground. She bit her lip against the pain, forcing a grin onto her face, and gently patted him on the arm.

  He set her down but kept his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length like a parent seeing their child after a year away at school. “You are well?”

  “Mending, yes.”

  “You’ve looked better, I’ll admit.”

  “It was worse two months ago.” For some reason, his concerned bluntness brought a smile to her lips.

  “And it’s behind you now. You’re stronger, wiser.” He slapped her on the shoulder, nearly knocking her off her feet. “I look forward to hearing the stories. Once we’ve kicked the Dynize out of Landfall, I insist that you stay at my home outside the city. We’ll have food, drink, dancers. The finest of everything!” He gestured expansively, nearly smacking Vlora in the face. She leaned back.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be staying long enough for that. Besides, the last time I visited one of your houses, you didn’t have any furniture.”

  Vallencian seemed to consider this. “I’ll get some. For you.”

  “If I’m still in the city,” Vlora promised.

  “Good. Good! Now, I haven’t had a drop of good whiskey in three days. Where can I find something to drink?”

  Vlora opened her mouth to direct him toward the quartermaster with her blessings, only to find the words snatched from her tongue as her eyes fell on Olem. He’d appeared behind Vallencian as if by magic, and stood quietly with his hands clasped behind his back. Vlora stared at him, a rush of emotions tearing through her faster than she could understand them. Relief turned into guilt, which turned into anxiety, and then back again into relief. She studied his face. His hair was a little longer, his beard grown out. He wasn’t wearing his uniform. His face was placid.

  “Vallencian,” she said quickly, “let me introduce you to Magus Borbador and Privileged Nila.” Vlora spun toward Bo, who was approaching them as he buttoned up his jacket. “Borbador,” she called, “this is my dear friend the Ice Baron. Make friends.” She practically shoved Vallencian toward Bo and then spun back around to face Olem.

  They watched each other from a half dozen paces apart. Vlora fought with the confusing jumble of emotions wrestling one another in her chest. Though he didn’t look any older, she felt like she hadn’t seen him in years.

  “Ma’am,” Olem said, breaking the silence. He removed his hat. “Colonel Olem reporting in. I’ve brought you thirty-seven keelboats and four hundred and eighty-nine fresh soldiers. I’ve also got extra supplies, courtesy of Lady Chancellor Lindet. Sorry I’m not in uniform. I seem to have left it back with the fleet.”

  Vlora took two steps closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Eh?” Olem leaned toward her, one finger behind his ear.

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, right. Just wanted to make sure I heard you.”

  “You’re a prick.”

  Olem pursed his lips, the corners turned up. “Feeling better?”

  “Slowly.”

  “Sorry I ran off. An uncle of mine used to say it’s better to walk off anger than to vent it. I, uh, had to take a long walk.”

  Vlora closed the distance between them and slowly, timidly reached out to take Olem’s hand. Without warning, Olem snatched her into a hug. Vlora wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing with all her might, her face pressed against his chest. They remained that way for some time, until Vlora finally took a deep breath and released him. She took half a step back and wiped the corners of her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. I’ve only heard a bit of what you’ve been up to, but it sounds like you’ve been a busy woman.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  Olem produced a cigarette from his breast pocket and a match from his cuff. Within seconds he was producing a fine cloud of white smoke. He gave a little cough, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and leaned forward and kissed her. It was the faintest of pecks, but it made Vlora’s heart leap. Even the smell of his cigarette smoke was like the finest of colognes.

  “Will you forgive me?” she asked.

  “Already done.” He took a drag on the cigarette. “You and I are too busy to hold grudges. I was either going to come back, or not.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “So am I. Now, I’ve got a message for you from Lindet.”

  Vlora’s elation was slightly tempered. “What does she want?”

  “She said for us to do what’s necessary.”

  “She’s not going to fight us for the godstone?” Vlora asked with a frown.

  “That’s what she claims. She’s got a massive army, almost entirely conscripts, and they’re giving the Dynize the pit not all that far from Landfall. But I don’t think she can win a sustained war, and neither does she. The Dynize troops are too experienced and they’re backed up by better sorcery.”

  “So we have her blessing to smash our way into Landfall and destroy the godstone?”

  “That’s the sum of it, yes.”

  “That’s… a little disappointing.”

  “You’d rather we be spitting in her face throughout all of this?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Me, too.” Olem smirked. “Unfortunately for us, she’s a realist. She gave me these keelboats and the location of one of her military caches. To be honest, I’m glad you’re here, because I really wasn’t looking forward to carrying all of these supplies overland to meet up with you.” He squeezed her hand and raised his chin to look toward the camp. “Do I hear gunshots?”

  “Screening maneuver. Our cavalry are keeping the Dynize away from us so they don’t see what I’m up to.”

  “How many Dynize?”

  “Three field armies, but one of their generals is worried about being stabbed in the back and isn’t going to attack us.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Olem cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

  Vlora pointed upriver. “You see that fog?”

  “I see a sorcerous mist. What do you have hidden under that?”

  “Another four hundred keelboats, give or take. We’re not going to fight these assholes. We’re going to make a break for the city.”

  Olem gave a low whistle. “That sounds very dangerous.”
/>
  “It will be. But with the keelboats you just brought, we should have enough to transport the entire army—minus the cavalry. They’re going to screen for us and then ride hard downriver. I intend to hit Sedial before he even knows we’re there.” Vlora sucked in a quick breath, waiting for Olem to voice his objections. He was, after all, her sounding board and conscience. If he thought the gamble was too risky, he would say so.

  Instead, he reached out and brushed some hair from her cheek. “I heard you weren’t yourself.”

  “I wasn’t. For a while.”

  “Well, this sounds a lot like my lady. I’m glad you’re getting back to normal. Is there any chance you still have one of my spare uniforms in your trunk? I should probably get properly dressed if we’re going to assault Landfall.”

  CHAPTER 57

  Michel was swept along helplessly in the wake of Ichtracia’s fury. They navigated the countless tunnels of the catacombs beneath the plateau, their path lit by flames flickering on the tips of Ichtracia’s gloved fingers. Michel lost track of all sense of time during their journey, but the sun had already risen above the eastern horizon when they finally emerged into the streets of Landfall.

  His first thought was that they were too late—but he didn’t smell smoke and Ichtracia gave no indication that the Depths had already been assaulted with sorcery. His second thought was that something else was happening, and it didn’t take him long to spot what.

  Whole companies of soldiers had marched onto the plateau. Their helms and breastplates shone in the morning sun, blinding Michel as he and Ichtracia dashed from one alleyway to the next. As if in answer to the soldiers marching up the avenues, immense barricades had been thrown up to block their paths. Thousands of Palo, many of them likely still rioting and looting from the night before, had taken to the street with clubs, swords, blunderbusses, and any other weapon they could get a hold of. They screamed at the soldiers, who ordered them to stand down, hurling clay shingles from the roofs and tearing up paving stones for heavier ammunition.