Blood of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  Styke felt light-headed and dizzy. He began to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Ibana demanded.

  Styke continued to laugh until it hurt. He clutched his side, nearly sticking himself with his own knife. “She went in there looking for a god and came back out with a voice.”

  It took over an hour for the Lancers and the Household guards working together to clear the imperial complex. Messengers were sent in every direction with the intent of halting further violence, but even after that hour Styke could still hear the crack of carbines or the occasional clash of swords somewhere off within the complex grounds.

  Beyond the walls, Talunlica continued to burn as mobs and soldiers raged back and forth across the city.

  The imperial throne room was a long, high-ceilinged chamber made of brightly painted wood, lit by gas lanterns along both sides and gas chandeliers hanging at intervals. The flags of several hundred Households flew from the rafters, marching their way up to the very throne itself, which was a single piece of red stone carved into the likeness of twin swamp dragons.

  The room was filled with spectators: wounded Lancers and Household guards, captured imperial soldiers and bureaucrats. The Household heads who had accompanied them stood in close conference with Ka-poel and Taniel near the throne. Styke rested his head against the wall off to one side, just trying to keep from falling over. Maetle had given him a splint for his fingers and bandages for his side, but he could tell from Ibana’s worried glances that he looked like he was knocking on death’s door. He was weak with blood loss, his armor covered in blood.

  Someone called for attention. Styke opened his eyes, realizing he’d been dozing on his feet, and lifted his head toward the throne. The Household heads, Etzi among them, left the dais to take up positions at the front of the crowd. Styke watched their faces, curious at the various reactions: hope, joy, confusion. Fear.

  Only Ka-poel and Taniel remained on the dais. They waited until the Household heads were in their places and then Ka-poel took up a position just in front of the throne. Taniel joined her.

  Everyone’s attention was on Ka-poel. No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe.

  “Where is my grandfather?” she suddenly asked.

  A few moments passed before a pair of Lancers dragged in the old man whom she’d brought with her through the godstone. The resemblance was uncanny, but Styke had somehow expected more from the Great Ka. Sedial seemed unharmed, but everything about him was broken: His face was pale, his eyes empty, his mouth hanging slack. He was left to sit on the top step of the dais, staring blankly at the floor. A line of drool dripped from his chin.

  Ka-poel looked down at him for some time, leaving the entire hall in breath-bated silence. Her lip curled. Her eyes narrowed. She finally sniffed and took a deep breath.

  “The emperor is dead,” she said. Her voice carried clearly, echoing off every corner of the room. “The Great Ka has been driven mad by what he saw in the godstone. The imperial cabal will take a century to recover from the losses they’ve incurred from this war, and the mighty armies of Dynize have been reduced by hundreds of thousands.

  “You have nothing,” she continued. “You are a divided country with broken ideals and a shattered reputation that will not survive the modern world. Many of your greatest Households have been destroyed this very day by the machinations of Ka-Sedial. You have nothing… except me.

  “I don’t want to be your god. But it was either me or him.” She nudged Sedial with one toe. “I will not answer prayers. I will not perform miracles. But I will be your goddess—your empress—and I will help you put back together the pieces of this shattered land. You’ve got what the Great Ka promised you. You’ve got a new god. Will you accept me?”

  The final question was almost timid in its asking, entirely different from the tone of the rest of her speech. Styke was certain that if the assembled Households said no, she would leave them all without a second thought.

  The question left an ominous silence, which continued for over a minute, and then two. Slowly, one by one, the Household heads began to kneel. They were followed by a wave of every Dynize in the room, from the Household guards to their prisoners. Only the present Lancers, still wearing their armor, most of them wounded and slick with gore, remained on their feet. They looked toward Styke. As did Ka-poel and Taniel.

  “Colonel Ben Styke,” Ka-poel intoned, “I would like the Mad Lancers to form an imperial guard for my new government. Will you carry our standard below your own?”

  Below. The word punched a laugh out of Styke’s belly, one so hard that he almost fell over from the pain. He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “You’re already very good at this, my little blood-witch friend.”

  Several of the Household heads inhaled sharply. Ka-poel smirked.

  “Even being a god, I imagine there will be a lot of cleaning up to do,” Styke continued. “There will be a lot of violence.”

  “There will,” she agreed.

  Styke glanced at Ibana. She just shrugged. He said, “I’ll think about it. I’ll have to consult the men.”

  “Can I heal your wounds?” Ka-poel asked. Her tone was gentle.

  “You’re a Privileged now?”

  “No. I’m something different.”

  “Ah. Good for you. Will I die from these wounds?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Styke considered the offer. He was no stranger to sorcerous healing, but he could feel his own stubbornness taking hold in his gut. He was no man to feel beholden to a god. “A little pain is good for a man,” he finally said, pulling himself away from the wall. He limped to the center of the throne room and turned his back on Ka-poel, walking slowly toward the exit. He heard Etzi’s voice hiss behind him.

  “Where are you going?” Etzi demanded. “You’re witnessing the birth of a god!”

  “Gods,” Styke replied, waving him off. “Emperors. Countries. Bah. I’m giving the order for the Mad Lancers to regroup and await new commands, then I’m going to find my daughter.”

  Michel had done a lot of insane things in his life—he’d manipulated strong men, lied to friends, defied dictators, and even cut off his own finger for the sake of disguise. Despite all of this, he had never before been as nervous as he was as the riverboat delivered him and Ichtracia directly to a small launch off the side of the imperial palace in Talunlica.

  He’d tried to marvel at the city to keep himself distracted. It really was an incredible place, one that he knew he’d enjoy touring at length, but even his arrival in a country that had been closed off to outsiders for a hundred years did nothing to pull his mind away from the coming meeting. He tried rehearsing what he’d say. He played games in his head. He read books. Nothing seemed to work.

  The dock was not a large one, mostly taken up by large, brightly colored vessels in the purple and turquoise of the imperial household. Their riverboat slid into the one open spot, porters jumping out to secure the boat and then unload the luggage in a flurry of activity. Despite all the strangeness of this place, the pair waiting to meet them were a familiar sight, one that took the edge off Michel’s nerves.

  Taniel Two-shot stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore the flowing-cut jacket and pants of a Dynize uniform, but with the Adran blue and silver-and-crimson trim in contrast to all the turquoise around them. At his side was a tall figure in ancient-looking armor. The visor was open to reveal a scarred, hard-faced Kressian woman. He didn’t recognize her, but he did recognize the skull-and-lance insignia attached to her left pauldron.

  One of the porters gestured for them to come ashore, and Michel looked at Ichtracia. Her expression was cool, unreadable, and arrogant, but when she squeezed the tips of his fingers gently, he could feel that she was trembling. Taniel stepped forward to offer her his hand, which she accepted. Michel followed.

  “Ichtracia, Michel. It’s good to see you again. This is Ibana je Fles, the captain of the imperial guard. Sorry that Ka-poel isn�
�t here to meet you. One of her audiences has run long, but she’ll end it the moment she knows you’re in the palace.”

  Pleasantries were exchanged, and they followed Taniel along the dock and into the palace. Michel lagged behind, considering their surroundings, trying to work through his nerves. They were getting worse with every step.

  Taniel didn’t seem to notice, talking while they walked. “I’m glad you were able to make it so quickly. I’m sure everything between here and in Fatrasta is still in absolute chaos.”

  “You have no idea,” Ichtracia replied. “Peace is still holding, but everyone who doesn’t have orders to remain in Landfall is trying to get back here. They’re terrified of what will happen to them if things break down, now that the armies are leaving.”

  It had only been two months since the end of hostilities, and if anything, Ichtracia was playing down the uncertainty and panic of everyone who’d been involved in the war. When she and Michel left, Landfall had felt like a powder keg, with the Palo, Kressians, and Dynize all sitting on the knife’s edge, wondering what would happen now that Dynize had a new empress. Michel wondered if he should speak up, but rejected the thought. Taniel would no doubt corner him later for a full debriefing. Besides, this was no longer his place. He wasn’t a Privileged or a relative or a politician or anyone important. He was just another spy without orders.

  They walked through the long, high-ceilinged palace corridors. Servants seemed to flutter everywhere, always on Michel’s periphery but never crossing their paths. They reached a junction at which Ibana was called away by a soldier. Michel watched her go, and finally spoke up.

  “Wasn’t she Ben Styke’s second-in-command?”

  Taniel nodded.

  “So the Mad Lancers really did invade Dynize all on their own?”

  “Accompanying Ka-poel, yes.” Taniel chuckled. He looked older than he’d been, but significantly less tired. “Once Ka-poel seized the throne, we offered the Mad Lancers a place at Ka-poel’s side.” He paused thoughtfully. “Styke turned us down. Ibana did not.”

  “He turned her down?” Ichtracia asked, dumbfounded. “You don’t turn down honors from the empress of Dynize!”

  “I think,” Taniel said, “that Ka-poel is going to be a different kind of ruler than your people are used to, for both good and ill. Besides, it wouldn’t have mattered who made the offer. Styke wasn’t interested. He… got something else for our gratitude, though.”

  They rounded another corner, and Ichtracia suddenly came to a stop. There, at the other end of the hall, surrounded by a small entourage, was Ka-poel. Ka-poel wore a uniform much like Taniel’s, but colored with the purple and turquoise with accents that matched his Adran colors. She raised a hand to cut off someone who’d been speaking with her, then made a sharp gesture. The entourage scattered.

  A few seconds of silence followed, and the two sisters ran toward each other, falling into a long embrace. To Michel’s surprise, they began talking almost immediately. He stared, dumbfounded. “She can talk?” he asked Taniel.

  Taniel watched the reunion with a small smile. “Something she gained when she went into the godstone to oppose Sedial. We have no idea how or why.”

  “Is she…” Michel swallowed. “Is she really a god?”

  Taniel glanced at him sidelong. “What have you heard?”

  “Only a few rumors since we arrived. The Dynize here are whispering about it, but we didn’t find out anything about it in Fatrasta.”

  “It’s… complicated.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  “There was a lot of power in those godstones, enough to make many gods. Ka-poel took some of it. The rest, well… she used the rest to destroy the godstones themselves. We’re hoping that’s enough to seal the Else away forever.”

  “I see.” Michel regarded Ichtracia and Ka-poel warily, his stomach tying itself in knots.

  “Is something wrong?” Taniel asked with a frown.

  “I’m out of my element,” Michel demurred. “In more ways than one.” He tried to ignore the concerned glance that Taniel cast him. “So, if Pole is the new empress, then what are you?”

  “I’m her consort,” Taniel answered.

  “Not the emperor?”

  He sniffed and shook his head. “That would be neither politically expedient nor something I desire. I don’t need power or responsibilities. I’d far rather stand behind her than beside her. It frees me up to protect her from everyone in this damned country who is angry she seized power.”

  “Isn’t she immortal now?”

  “Maybe? Maybe not. We’re not going to test it. For now, we’re going to stitch the country back together—to unite them, open the borders, and bring them into the modern age. Once that’s done”—he shrugged—“we hope to reach a point at which Dynize doesn’t need a monarch and we can just disappear.”

  “That sounds ideal.”

  “There’s a lot of work to do between now and then. You’ll be pleased to know we’ve already opened up conversations with the Palo in Landfall. We have a lot of leverage over Lindet, and we’re going to use it to make sure she changes the way the Palo are treated.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that,” Michel replied. When he and Ichtracia left Landfall, Jiniel had already sent messengers directly to Ka-poel. He had high hopes.

  “Speaking of which…” Taniel trailed off as the two sisters finally came to join them. Ka-poel beamed openly. Ichtracia was more guarded, her expression fit for the People-Eater that the palace servants had expected to return, but she clutched her older sister’s hand so tightly that both their fingers turned white. Taniel nodded to Ka-poel. “Should we get this over with?”

  Ka-poel greeted Michel with a small smile, and his nerves almost set him shaking. He interjected before she could say anything. “Look, I’m not sure if I belong here. If you can point me somewhere out of the way, I’ll let you two…” He trailed off. “Get what over with?”

  “It’s good to see you, Michel,” Ka-poel said. She sounded so much like Ichtracia that it was uncanny.

  Michel looked between her and Taniel, wondering what they were up to. He gave a half bow. “Empress.”

  “Oh, stop that. You can be formal in public because it’s expected, but not within the palace grounds.” Ka-poel took a deep breath and exchanged a smirk with her husband. “Michel and Ichtracia, we have tasks for you, if you’re willing. Ichtracia, I’d like you to become the magus of my new imperial cabal. Michel, I want you to be the imperial spymaster. I can think of no two people I’d rather have at my back.”

  For her part, Ichtracia seemed to absorb the news as if she expected it. Michel felt his mouth fall open. “You’re joking?”

  “Of course not,” Ka-poel said, looking vaguely annoyed. “Why would I joke about that?”

  “I…” Michel sucked on his teeth and took a deep breath. He finally got a grasp on his nerves, pulling them all tight until he could talk without a tremble in his voice. He made eye contact with Ichtracia. Only a moment ago she had exclaimed that one does not turn down honors from the ruler of Dynize. “Does this change that thing we’d discussed?”

  “Not for me it doesn’t. Does it for you?”

  “No.”

  It seemed to be Taniel and Ka-poel’s turn to be confused. They both watched Michel with a sudden trepidation. Michel kept his eyes on Ichtracia for a few more moments before turning to her sister. God, empress, or simply his former employer—he could do this. “Ichtracia and I are getting married. We want to spend a few months here, but then we’ve been invited to visit the Palo Nation in northern Fatrasta and we figure that would be a good place for both of us, where no one knows nor cares who we are.”

  “Oh.” The response came from Taniel and Ka-poel at the same time. Michel bit his tongue. He was going to marry the sister of the new Dynize empress. He should be asking for permission, not telling them. But Ichtracia had made it clear that she was no one’s property anymore. If he hadn’t told them, she would have
. He braced himself, waiting for the rebuke to come.

  The silence was just beginning to get awkward when Ka-poel suddenly grinned. “Congratulations! That’s… not what I expected.”

  Still as stone-faced as ever, Ichtracia slipped away from her sister and took Michel’s hand. “We’ve spent a lot of time together this last year. We’d like to spend more, and without responsibilities.”

  “I think we can understand that,” Taniel said. “It doesn’t mean we won’t try to talk you into something. An ambassadorship, maybe?” He pressed on, before either of them felt the need to answer. “It doesn’t matter. We have plenty of time to discuss it. I made sure the palace chancellor cleared out Pole’s schedule for the day. Shall we go find lunch?”

  Michel felt all the nerves that had turned his body into a twisted bundle these last couple of weeks finally relax. His legs felt spongy, but his chest felt light. “That sounds great. You can help me convince Ichtracia to agree to meet my mother when we go back through Fatrasta.”

  Vlora stood on the ramparts of Fort Nied, staring at the Landfall Plateau, which rose sharply above her, wondering if she would ever see the city again. It was a strange thought, at once somber and relieving. What had begun with her landing not far from this spot for some light mercenary work to get her out of Adro for a few years had ended with her fighting two major battles at the city, clashing with a dictator and a wannabe god, and getting thousands of her soldiers killed.

  She’d made her mark on Fatrasta, and Fatrasta, for good or ill, had damned well made its mark on her.

  “Lady Flint!” a voice called up at her from within the fort. “We’ll need a decision in thirty minutes, ma’am!”

  Vlora acknowledged the warning with a raised hand, her gaze still lifted to the Landfall. Six months after the end of what people had taken to calling the Godstone War, the city was a shadow of its former self. Piles of rubble still remained of buildings destroyed in the initial Dynize shelling, alongside the burned-out husks of those torched during the Palo uprising that accompanied the climax of the war. Despite all the destruction still evident, there was new growth to be seen if one knew where to look: the skeletons of new construction, fresh-faced buildings only just finished, and the thick traffic of a population finally trickling back to their homes.