Sins of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  “Certainly,” Taniel said slowly.

  Michel bit his lip. He had an idea. It was wild, insane, and more than a little bit stupid. But it just might work. “Okay,” he said. “Get Mother out of the city and have your people ready with barges upriver. Do that, and we might just be able to steal the stone after all. Is that a deal?”

  “So you’re with me?”

  “I’ll have to be,” Michel said. And it didn’t make him happy at all. He stepped back inside. “We’re going to get you out, Mother,” he announced. “But you’ve got to go now.”

  “Michel,” his mother said, a worried note in her voice, “aren’t you coming with me?”

  Michel gave his mother a hug. “Not yet. But we’ll send you out with friends, and once this whole thing is over I’ll come find you.” He stifled her protests with another hug, then pulled her out into the hallway with him, linking her arm forcefully with Taniel’s, while Taniel gave him a bemused look. “Time to go,” he said to his mother. “I’ll come find you, I promise.” Over his mother’s head he mouthed the words, Get her out of here and meet me outside.

  Fifteen minutes later Taniel arrived in the street just outside of Michel’s safe house tenement. Ka-poel stood on her tiptoes, eyes fixed on the end of the street. There was definitely screaming in the distance, and the smoke was so thick that a fire had to have caught several nearby tenements. It was going to spread fast, and he worried about everyone trying to get out of the Depths at once.

  “All right,” Taniel said. “Your mother’s on her way. Now, what’s your plan?”

  “My plan,” Michel responded, hoping he sounded more optimistic than he felt, “is to hope that Professor Cressel is ready to move the godstone. If he is, we’re going to commandeer the damn thing.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Olem caught up to her by the time Vlora’s escort had plowed through the afternoon press and returned her to the capitol building. He rode up, catching her by the sleeve as she prepared to dismount.

  “Let go,” Vlora said, tugging off her riding gloves. “Norrine, Davd. Take vantages on the north and south points of the plaza.” She watched the two powder mages dismount, rifles in hand, and disappear into the crowd.

  Olem leaned over to her and in a low voice said, “I saw Taniel. You weren’t kidding about the Red Hand. He said you were about to do something stupid. What’s going on?”

  “I’m about to do something necessary,” Vlora responded, jerking her sleeve out of his grip and dismounting, handing the reins to a private. Olem was beside her in a moment, matching her pace as she strode up the capitol building stairs. People in the street stopped and stared, no doubt whispering over why an entire company of Riflejacks had just arrived on Lindet’s doorstep. Vlora didn’t care what people thought was happening.

  “Vlora …” Olem said in warning as they neared the doors. Blackhats on the top of the steps eyed her and her men nervously.

  “No, Olem,” Vlora responded. “I need you to trust me on this. It’s important. I’ll explain later, but this …” She couldn’t find the words to express herself. What Taniel said echoed in her mind: Gods aren’t born. They’re made. She’d seen what happened when gods involved themselves in a modern world, and she wasn’t letting it happen again. She brushed past the Blackhats on the top step and strode down the halls of the capitol building with three squads accompanying her. They reached Lindet’s office, and Vlora turned one last time to Olem. “Tell me you’re behind me on this.”

  “I’m not sure what this is,” Olem replied, clearly unhappy. She braced herself for a fight, but he just nodded. “I’m with you.”

  “Bar the door,” Vlora said. “Don’t let any Blackhats inside.”

  The secretary outside Lindet’s office tried to stop her, but Vlora strode through the antechamber and into Lindet’s main room, where she found Lindet sitting on the front corner of her desk, listening while a dozen advisers all tried to speak at once. No one seemed to notice Vlora’s arrival until she took a deep breath and, in her best officer’s voice, bellowed, “Everyone out!”

  The room fell silent, and twenty-some sets of eyes turned to stare at her. No one moved.

  “Now!” she roared.

  Lindet’s staff fled the room, and within moments Vlora was alone with Lindet. The Lady Chancellor wore an irritated expression. “You’d better have a very good reason for this, General,” Lindet said in a flat tone. Her eyes fell to the pistol and sword at Vlora’s belt, then back up to her face.

  “Very,” Vlora said, crossing to the window and looking briefly down into the street. She could see the front steps and her soldiers standing at attention nearby. A squad of Blackhats had arrived and was arguing with Major Donevin. Across the street, Vlora saw a curtain flutter in a second-story window. There was a Privileged over there, well hidden from Vlora’s sight. But not well enough.

  She took a deep breath, reminding herself that this didn’t need to escalate. This could all be solved very easily, very amicably. She just needed to communicate. “I would like to know what you’re doing with the godstones,” Vlora said.

  “I don’t answer to you,” Lindet said, not moving from her spot at the edge of her desk. Her fingers drummed on the ironwood top.

  “Let me rephrase that,” Vlora said. “The godstones. I know what they are. I know you have them, and I know that you know what they are as well. What do you intend to use them for?”

  “You’ve become very learned in the last two hours, Lady Flint. I wonder how.”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  Lindet blinked several times. Vlora wondered how long it had been since someone took that tone with her—and what horrible fate had befallen them. “Who said I intend to use them at all?” Lindet asked.

  Vlora felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down her spine and resisted the urge to rub it away. She did a circuit of the room, trying to walk away her own nerves, then stopped and took a sniff of powder. Lindet’s eyes followed her the whole time.

  “General, I assume you’ve considered the consequences of this outburst? I am your employer.”

  “I don’t really give a damn, Lady Chancellor.” Vlora stopped, turning to face Lindet. “We’re talking about making gods. Do you really think a contract even crosses my mind on something as serious as this?”

  “It should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re treading very thin ice.” Lindet’s voice grew dangerously quiet. “I put you in an important place because I believe in your capabilities. Do you think I don’t have plans to remove any person that I hand power to?”

  “I believe you have plenty of plans,” Vlora said. “That’s what scares me. The godstones, where are they?”

  “That’s privileged information.”

  Vlora slammed a fist against the wood paneling on the office wall, making the wall rattle. “I don’t give a shit! You have no idea what you’re playing with. The Dynize just dropped an entire fleet in our laps because they want the godstones so badly, and you act as if they are of no consequence? I know what they do. That kind of power should not be handed over to anyone—nor kept.”

  Lindet rounded to the other side of her desk, her movements slow and smooth. She raised her hands as if to show she wasn’t armed, then lowered herself into her chair. Vlora had never before occupied a room with an unarmed, not sorcerously gifted person who could make her feel like she didn’t have the upper hand, and it infuriated her.

  “I hope you have a proposal in mind,” Lindet said, “and that your plan doesn’t end with storming in here and shouting at me.”

  “Destroy them,” Vlora said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  Lindet steepled her fingers below her chin. “First of all, I only have one. Let’s pretend a moment that this ancient artifact can even be destroyed. We’ve had it in our possession for mere months and have learned immense amounts about the nature and history of sorcery. My Privileged tell me that the
y could study it for a dozen lifetimes and still not know all it has to offer. And you’d ask me to destroy it?”

  “Yes,” Vlora said.

  “That, my dear general, is not happening.”

  “You’d risk it falling into the hands of the Dynize? Of a blood sorcerer and his hungry fleet?”

  “That’s why I hired you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Vlora wanted to spit. Lindet kept coming back to their relationship, as if a financial arrangement meant anything to Vlora. Perhaps Lindet didn’t really grasp what Vlora had seen and experienced during the Adran-Kez War. Perhaps she didn’t care. Perhaps Lindet’s world was about contracts and control, and she just couldn’t fathom anything outside those parameters. “And if I fail?”

  “I’ll consider destroying it as a last resort.”

  “You’d sacrifice the lives of my men and your whole garrison to keep this thing? Destroy it, and the Dynize have no reason to invade.”

  Lindet leaned across the desk, her eyes dancing with an otherworldly light. “I would sacrifice a million men to be a god, General. As would you. As would anyone in their right mind.”

  Vlora stared at Lindet, her frustration and anger turning to cold terror. This was not what she’d signed on for. She did not want this responsibility or this fight. But it was hers, if only because no one else would take it on. “I’ve met gods, and you’re very wrong about that,” Vlora said. She looked down, realizing that she was still wearing the parade uniform that she’d put on for the meeting with the Dynize ambassador. She tore off the strips of medals, one at a time, throwing them on Lindet’s desk. “Lady Chancellor Lindet, as appointed defender of Fatrasta, I arrest you as a danger to the future of the country.”

  Lindet had the gall to actually look shocked. “You can’t.”

  “I just did.”

  “I am Fatrasta.”

  “No. You’re the steward of this country. You have responsibilities.”

  “Don’t talk to me about responsibilities,” Lindet snapped. “You bloody, ungrateful traitor. Guards!”

  There was a brief scuffle outside, and then Olem stuck his head in the door. “Everything going well?” he asked.

  “I’m arresting the Lady Chancellor.”

  Olem swallowed. “Right. Well, I guess that’s happening.” He retreated in the hall, where there was the sound of a further scuffle, then silence.

  “I relieve you of your duty, General,” Lindet said coldly. “Get out of my office.”

  “That’s not going to work,” Vlora responded. Her stomach flipped around, her guts tying themselves in knots. This was political suicide, and maybe more. She was conducting a coup. She could hear little but the hammering of her heart.

  Lindet lifted her hand, and Vlora leapt forward. “Nuh-uh,” she said warningly. “Give a signal and your Privileged die. I’m not so impulsive that I don’t check the room when I enter, and I’m not the only powder mage in this city.” Out across the rooftops she could sense Norrine and Davd hidden from prying eyes, weapons trained on Lindet’s unseen bodyguards.

  “I see,” Lindet said, slowly lowering her hand. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re making an immense mistake.”

  Vlora felt an overwhelming sadness take her, an exhaustion as if the weight of a mountain had just been pressed onto her shoulders. “I’ve made a lot of big mistakes, Lindet. This isn’t one of them.” She tilted her head, listening to a sudden chorus of shouts from out in the hall. A moment later Olem put his head back in the room.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he said.

  “What is it?” Vlora asked, keeping one eye on Lindet.

  “The Dynize have launched longboats.”

  “How many?”

  Olem held up a finger, tilting his head. Half a second later, Vlora heard it, too. A distant, muffled thumping. Boom. Boom-boom. Boom. Vlora knew that sound well, unmistakable to any veteran officer. That was the music of a bombardment.

  “All of them,” Olem said. “It’s a full-scale invasion.”

  Lindet lifted her chin, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “They didn’t buy my gamble for time.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way, does it?” Vlora responded. Her mind ran through a hundred scenarios as she tried to figure out what to do. She’d thrown herself into a fire trying to arrest Lindet, only to realize the fire was on a sinking ship.

  “I think,” Lindet said carefully, “that keeping the godstone out of Dynize hands is the most important thing we can do today.”

  “What, and forget this ever happened?” Vlora demanded.

  “Oh, no. I never forget this kind of thing,” Lindet responded coldly. “But I can overlook it until a future time. Why don’t we finish this conversation after a foreign empire tries to kill us?”

  Vlora considered the implications. She had Lindet right now. She should throw her in a cell. But doing so would have Fidelis Jes and the Blackhats breathing down her neck within hours. Lindet would be a formidable enemy once this was over—but Vlora needed an ally more than she feared the future consequences. “I agree,” she said. “I’ll need supplies and backup troops. Arm your Blackhats and send your Privileged to the coast. All of them.”

  “You’ll have them,” Lindet promised.

  Vlora left Lindet’s office at a run. Olem was beside her in a moment. “What happened to arresting Lindet?”

  “That’s going to have to wait.”

  “You left her in power?”

  “I don’t think I have a lot of choice right now.”

  “And when she stabs us in the back?”

  “We’ll deal with that when it happens,” Vlora said. “Send word to Norrine and Davd, we need them down at the fort. For now, we’ve got an invasion to stop.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Vlora and Olem made it back to Fort Nied among a heavy bombardment of straight shot from the distant Dynize fleet. Cannon fire pounded the eastern slope of the Landfall Plateau, the blasts striking streets and buildings at random, forcing her and her men to shove their way through crowds of fleeing pedestrians, carriages, and carts. It was utter chaos as some sought the safety of the plateau, and others fled downhill toward the docks.

  Everyone had turned out in their weekend best to gaze at the Dynize fleet and await news of the negotiations. No one expected a bombardment, and it showed in the terror of the faces of those running, fighting, or crying over the dead and wounded.

  Vlora entered the fort, shouting over the whistle and impact detonations of the bombardment. “All guns open fire! Crews six and seven, sink that frigate off the point of the bay. Crews eight through eleven, load grapeshot and sweep the waters in front of the docks. I don’t want any of their men getting close enough to torch the merchantmen at moor. The rest of you focus your fire on that ship of the line right off the southeastern star. Those ships will be inaccurate as pit but if they manage to get too close they’ll be able to blast us to oblivion.”

  She took a deep breath, letting her senses soak in the sorcery woven throughout the walls of the fort. Fort Nied had survived the Battle of Landfall, holding out against the might of the Kez fleet. Its protective sorcery could shrug off a pit of a shelling, but she had no idea for how long.

  She jogged up the stairs to the top of the eastern wall, gazing first out over the bay, then toward the open ocean, where puffs of smoke rose at regular intervals from every ship in the Dynize fleet. The fire was not focused—straight shot appeared to be landing everywhere from the industrial quarter all the way to the northern marshes—but Vlora doubted the Dynize cared. As far as she could tell, the sudden bombardment had a single purpose: to provide cover for the hundreds of approaching longboats by sowing chaos in Landfall.

  “Where’s Taniel?” she demanded of a nearby sergeant.

  “Who?” the sergeant asked, looking confused.

  “Damn it, nobody even knows …” She grunted in frustration, looking around, casting out her senses for another powder mage or a blood sorcerer. She found only her ow
n three mages and nothing else. “So much for getting some help, you asshole,” she muttered.

  Vlora turned her attention to those longboats. They were each loaded with sixty or more Dynize soldiers, rowing hard for land, looking undeterred by the choppy waters that served to foul the aim of their capital ships. They would begin to land within fifteen minutes, and then it would be anyone’s guess what happened next.

  A brief terror seized her as she sought her memories and training. No one knew how the Dynize fought. Any engagements would have been more than a hundred years ago, fighting with wheel locks and early flintlocks. She didn’t know if they fired in a line, preferred mass charges, or planned on simply bullying their way into a foothold by brute strength.

  “Olem!” she shouted, waving to him from across the length of the fort wall. Olem raised his eyes, then ducked as a cannonball smashed into the top of the wall, ricocheting skyward with enough force to carry it over the entire fort and drop harmlessly into the bay. Olem ran toward her in a crouch. She grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him close enough to shout in his ear over the thunder of her own guns returning fire. “Those longboats are heading toward the north side of the bay. Who do we have out there?”

  “Four thousand members of the garrison, and three companies of our own boys.”

  Vlora raised her head, looking out at the longboats. She took a sniff of powder, heightening her senses, peering at the Dynize soldiers and willing herself to read their strategy.

  She’d never seen soldiers armed quite like this—outside of mannequins in a museum. They wore bright teal coats beneath angled, heavy-looking breastplates and folded steel helms. Their faces were stoic and hard, teeth clenched in gritty determination as they rowed closer and closer to land. A blast of grapeshot tore through one of the longboats, killing a third of the rowers and immediately causing the aft to dip into the water. The soldiers in the nearest boat threw lines to their bailing companions to try to keep them afloat in their heavy armor, but kept rowing hard for shore.