Брайан Макклеллан - Blood of Empire

In that moment Taniel suddenly surged forward, batting aside the emperor’s sword and plunging his own blade two-handed into the emperor’s sternum. The emperor gasped loudly and backpedaled toward the godstone. Somehow, despite two feet of steel through his chest, he remained standing. It wasn’t until he finally turned toward the godstone and his eyes fell upon Ka-poel – and then the old man at his feet – that he finally teetered. Blood dripping from his lips, the emperor of Dynize collapsed.

“Leave him!” Ka-poel snapped. The sound brought a halt to Etzi and the Household guards, who had begun to rush toward their fallen emperor. It also elicited a look of surprise from Taniel. “Finish destroying the imperial guard,” Ka-poel ordered. She gestured at the old man at her feet. “Then bring him and any survivors to the throne room. We have much to discuss.”

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.