Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“It’s an expedition,” Ka-sedial said simply. “The Empire hasn’t had a fleet to speak of since the last squadron was sunk off the Ebony Coast over seventy years ago. We’ve barred our borders to outsiders, kept ourselves and our problems isolated to our country. We’ve only been at peace with ourselves for about seven years now, and in that time we’ve had to rebuild so, so much – including our ships.”

“And now that you’ve rebuilt them, what do you intend to do with them?”

Ka-sedial drummed his fingers gently on the table. “That depends on you, Lady Chancellor.”

An audible gasp came from the assembly, and Vlora didn’t blame them. The words were innocuous, but the tone held an unmistakable threat. The last person to publicly threaten Lindet, as far as Vlora knew, was the Kez governor who’d tried to relieve her of her post at the beginning of the Fatrastan Revolution. At the end of the war, his tongue was cut out as part of the peace settlement.

Vlora cleared her throat. “Ambassador, every expedition has a goal. What is yours?”

Ka-sedial turned his attention slowly toward her, like a lizard who’s spied a particularly fat mealworm. She wondered if his spies had reported her to him.

“Lady Flint, I presume?”

That seemed to be a yes about the spies, she noted. “That is I.”

“We’ve only come looking for what is rightfully ours.”

The whole room hung on the sentence, tension thick enough to cut. “I’m curious,” Lindet said, “what exactly you think that is.” Her expression had not changed, but her voice had gone dangerously quiet. The assembly seemed to lean forward as one, straining to hear.

Ka-sedial didn’t seem to have a problem hearing. “These lands belonged to the Empire at one time,” he said, almost wistfully. “You’ve built your little nation atop the great ruins of our ancestors.”

“And you expect to take that back?” Vlora asked flatly.

“No, no,” Ka-sedial said. “It’s been a very long century. My people are weary of war, and I understand that this is a modern age. We have no intention of conquering. We are only here for our rightful property, and once we have it we will be gone.”

You’re using the word “rightful” quite a lot. I don’t think that means what it once did, not since Tamas beheaded the rightful king of Adro. Vlora glanced at Lindet, but the Lady Chancellor had sunk back in her seat, examining Ka-sedial through a hawk’s narrowed eyes. She did not respond.

The silence dragged on for ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty. Ka-sedial finally leaned forward, his expression impatient. “We want the godstones returned to us.”

There was a confused murmur from the gallery behind her, only cut off by Lindet’s voice ringing out loudly. “Everyone out!”

The room was clear within a minute, leaving only the fifteen or so people at the oval table remaining. Everyone’s eyes were glued on Lindet.

“What are the godstones?” Vlora asked. Ka-sedial stared at Lindet. Lindet stared back. Vlora leaned over to her and repeated her question quietly. Lindet ignored her, turning to whisper to the Privileged sorcerer sitting on her left. Vlora’s attention was on Ka-sedial, but she caught the quiet response.

“We’ll have it secured, ma’am.”

Whether Ka-sedial heard their whispers, Vlora couldn’t be sure. He looked from Lady Chancellor to Privileged and then back again. “We know you have them, and you know they belong to us. Hand them over and we’ll leave these shores immediately.”

“Or what?” Lindet said.

Vlora resisted the urge to glance back at Olem. This conversation had turned badly very quickly. “What are the godstones?” she asked again.

“Or we take them by force,” Ka-sedial said.

“I thought you said your people are weary of war?” Vlora asked sarcastically. She wanted an answer about these godstones, and it was clear that everyone here was ignoring her questions.

“Hm. They are, Lady Flint. But some things are more important than a much-needed respite. We are weary, but we are also ready. If you think us broken by so much war, think again. Our armies are hardened veterans, raised on the taste of blood. I will let them drink again if I must.”

Vlora looked at Lindet, but the Lady Chancellor still had not answered. Vlora wanted to reach over and shake her. “What,” she demanded, “is so important about these godstones?”

“Everything,” Lindet said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Ka-sedial agreed. “Everything. The future of my very country depends upon their retrieval, and keeping them from us will be seen as an act of war.”

Lindet suddenly stood. “You will have my answer by tomorrow. Good day, Ambassador.” She left the table so quickly that the others scrambled to follow her, Vlora included. She glanced behind her as she left the room to find Ka-sedial still seated, with a determined expression that looked more like an avenging angel than a frail old man.

Vlora rushed to catch up to Lindet. “Are you going to explain to me what just happened?”

“Nothing that I had planned,” Lindet responded. “You have until tomorrow to prepare the garrison for war. Send out messengers. Recall all my armies from the frontier, and raise levies from every city in Fatrasta.”

Vlora’s stomach tightened, twisting over itself in knots. That was not the command of someone who expected a blockade. That was the command of someone who expected a full-blown war. “What,” she growled, “are these godstones?”

Lindet lifted her chin. “I believe you have work to do, General.” She strode off, leaving Vlora standing alone, openmouthed.

Olem found her a few moments later, after pushing his way through the crowd of confused dignitaries. “What happened after she kicked everyone out?” he asked.

“I’m still not entirely sure.” She looked at her hands, then up at Olem. “Have our men transitioned to Fort Nied?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. Send word that we have until morning to prepare for an invasion.”

Vlora arrived at Fort Nied an hour after the Dynize ambassador’s visit came to a sudden end. The traffic had been almost impassable the entire way down the east slope of the Landfall Plateau, forcing her to walk the last quarter of a mile, listening to the gossip spread like wildfire among shopkeeps, pedestrians, and laborers. People wondered openly if the Dynize would invade, open trade routes, or simply resupply on a long journey toward the Nine. She could feel the city pulse with uncertain anticipation, and like a spring coiled too tightly the tension felt ready to snap.

Olem had gone on ahead on horseback, and by the time Vlora reached the fort her artillery crews stood at the ready and riflemen manned the battlements. An ensign brought her up to speed as she came in through the front gate: Riflejacks manned the fort, while the rest of the brigade had been distributed in patrol lines all along the length of the bay and docks, and messengers flooded in with news that the entire Fatrastan garrison was mustering at wooden forts both north and south of the city. Vlora turned the messengers right around with orders to have full troop reports by nightfall, then stopped to take stock of her new command post.

Fort Nied was not, thankfully, an ancient palisade like Loel’s Fort. It was a modern star fortress directly on the bay, positioned to force all ships around it to reach the docks. It had open firing lanes on three points of the star to the ocean, and was protected by immense blocks of limestone enchanted by Lindet’s Privileged to shrug off both cannon fire and sorcery.