Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“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 they 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.