Of Dawn and Darkness

CHAPTER EIGHT

Calder stood in the courtyard outside the Emperor’s quarters, watching the Guards hack away at gray-green flesh. Bliss ran her hands along the skin like a child trying to find her way out of a cave.

The stars were still out, and Calder didn’t remember getting out of bed.

“The bearer of Tyrfang has already given you her tour. I thought I’d give you mine.” Kelarac turned to him, the steel over his eyes glinting silver in the moonlight, and smiled.

The Great Elder looked exactly the same as Calder had last seen him: metal blindfold, decked in jewelry, thin goatee, two gold-capped teeth. Maybe the Soul Collector appeared this way to everyone, as a sort of signature.

“If we keep meeting like this, people are going to talk,” Calder said. He had already written this off as a dream when Kelarac appeared and Bliss didn’t immediately notice and attack.

Although…the Guild Head had stopped running her hands along the bulbous skin surrounding the Emperor’s quarters. She’d tilted her head as though listening for something.

Kelarac chuckled. “I have spoken with you more than anyone else this century. Some would say I favor you too heavily.”

“You and Ach’magut both. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect I was being manipulated.”

Kelarac wove his fingers together until his rings shone.

“You’re a piece on a board, Reader of Memory. A card in the hand. You know it, too. But it’s fortunate for you that you are a well-positioned piece, so that you may be lured into place rather than prodded. Your kind prefers sugar cubes to switches, don’t they?”

Calder crushed any irritation before it could pollute his voice. Before one of the Great Elders, he had to keep his Intent on a tight leash. “I believe you’re thinking of horses.”

“No…no, I don’t think so.”

Kelarac waved a jeweled hand at the flesh-covered building. “I like to show my workers the result of their labor, it helps to support a grander vision. And this…without Nakothi’s Heart, I could never have built this.”

A chill ran down Calder’s skin, as though he was wearing his real body and not just inhabiting a dream. “What have you built?”

“However imperfectly, however temporarily, I have created an organism that can control the Emperor’s Optasia.” He put his hands on his hips, smiling like a proud mother. “Without the attack on the other Navigator’s ship, you wouldn’t have ended up here. Not for a long time, at least, and by then certain windows would have passed.”

It was growing harder and harder to control his Intent. “You have the power to destroy the world, and you used it to change my travel plans?”

“I told you before, Captain, I don’t want to destroy the world. Only Urg’naut wants that, though Tharlos might accomplish it as an incidental byproduct. I like the world the way it is now, only perhaps a tad more so. You’ll understand. Bringing you here was one domino in a very long line, one note in a symphony that lasts millennia.”

Whatever else the Great Elder was, he sounded very proud of himself.

“And you’re telling me now out of a newfound spirit of fair play?” The Collector of Souls didn’t give anything away for free.

Gold glinted in Kelarac’s smile. “You can’t steer the ship unless you turn the wheel. I need you where you are, doing exactly what you’re going to—”

The Great Elder was interrupted by a girl’s pale face, popping up and staring at him from an inch away. Bliss frowned into what, to her, should look like empty space.

“Dreams are like cobwebs,” she said. “I don’t like them in my hair.”

When the Guild Head waved her hand, the courtyard vanished, and Calder woke upright in bed. Sunlight leaked in from the edges of his window, and Kelarac’s dream was nothing but a memory.

Calder shivered as he dressed himself in the early morning light. These palace rooms were comfortable but drafty, and the autumn chill was starting to make itself known. But he shivered for more than just the cold.

Kelarac had come to him last night, either invading his dreams or dragging his mind away while he slept. He wasn’t sure which possibility unnerved him more. He was sure their conversation had been real, and equally sure that Bliss had noticed them. Or at least noticed something wrong.

How much did she know? If she had seen him standing next to a figure she recognized as a Great Elder, he would be in the dangerous position of trying to explain to the Head of the Blackwatch why he was on first-name basis with Kelarac. If that didn’t end with his body in the Aion Sea, it ended with seven spikes through him.

On top of the looming threat of death, an even greater fear loomed. Kelarac had spoken clearly last night. Too clearly. Before, the Soul Collector had doled out hints like a hunter baiting traps, careful not to give Calder too much information. Why had he changed?

Above all, why let Calder know he was being manipulated? It was one thing to know he was dancing to an Elder tune, and quite another to have Kelarac tell him to his face that he was nothing more than a piece on a gameboard.

Did Kelarac tell him because it wouldn’t matter? Because Calder would play his role regardless, and he couldn’t stop it? Or maybe Kelarac knew that Calder would resist, that he would do the exact opposite of whatever he thought the Elders wanted, which would itself play right into Kelarac’s hands…

“If you find yourself thinking in circles, stop thinking.” Not one of the great philosophers of history, obviously. Calder’s father, Rojric. Calder had always found the words surprisingly wise: when thinking wasn’t productive, he had to start acting.

Which was why he’d take the initiative. He’d go confront Bliss, find out what she knew, and try to enlist her help. If she killed him…well, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her, and maybe his death would thwart Kelarac’s plans.

Why do I even want to stop Kelarac? Calder had only interacted with two Great Elders in his life, and both of them had worked for Calder’s benefit. Sure, maybe Calder was being used as part of an eons-long plot to devour the world, but it was working out for him. It wasn’t his responsibility to protect the world from Elders.

The burning handprint on his forearm itched, and he absently scratched it. No one had carried his chest of clothes over from The Testament, so he was left with only a spare outfit that the palace servants had brought him: a set of shirt, pants, and jacket in red and gold. It looked suspiciously like a cross between the Imperial Guard uniform and a servant’s livery, but at least he wouldn’t be wandering the Emperor’s palace in his skin.

He had just started pulling on the pants when his door swung open and Andel walked in, his white suit as pristine as ever. “Good morning, August and Illustrious Emperor. I’m here to dress you.”

Calder looked from his servant clothes to the robes draped over Andel’s arm. Fabric spilled over his arm in a waterfall of sunlight colors: yellow, white, and a bright, shimmering gold. Clothes like the Emperor would have worn.

“You’re not really going to dress me, are you?”

Andel threw the bundle of cloth at him. “The palace staff seem to think I’m your manservant. They tried to get me to bring your tea.”

“I could use some tea right now, actually.”

“I’m sure Petal would brew it for you immediately.”

Calder held up a smooth white garment, like a loose sleeved robe, and an identical yellow one next to it. “Which of these am I supposed to put on first?”

Andel folded his arms and leaned with his back to the door. “Whichever you decide, do it quickly. The Guild Heads want to meet with you.”

Anxiety sparked in Calder’s stomach as he pulled the white robe over his head. Was this Bliss confronting him about last night? “What for, did they say?”

“What did you do wrong?”

Calder froze with the yellow robe halfway over the white one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Andel raised one eyebrow a fraction. “It’s obvious why they want to talk to you. Same reason they sent you those clothes. You should start acting like the Emperor now, and they’re going to guide you through it. You wouldn’t have asked unless you were afraid it was something else, which means you did something wrong.”

Calder relaxed, considering the gold robe that was probably his outer layer. Each layer was cut slightly differently, so that some of the previous colors would show through no matter how he wore them. “You have quite the imagination, Andel.”

“If you get us executed after only one night in the Imperial Palace, I swear I’ll make a deal with a Great Elder just to haunt you for eternity.”

“Where’s that tea?”

After looking over Calder’s Imperial clothing and carefully not laughing, Andel led him through the palace hallways, over rare imported carpets and decorations that would cost more than a Navigator’s entire journey. When they finally arrived at their destination, Calder was thoroughly lost.

Not only had they taken more turns that he felt were strictly necessary, this room looked exactly the same as fifty others they’d passed. It held a long, rectangular table in the center, chairs all around, and paintings on the wall. The only difference between this room and all the others in the palace was its inhabitants.

Servants stood around the perimeter, prepared to attend to any sudden requests. Jarelys Teach sat at one end of the table, holding her forehead in one gauntleted hand. Cheska Bennett had traded her hat for a bandana tying her hair back, and she was in the middle of an angry gesture with a rolled-up news-sheet. Mekendi Maxeus was the only one of them who looked somewhat calm, though that could have been the black mask that shrouded his features. His hands were laced together, his ash-gray staff leaning behind him.

A sudden disquiet rolled through Calder’s gut. This was all too familiar. Andel leading him through the door, into a meeting of Guild Heads…just like aboard The Eternal, not long ago. How much had changed since then?

He supposed he’d find out.

“…have to move now,” Cheska insisted, not bothering to acknowledge Calder. “The longer we wait, the better it is for them.”

Teach spoke without opening her eyes. “It sounds to me like we’ve already made our opening move.”

“The remaining Regents will respond,” Maxeus said confidently. “They will have to act, or else go back into hiding.”

Rather than go stand against the wall with the servants and attendants, as he’d done last time, Andel simply walked out of the room. Calder understood. If he kept acting like a servant, people would keep treating him like one. Best to abandon ship while there was still a chance of keeping his dignity.

But Calder didn’t like how alone he felt as Andel left.

Maxeus was the first to recognize his presence, giving Calder a shallow, seated bow. “The change of wardrobe suits you. Welcome. There’s been some recent excitement here at home, as you may have heard.”

“Did Bliss figure out how to get to the throne?” Surely there could be no more urgent cause than that.

“She’s still working on it,” Teach said. “Apparently the Elders sent something to spy on her last night, so she summoned a team of Watchmen to secure the courtyard. When she knows something, I’m sure she’ll…” The Guild Head hesitated.

“Delay until she feels like it, tell us eventually, and leave out crucial details,” Calder finished.

“I sometimes forget you used to work for her.”

Cheska slapped the news-sheet down on the table. “Enough about the Elders! Light and life, we have enough human problems to last us until Urg’naut devours the planet.”

At Calder’s curious look, she slid the sheet over to him.

IZYRIA IN CHAOS, IMPERIALISTS TO BLAME, the headline declared. The article went on to describe the riots in the east, food shortages, and Guild-on-Guild violence. All precipitated by the ‘Imperialists:’ those Guilds who wanted to raise up a second Emperor after the first, may his soul fly free, was lost to an Elder attack. The writer even managed to insinuate that it may have been the Imperialists who engineered the Emperor’s death in the first place.

The first thing Calder said when he’d finished was, “Imperialists?”

Maxeus inclined his masked head. “That’s the charming moniker the news-sheets have given to our alliance, represented here. The Magisters, the Blackwatch, the Imperial Guard, and the Navigators are Imperialists, while the Consultants, Alchemists, Greenwardens, and Luminians are the Independents.”

“The name isn’t the problem,” Cheska said. “The name is fine. If anything, calling us Imperialists reinforces that we’re on the side of the Empire. The problem is that the news-sheets are all over us. Which means the people don’t trust us. And if the people don’t trust us, they won’t trust whatever slack-jawed idiot we stick on the throne.”

If Calder were a less generous man, that might have offended him. “Thank you, Cheska. If you wouldn’t mind explaining something else to me, though, they claim that this was happening yesterday. Even the fastest Navigator couldn’t travel here from Izyria in less than two weeks.” Calder ought to know, as his ship was the fastest.

Cheska snorted. “Two weeks? With fantastic weather, clear sailing, an empty hold, and the Emperor’s own luck. Maybe.”

“That’s what hurts the worst,” Teach said, frustration bleeding into her voice. “There’s no way they could have known. It’s entirely fabricated.”

There had to be something here he was missing. They were too upset for what amounted to little more than a slanderous lie. “Then what’s the matter? We’ll get the Witnesses to investigate, and they’ll have to print a retraction. Instead of the villains, people will see us as the victims.”

Maxeus steepled his hands again. “Unfortunately, despite their obvious deception, they’re actually correct. Izyria is in chaos, their Regent is missing, and we are to blame. I received the news yesterday, through a method much faster than your ships.”

“So how did they know?” Calder asked.

“They didn’t,” Cheska said, slapping her palm down on the table. “They just guessed, but they’re right, and now we’re sunk if we don’t bail water.”

There was still something Calder didn’t know, some fact they were dancing around rather than addressing it directly. “It can’t be that much of a disaster. What did we do?”

It was Maxeus who answered with a distinct note of pride. “We successfully assassinated Alagaeus, Regent of the East.”

Calder stared at him, speechless.

“Possibly Jorin as well, though he was staying with the Consultants. As you know, the Gray Island is in somewhat of a mess right now, so news is scarce.”

Calder still couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. The Regents were the four most powerful people in the world, on a level even higher than the Guild Heads. Contemporaries of the Emperor, they had come out of hiding—or, as some said it, hibernation—after the Emperor’s death. They’d divided the world up between the four of them, and had prevented the Empire from falling to pieces.

If any one of them had been willing to accept the title of Emperor, Calder would never have gotten the job. Neither would Naberius, and likely the whole debacle surrounding the Heart of Nakothi would never have happened.

But they maintained that only the Emperor could rule the Empire. In a sense, they were the pillars on which the Independent Guilds rested.

And they were led by Estyr Six, the most terrifying woman in history. There were as many horror stories about her as myths, none of them comforting to her opponents.

“So you’re telling me we’re all going to die,” Calder said. His senses tightened as he entered the state he always did before a fight. He was ready to run out of here and straight down to the dock, where he and his crew could board The Testament and stay on the Aion for as long as possible. Years, if necessary.

He’d been promised a position as Emperor, and he had no doubt that he’d make it to the throne eventually. But he would prefer it if his first act as the ruler of the world wasn’t getting blasted to pieces.

Maxeus spread his hands. “Events have outpaced us, but this isn’t a disaster. If we act now, we can salvage this. We can even turn it into an advantage. But we must act.”

Calder realized he had half-risen from his seat, and slowly lowered himself back down. “What’s the plan?”

Bliss couldn’t wait for Alsa Grayweather to return. Well, she could wait, and she would, because there was no realistic alternative, but she didn’t want to. As she stared at this Elder wall, as she’d come to think of it, she had begun to grow irritated. And with her irritation she became unpredictable. That was Tharlos’ influence on her, and it couldn’t be helped, but Alsa was the only one who could bring her back to reason.

She had sent Alsa away only six days ago, and she had been proud of that decision. At the time. It had been an attempt to keep Alsa both safe and busy while Bliss took care of her son, and it had worked beautifully. Bliss was pleased at her own foresight, and her tact in handling the situation.

Sadly, Alsa’s absence left her alone with Tharlos.

What if those Watchmen behind you weren’t Watchmen at all? What if they were dogs, dogs standing on their hind legs, wearing black coats and carrying spikes like they were people? Wouldn’t that be hilarious? The thought from her Vessel didn’t come in words, precisely, but in feelings. Like Bliss would be in for the joke of a lifetime if only she would let a Great Elder turn her subordinates into two-legged dogs.

She slapped the Spear through her coat, a quick reprimand, even though its idea did sound funny. And she could use a laugh—it was supposed to be good for your mood. The wall of Elder flesh surrounding the Emperor’s quarters just would not cooperate, though she’d spent all night trying to expose its secrets.

After all this time, she’d learned only that there was someone trapped inside. But that knowledge came with its own problems.

Gray-green tendrils whipped out, suddenly aggressive, lashing her Watchmen and two of the Imperial Guards who were still cutting at the flesh with their weapons. A man scream, a woman pleaded, and all six of them backed off.

Bliss didn’t. The Elder wall had never been so violent before, which provided interesting opportunities for observation. That was her purpose, after all: to observe the Elders and learn what she could from them. She could never stop their plans if she didn’t know what they were.

None of the living whips struck at Bliss, even as she drew closer. They knew better.

She placed a bare hand against the sickly greenish skin of the growth. She wasn’t a Reader, but she was a Soulbound, and she could sense a few things. For one, this Elder barrier wasn’t just growing around the Emperor’s quarters—it was a part of them. Shutters had turned into eyelids, plaster into meat, support beams into bones, and paint into skin. Not all of the building had been corrupted, but enough that she worried for the structure’s stability if the Elder wall were removed.

The transformation excited Tharlos. We could redecorate the entire Capital like this…but more! We’ll go even further! Bliss’ mind filled with images of carpets like tongues, windows that bulged out into eyeballs, roof tiles sprouting hair.

That is neither positive nor constructive, Bliss chided herself. She didn’t need to dwell on Elder imagination. That way lay madness, and Bliss could only tolerate a certain threshold of madness before she had to put her foot down.

Refocusing on the building, she confirmed once again that the inside of the Elder wall was hollow. The Emperor’s quarters and all surrounding rooms should be intact, beyond the initial cocoon of growth. And there, in the belly of this newborn beast, a person was trapped.

And that was the core of Bliss’ dilemma. Who was this person? Were they a prisoner, held hostage by an Elder? Were they the mastermind behind the Elder wall’s creation? Maybe they were food, here to nourish the wall until it was no longer needed. She could be fairly certain that they weren’t using the Optasia, because they rarely moved over to that side of the room. As Bliss understood it, accessing the global amplification relays should take quite a bit of time, and her mystery guest never spent long enough close to the Optasia.

Bliss didn’t believe in luck, because whether chance outcomes were ‘good’ or ‘bad’ depended entirely on the opinions of the observer.

But in her opinion as an observer, what followed was extremely good luck.

She was just about to remove her hand from the skin of the Elder wall, her curiosity still unsatisfied, when a wave of energy passed through the air around her and entered into the Elder flesh. The wall absorbed a surge of nourishment, like a plant’s thirsty roots being washed in fresh rainwater for the first time.

The lashing tendrils withdrew, the membrane bulged outward, and Elder muscles grew stronger.

Bliss wasn’t quite delighted enough to smile, but she had to express her excitement somehow, so she clapped enthusiastically. Like a satisfied audience member at an excellent performance.

The Elder wall’s vitality wasn’t infinite, and it wasn’t coming from within. It was being sustained from without, probably calling power from elsewhere with the Optasia. It was entirely possible that there was a circle of Elder cultists somewhere in the Aion even now, dying one by one to feed their lives into the growth of this wall. Well, as far as Bliss was concerned, the world would be better off with fewer Elder worshipers in it. Even though they had, entirely on accident, given her the clue she needed.

She didn’t need to destroy the Elder wall; she had to drill through it, piercing a tunnel into its heart. It wouldn’t rejuvenate until it received another influx of vitality, which it couldn’t summon if they disconnected the Optasia. So all she had to do was pierce the hide while avoiding its attacks, bore through four or five yards of rubbery flesh, locate the Optasia in the darkness, kill the person protecting it, and remove the throne from Elder control without destroying the device itself.

Come to think of it, there were quite a lot of steps to this process. She should write them down.

No, wait! She should ask for help. That was what Alsa Grayweather would tell her to do. General Teach would probably appreciate it as well.

Pleased with herself, Bliss turned from the Elder wall and walked across the courtyard past her wounded Watchmen and Guards. Not only had she managed not to turn them into dogs, but she’d figured out the mystery of the unpleasant-looking Elder wall. It had been a good day.

She’d caught a Great Elder spying on her last night, which had been the first thing to spoil her mood. But even though it had tried to distract her, she’d managed to figure out the secret anyway.

That would show Kelarac. Him and his dreams.

“We provoked the Regents for a calculated reason,” Maxeus said, addressing the room. “We did not expect to be exposed publicly, which is a setback, but I can still handle them. Plans are in place. Meanwhile, we must act like the Regents are not a factor.”

“Then we should announce an Emperor as soon as possible,” Teach said firmly. Her eyes on Calder were stern, but at least he didn’t feel the murderous Intent that she’d shown him at every meeting in the past. That was progress.

Maxeus tightened his mask, as though adjusting it to fit a new expression. “We’ll need to do more than that. We have the military power to match any Guild except the Champions, who have thankfully remained neutral. Or possibly disbanded. Kern has been vague. However, we do not have the economic base that the Independents do. Between the Consultant’s Guild and the fortune of the alchemists, they will eventually sway the public to their side. But even if they cannot, time is still their ally. With the current lack of cooperation between Guilds, the Empire will fall apart. It’s only a matter of time.”

Cheska groaned loudly. “So we need…what? We have the better military, okay, so we attack. Scatter them. If there aren’t any more Independent Guilds, then everyone’s in favor of a new Emperor.”

“Again, public opinion must stay on our side. We need a battle, but we can’t strike first.”

Calder and Teach saw Maxeus’ point at virtually the same time, because they both sat up straight and looked at him.

“We force them to attack us,” Teach said.

“I thought that was the point of assassinating Alagaeus,” Calder said. He still couldn’t talk about it without feeling a chill; however indirectly, he had been party to the murder of an Imperial Regent. If their side didn’t win, he was going to die a traitor’s death.

Maxeus rubbed gloved hands together like a man anticipating a fine meal. “We gained several advantages from the Regent’s death, including the obvious benefits of his absence. We’ve reduced the battle capacity of the Regents by twenty-five percent, if nothing else. And I’ve proven the efficacy of a certain…pet project of mine. Besides which, even if we’re blamed for instability in the east, the fact remains that Izyria was destabilized while under the command of Alagaeus. If that doesn’t drive public opinion against the Regents, nothing will.”

“But now we need to goad the other Guilds to action,” Teach said, back on topic as usual. “Who will take the bait?”

Cheska ticked names off her fingers. “Kanatalia won’t respond to anything but a blatant attack, which defeats the purpose. The Greenwardens are too weak and too quiet. In fact, I don’t know the last time I saw a Greenwarden at all. The Consultants are too good. If they retaliated against us, no one would know. And besides, they’re still dealing with that Elder attack on their island. Which leaves the Luminians.”

Maxeus nodded as though that were the conclusion he’d wanted her to reach all along. “They’re proud, they’re strong, and their code makes them easy to provoke.”

“It’s done,” Teach said. She turned to the blond, orange-eyed Guard captain standing behind her. “Take rotating squads and blockade the road leading to the Luminian headquarters at Hightower. Use whatever excuse you can to take a Pilgrim into custody, or get a Knight to challenge you. Hold the casualties to a minimum; we just need proof that they attacked us, I don’t want you to waste men.”

The captain hurried off, leaving Calder a little stunned. When the Head of the Imperial Guard wanted to act, she acted fast.

“Maybe you all discussed this when I wasn’t looking, but why do we need them to attack us at all?” He tapped the news-sheet. “They made up a story about us, even though they got it right. Why can’t we do the same? Trot out a few wounded Guards, and print up a story about how the Luminian Knights assaulted us because they were so against the idea of a unified Empire.”

“Witnesses,” Cheska answered simply. “Any story we put out can be verified or denied by the Witnesses. If we lie, they’ll let everybody know it. That’s what we would have done for this story, except that it just so happens to be true.”

Which led Calder to wonder why the Independents had published the article in the first place. Was it really fabricated? If the Witnesses could verify anything, how would anyone dare to lie?

Short of asking the enemy Guild Heads, he would probably never know.

“And speaking of Witnesses…” Cheska continued. She reached under the table and hauled up a wooden case. A familiar one. She popped it open, revealing a set of white candles. “…we need to get a team on these yesterday. The alchemists and Consultants are better-funded than we are, so we might as well tap into what funds we can.”

Calder’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he objected. “Those are mine!”

She smirked at him. “Technically, they’re the property of the Guild of Witnesses.”

“I mean, I had them. They were in my room.”

“That’s right. Where my men found them and brought them to me.” She waved a hand at him. “Oh settle down, we’re not going to abandon you on the side of the road. We never needed you to Read these, just to carry them to us. We have other uses for you.”

That was actually somewhat of a relief, but Teach took over by drumming armored fingertips on the table. “That brings us neatly to our second point of order: we must announce an Emperor immediately. Therefore, we can paint any enemy action as opposition to the Emperor instead of just a disagreement between Guilds.”

There would be a lot of merit to that. Some philosophers painted disloyalty to the Emperor as morally equivalent to Elder worship. Even if Calder wasn’t the original Emperor, the taboo would still work in their favor.

Maxeus shook his head. “There’s an issue. If we simply raise some nobody to the position of Emperor, we can expect an outcry. However, I have a solution that I believe will smooth the transition.”

Over the course of this meeting, Calder’s biggest supporters had called him a nobody and a slack-jawed idiot. He was looking forward to a long and glorious reign.

The Head of the Magisters produced a sheet of paper, similar to a news-sheet but printed on thicker paper. Calder could smell the ink, fresh from the printing presses, and the letters were bold and stylized. The palace sometimes put papers like these out in the Capital as Imperial announcements, and he could immediately see how they would lend him an air of legitimacy.

The contents of the paper were brief but poignant, starting with the seal of all four Imperialist Guilds on top…and the seal of the Witnesses at the bottom, verifying that the text was legitimately produced by the Imperial Palace.

+

Loyal citizens of the Empire,

+

In the wake of the Emperor’s untimely and unholy death, may his soul fly forever free, we grieved together in the years known as the Long Mourning. As a people, we have been fragmented and leaderless, banding together under the banners of those who would divide rather than unite us.

+

But now, on behalf of all faithful Guilds of the Aurelian Empire, we will raise a new leader. A man who will bring us together, not drag us apart. A man who will once again protect us from the foul incursion of the Elders and their spawn.

+

In memory and honor of the original Emperor, the father of us all, we are hereby proud to announce the man who will lead us forward into the future, the Imperial Steward of the Aurelian Empire, Lord Calder Marten.

+

Calder’s name was repeated in much larger, more flowery letters on the bottom of the sheet, as though he’d signed it. He’d never seen the signature before in his life.

“There are several versions of this declaration for various audiences,” Maxeus went on. “This one is primarily aimed at Guild members and their families, but we have variants for laborers, nobility, and the educated classes. This also can’t be our only announcement, of course; we’ll have to send a coronation date along with it.”

Teach scanned the paper and tossed it back onto the table. “It works. I can back it up. As long as you can keep the Regents under control.”

Maxeus leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “If I’ve proved anything this week, it’s that I know how to handle the Regents.”

“But not the media,” Cheska muttered, still reading. “Doesn’t this seem a little…abrupt? The people have no Emperor, and then they read a piece of paper, and now they have one all of a sudden?”

“We have to strike quickly,” Maxeus countered. “And we’ve done our best to acclimate the population of the Capital to the idea for years. If they’re not ready for a leader now, they never will be.”

Calder’s stomach fluttered, and he was having trouble keeping the grin off his face. “Can I have this framed?”

Teach let out what might have been, in someone else, a laugh. “I suspect you can have whatever you want.”

“If he can sit on the throne,” Cheska reminded her.

“That’s still a concern.”

The door flew open, and Bliss hopped in. “No it’s not! I figured it out.”

Calder looked from her to the open door. “Have you been eavesdropping? Why didn’t you just come in?”

Teach was beginning to look exhausted again. “You were invited to this meeting, Bliss.”

“I was waiting for the appropriate moment,” the girl replied, lifting her chin. “That was it. Now I need you all outside the Emperor’s quarters with your weapons.”

Maxeus stood up. “Not me. I have business to attend to at my estate, I’m sorry to say. Not that I would be much use against a wall of Elder flesh anyway.” A Magister’s greatest weapon was his Intent, and using Intent directly against an Elder creation was a particularly painful way to commit suicide.

Bliss waved him off. “I don’t need him. The rest of you, follow me.”

Teach and Cheska traded a look, but they followed without complaint. Calder took another look at the printed announcement.

Imperial Steward of the Aurelian Empire.

It was real. At last, he’d made it.

He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.