Sins of Empire

by Brian McClellan

  A cannonball slammed into the top of the wall, and Vlora ducked, and the sound that accompanied the impact put her on edge. A single glance confirmed her fear: Masonry had shattered. The Dynize attack had finally broken the sorcery holding Fort Nied together.

  “I need engineers up here!” she shouted, glancing over the edge of the wall. Longboats drew near, too numerous for her smaller gun crews to pick out of the water with grapeshot. Men stood in the prows with grappling hooks, ready to scale the walls of the fort. “Does nothing scare these assholes?”

  She took one step and sagged, her right leg refusing to obey her. She looked down to find a shard of limestone as big as her thumb and twice as long sticking out of her leg, blood soaking the pants around it. She jerked it out, so deep in a powder trance that she barely registered the pain, and quickly bound the wound with her handkerchief.

  The pain she could drown out, but her muscles wouldn’t respond.

  She limped along the wall. “We can win,” she whispered to herself. “We can win. We will not break in the face of our enemies. We will hold strong. We are the anvil. We are the stone.” She reached the closest of her remaining gun crews and staggered over to the commander as he shouted orders.

  “Distance, five hundred yards!”

  “Distance, five hundred yards!” one of the crew repeated, helping the others adjust the aim of the gun. “Sir, ready to fire!”

  “Fire!”

  The cannon kicked back several feet, belching flame and noise. In the distance, the mast of a Dynize capital ship suddenly cracked, split, and with the slow momentum of a falling tree, toppled to the deck, scattering sailors and gunners.

  “Report,” Vlora demanded of the gun commander.

  “Range, four-hundred and ninety yards. Reload, reload!” The gunner didn’t bother looking or saluting. “We’re almost out of straight shot, General,” he shouted over the din. “We’ve got a few hundred rounds of canister left, but the boats will be here any moment.”

  “Major,” Vlora shouted at an officer in the muster yard below, “I want riflemen lining the walls! Give everyone double ammunition and tell them to fix bayonets.”

  The gun commander continued: “The ships are getting closer. We’ve sunk at least eighteen of the warships and another thirty or so of the transports and small support, but there’s just too damn many of them. We have”—he paused, scanning the walls, his lips moving as he counted—“just eight big guns left. Their ships of the line are getting close enough for some serious accuracy.”

  Vlora slapped the gun commander on the shoulder. “Keep giving them the pit,” she ordered, limping over to another set of messengers. She was surprised to find one of them was a Palo, wearing one of the pale green uniforms she’d last seen on Mama Palo’s men. Her heart leapt into her throat before she remembered that Mama Palo—the real Mama Palo—was on her side.

  “You first,” she said, pointing to the Palo.

  “Message from the Red Hand,” the Palo said, looking entirely unimpressed by the chaos of the battle raging around them. “He says that the Dynize infiltrators have started the fires and the riots in Greenfire Depths. He’s dealing with that now.”

  Vlora let out a sigh. Finally, some good news. She’d forgotten entirely about Taniel and Ka-poel’s Palo followers. If they could take care of the Dynize in Greenfire Depths and watch Vlora’s back, it would let her commit the last of her garrison reserves to the fight—soldiers she desperately needed. “Does he have any men he could spare for this?” she asked, gesturing toward the ocean.

  The Palo messenger shook his head. “The Dynize have landed more men south of the city.”

  Vlora let herself sag against the inner wall, letting out a soft sigh. We are the anvil. We are the rocks upon which our enemy will shatter. “I’ve just redirected all my men south of the city to reinforce the bay and the north.”

  “The Red Hand demands reinforcements to the south.”

  “He doesn’t demand shit,” Vlora snapped, suppressing the urge to take a swing at the Palo. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” she decided, was coined for this exact situation.

  “The Red Hand wants you to know that the item in question is two miles south of the city. It needs to be protected from falling into Dynize hands.”

  “The item in …” It took Vlora a moment before she understood what that meant. “The godstone.”

  “That is what he called it, yes.”

  Vlora called down to the muster yard. “Major, do we have anyone else at all we can send south?”

  The major opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sudden thunder of hooves as Styke, Ibana, and a half-dozen Mad Lancers—along with Major Gustar—rode through the open gates of the fort. Vlora’s mind immediately changed directions and she waved off the major in the muster yard. “Styke!” she bellowed. “Report, now!”

  Styke reined in just below her. “We’ve swept the beaches up north on our way in, and relieved Olem enough for him to withdraw from the point of the bay.” Vlora swore. She needed him to hold that point. But Olem wouldn’t pull back without damn good reason. “I’ve had about five hundred casualties,” Styke went on. “Leaves me with a little over eight hundred able-bodied riders.”

  Vlora swore again. She’d hoped he’d arrive with full strength, but if he’d already been in two engagements, she should be impressed that he had anyone left at all. She looked toward the point of the bay, wondering how suicidal Styke really was to have ordered a charge into that smoky chaos on uneven ground.

  “Two miles south of the city,” she said. “There’s an artifact down there. I don’t know where, I don’t know what the pit it looks like, but I need you to find it and secure it.”

  Styke and Ibana both frowned, exchanging a glance. “But the battle …”

  “You’ll get your battle,” Vlora said. “The Dynize are coming up from the south, and they want that artifact. I don’t know if they’re heading for it specifically, but if they find it before you get there we’ll have a pit of a time taking it back.”

  Styke nodded. “Right-o, General.” Without another word he turned his big gelding back around and rode at the head of his men out of the muster yard. Vlora watched him go with a desperate longing. She needed Styke here, performing sweeps of the beach to relieve her defenders. But there was no one else to send, and the Dynize could not have the godstone.

  “Ma’am,” the gunner commander shouted, “we need those riflemen up here now!”

  “Major, get me those riflemen!”

  “They’ll be sitting ducks on that wall! The ships are too close.”

  Vlora grit her teeth, turning to look toward the ships of the line that were now just outside of the bay, broadside toward the fort, opening fire with fearless determination. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Just get your men up here.”

  Staggering forward, Vlora put both hands on the wall and then cast her senses outward until she found the powder magazine in the depths of the warship’s hold. Hundreds of barrels of powder, all crowded together in one place. It took only a single thought to ignite it all, but she knew she’d feel a kickback strong enough to drop an elephant.

  She touched off the powder and immediately felt like a wagon had run over her. She groaned, her head spinning, watching the ship blow apart through blurry vision, trying to breathe through a suddenly tight chest. It took her several moments to recover enough to have the presence of mind to duck as infantry in the Dynize longboats opened fire on the walls.

  Within moments she was surrounded by her own riflemen, and the comforting cracks of Hrusch rifles returning fire.

  CHAPTER 61

  Michel watched, amazed, as the crews under Professor Cressel’s direction managed to extricate the monolith from its sunken pit in the ground in less than two hours. Using a combination of ramps, cranes, and brute force, the stone column was pulled up and out onto a prepared soil shelf. The cranes were cleared away and the land-barge backed up beside the stage while lab
orers with shovels and pickaxes adjusted the contours of the land so that there was a gap of mere inches between the monolith and the land-barge.

  It was a fascinating bit of engineering and, to Michel’s eyes, went incredibly smoothly. A laborer’s leg was caught in the spoke of the land-barge and had to be removed, but the man was carried off within minutes and the work continued, undistracted.

  While Cressel prepared to move the monolith onto the land-barge, Michel caught sight of Ka-poel up on top of the horizontal monolith. She squatted, fingers tracing shapes on the monolith’s exterior like a child playing in the sand.

  “What’s she doing up there? You up there, get down!” Professor Cressel waved his arms at her, but she ignored him. “Major Cole!” he shouted.

  Major Cole lifted his head from a discussion with his troop, pointing Cressel toward Michel, who glanced at Taniel as the professor stormed toward them. “What is she doing?” Michel asked.

  “Don’t ask me,” Taniel said. “We’ve been together almost eleven years, and I still don’t understand her half the time.”

  “She knows that people have gone mad from being too close to that thing, right?”

  “She knows,” Taniel confirmed.

  Professor Cressel approached, pointing over his shoulder. “Gold Rose, would you be so kind as to remove your companion from the specimen?”

  “Why?” Michel asked. “Is she bothering anything?”

  “It’s quite unsafe! I’ve dismissed all the researchers from the site aside from myself. The move is very dangerous. The fact we haven’t lost anyone yet today is a miracle!”

  Michel leaned over to Taniel. “Does she need to be up there?”

  “Pole!” Taniel said, cupping his hand around his mouth. “Pole!”

  She waved her hand dismissively, and Taniel gave Michel an unapologetic shrug. “She’s working. Nothing but force is going to get her down. You’re welcome to try, but I’m not going to.”

  “Does she know that the entire monolith could shift or slide?” Professor Cressel demanded, tugging at the last wisps of gray hair on his head. “It could take an arm, or a leg, or crush her completely!”

  “She’s aware of the danger,” Michel assured him. “Your men can work around her.”

  Cressel retreated to his dig, fuming silently, and Michel chewed on the inside of his cheek. Every so often he glanced toward Landfall. The smoke from Greenfire Depths had gotten worse, and he hoped that his mother had managed to escape the city by now. His primary concern, however, had shifted to the eastern side of the plateau, where fire and powder smoke rose in alarming amounts from over the bay. The sound of bombardment was near constant, and he could see the pinprick lights of shells bursting high over the ocean. It seemed so distant and unimportant, but it wouldn’t be for long.

  “Major Cole,” Taniel said loudly, “any word from your men on the approaching Dynize?”

  Cole finished speaking to his officers and then crossed to them, a grim look on his face. “There’s four regiments just finished landing about six miles from here. At best we have a few hours until they get here. I’ve sent runners back to Landfall with requests for reinforcements. No idea if we’re going to get them or not. One of my boys from the city just arrived, and he said the fighting there is bad.”

  Michel exchanged an alarmed glance with Taniel. None of that was good news. If the Dynize reached them, they wouldn’t stand a chance. But the news that Cole was actively sending messages to Landfall meant that Michel’s trickery might be discovered.

  “Can this be hurried along?” Michel asked.

  “Cressel assures me he’s hurrying the best he can without risking damage to the obelisk.”

  “Good, good,” Michel said. He started to pace, counting out ten paces, then walking back to Taniel before repeating the route several times. Major Cole watched him do it once, then returned to his officers, barking out orders. Michel stopped his pacing to watch the chain of command as officers passed orders to enlisted men, and the soldiers began to slowly shift to the southeast of the dig site, forming themselves into a protective cordon around the excavation.

  A loud creaking brought Michel’s attention back to the monolith, and he turned just in time to see Ka-poel ride the immense stone off the dirt shelf upon which it rested to slide down thick, flattened timbers and crunch onto the land-barge. The monolith came to a stop, the land-barge and its load settling almost a foot closer to the ground. Michel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in, and Taniel shook his head.

  Ka-poel flashed them both a grin, then returned to studying the side of the monolith.

  Michel approached Professor Cressel, clapping his hands. “Well done, Cressel, well done. Are we ready to move?” He could hear the desperation in his tone and tried to suppress it.

  The professor adjusted his glasses, squinting at an open folder in his hands. “The engineers are checking the axles and securing the load. We should be ready to move out in half an hour.”

  Michel grimaced. “Make it fifteen minutes.”

  “Sir!” Cressel protested.

  Michel waved his finger under Cressel’s nose with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Fifteen minutes, unless you want your eyeballs to wind up as Dynize trophies.”

  “Dynize don’t take eyeballs as trophies.” Cressel snorted.

  “Whatever. Make it quick, Professor, time is running out.”

  A tap on his shoulder brought Michel around to find Taniel standing beside him. Taniel’s attention was no longer on the monolith or the soldiers, and he took an indiscreet snort of powder and pointed north. “You see that?”

  Michel squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Riders coming in. Cole should spot them in a few minutes.”

  “Is it relief from Landfall?”

  “Maybe,” Taniel said. “Maybe not.” He peered into the distance like a big cat warily protecting its kill, then said, “They’re Blackhats.”

  “Shit. We’ve got to go,” Michel said, already heading toward the corral where Cole had stashed their horses. He turned to find Taniel not following him, then ran back and snatched him by a sleeve. “It’s not worth the risk,” he said. “If the Blackhats know that I attacked Fidelis Jes they’ll snatch me the moment they see me, and you and Ka-poel a few seconds after. We’ve got to get out of here while we still can.”

  Taniel suddenly smiled, shaking his head. “We wait.”

  Michel resumed his pacing, doing two quick rounds before returning to Taniel’s side. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Go if you want,” Taniel said. “But Ka-poel and I will stay.”

  Michel swore to himself. Every instinct told him to run. The Blackhats would skin him alive over the course of a very, very long time if he was found here by anyone aware of who he really was. Fidelis Jes might be alive or dead, but it didn’t matter—he would have told someone about Michel’s betrayal, if only his secretary, and they’d be out for Michel’s blood. “Is this it?” he asked.

  Taniel looked at him in surprise. “Is what it?”

  “This godstone? Is this the culmination of all my work? Is this what I toiled for years to discover? Was this my true purpose in joining the Blackhats?”

  Taniel seemed to consider the question for several moments before answering slowly. “This was one of many perceived purposes. It would have been preferable to leave you among them, but yes … the discovery of the godstone was the most important thing we had in mind when we sent you to work for the Blackhats.”

  The revelation gave Michel a sense of peace that he hadn’t expected. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he mentally examined the marble that he’d kept his real self in for so many years before discarding it with an almost giddy laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Taniel asked.

  “Nothing,” Michel said. “I’ll stay.”

  As Taniel predicted, Major Cole’s scouts saw the Blackhats just a few minutes later, and
Michel himself noted the dust cloud a little after that. Like Michel, Taniel, and Ka-poel, the Blackhats didn’t bother with the road, riding instead straight across the farmland directly toward the dig site. By the look of things, there were a damned lot of them, and as they drew closer Michel could see that they were heavily armed.

  His decision to see this whole business with the godstone through to the end seemed less and less like a good one.

  And then it got worse.

  “Major Cole!” one of the guards shouted across the din of laborers preparing the land-barge for moving. “We’ve got a thousand Blackhats coming in, with Fidelis Jes himself! They say he wants a report from you personally!”

  Michel’s mouth tasted of ash. He looked at Taniel.

  “You’re right,” Taniel said with a low whistle. “Time to go. Get Ka-poel, I’ll fetch the horses.”

  Waiting until Major Cole’s attention was elsewhere, Michel made his way over to the side of the land-barge. “Ka-poel!” he hissed, repeating her name three times before she finally looked up from her studies with a frown. She tried to wave him away. “No,” he replied. “Fidelis Jes will be here any moment. We have to go now.”

  Ka-poel gestured rudely at him before smacking her fist against the monolith in frustration, then heading toward the other side. Michel threw himself under the land-barge, crawling on all fours beneath the creaking, weighty axles, sweat pouring down his face by the time he made it to the other side. Ka-poel was already down, and she helped him to his feet and the two ran for Taniel.

  They met him at the corral as he brought out their horses. They were mounted a few moments later, and riding out of the camp when a guard waved them down. “Sir! Major Cole wants to know where you’re going!”

  “We’re heading out to meet the grand master,” Michel threw over his shoulder, not bothering to look back.