The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire

by Collings, Michaelbrent

  "Why would anyone do that?" asked Rune. "The guy already owns everything."

  Brother Scieran shrugged. "There are people who always want more. And whether or not the Emperor is himself one of these people, I suspect that the Chancellor surely is."

  "So they take Fear, where the slums are, and neutralize an uprising from the poorest classes. They take Faith and try to neutralize the Church –" began Arrow.

  "And the forces of the Order of Chain in particular," added Sister Prasa.

  Arrow nodded. "And they move into Center at the same time to consolidate power there. Maybe move a few into Knowledge to control the Academics – but they probably won't need much to do that, since those people don't have much of a reputation for fighting." He looked at Brother Scieran. "There's definitely some kind of a power shift in the offing."

  "What about the other half?" asked Sword. "The half of the Army units that aren't moving toward the skybridges?"

  Brother Scieran frowned. "We don't understand that. They seem to be clustering at a point on the outer ridge of Strength." He shrugged. "But there is no one to fight there. It's one of the largest bases in the Empire, a base known as the Acropolis where huge numbers of troops are garrisoned, with the surrounding area fiercely loyal to the Empire and the Emperor."

  "Could it be that the Chancellor is going to kill the Emperor and take his place, then have the Army destroy that area since the people are so loyal to the Emperor?" said Arrow.

  "Perhaps," said Brother Scieran. "But doubtful. Whatever the Chancellor does to shift power – if that is, indeed, what is happening – the power shift will have to be under the aegis of Imperial Law, at least in basic appearance." He sighed. "And then there's the other thing."

  "Another other thing?" Rune glared at him. She shimmered. "Gods' teeth, none of this makes sense."

  "No, it doesn't." Brother Scieran agreed. Then, to the Cursed Ones who didn't have foresight, he explained, "The units gathering at the outer edge of the mountain of Strength have some odd armored units. They look somewhat like enormous auto-cars, but they are armored to a far greater degree, and they have guns built into them."

  "They call them tanks," said Sister Prasa.

  "Just so," said Brother Scieran. "The guns are apparently much larger than anything we've ever seen, and the bullets – which are also huge – are enchanted by both Pushes and Shocks so they explode on impact."

  "So they're going to use them to consolidate power." Arrow shrugged. "Or that's what they should be doing."

  "Agreed," said Brother Scieran. "But every single one of the tanks is at the outskirts of the mountain. At the edge. At… the…." He grew pale.

  "What is it?" asked Arrow.

  Rune shimmered, but before she could reappear, Sword knew. "Those tank things aren't going across the mountain," she said, "they're going down."

  "That's insane," said Arrow. "That's the one thing they can't do."

  "But it makes sense," said Sister Prasa. "The Ears have told us the tanks have metallic wheels and tracks that enable them to move overland – but still someone went to the enormous cost and effort to make them fly." She looked around. "They'll float down the side of the mountain."

  "But why?" asked Rune. She didn't bother shimmering in and out of the future, apparently content to wait for the answer.

  "Again, we don't know." Brother Scieran clenched a fist. "We don't know too much." Then he looked up, and his gaze was directed straight at Sword. "But we know this: we have to move, and we have to move fast. Massive changes are coming, and if we don't move, we're going to find ourselves – along with every other person who has dared stand against the Empire – driven to extinction."

  "Then what can we do?" asked Arrow.

  "We've spoken of this," said Sister Prasa. "Best case scenario was that you, Arrow, found information that could lead us to a live, alternate heir to install on the throne. Then we could depose the Emperor and his Chancellor, install the new Empress, and try to reshape things from there."

  "Worst case scenario?" said Rune. "Since that's what we're working from here?"

  "We broaden our attack. Take out the remaining Ministers – the Minister of the Interior and Minister of Secrets – in rapid succession. Then kill the Chancellor and bend the Emperor to our will," said Brother Scieran.

  "Oh, is that all?" asked Rune. "I thought it would be something hard."

  "Not hard. Just a bit impossible," said Brother Scieran. "But there's also a chance we can find out where the alternate archives are. And if we can do that, perhaps the original of this," he said, gesturing at the scroll Arrow still held, "is there. Perhaps it is unaltered, and we can determine an heir with it."

  "One more thing if there are originals somewhere else," said Sword. "If the Emperor – the Chancellor – has the originals, then he can alter them." She looked around the room. "There's nothing to check them against. He can change finances, alter landholdings, give and retract titles. He can be more powerful than any Emperor in history, because he would have absolute control of the definition of what the Emperor holds." She folded her arms. "To the nobles and the people in control, what you have is what you are. And the Chancellor will have everything."

  Sister Prasa drew the sign of Faith across shoulders and forehead. Brother Scieran nodded. "We have no time to wait for best cases, it seems," he said. "We're going to have to go with our worst-case plan." He looked at them. "I'll discuss this with the Council, but I would like to know how you all think we should proceed."

  "We have to stop the outer armies," said Sister Prasa. "The one law that has remained unalterable in living memory is this: do not descend below the clouds. And if the Chancellor intends to do that, he could wreak destruction on us all."

  "Or he could just kill of a bunch of the Army for us and leave us with that many fewer of his thugs to worry about," said Rune. "Anyone who goes down the mountain dies, but there's never been any kind of reprisal from… from whatever's down there." Sword was surprised how serious – almost awed – Rune sounded when she spoke. The normally carefree-sounding girl now could have passed for one of the Acolytes of the Mind. And it wasn't the thought of the army dying that brought the near-reverence to her voice: Sword knew it was the idea of so many people braving what the Acolytes thought to be the realm of the Gods themselves.

  "No matter what, a river of change is about to sweep through the Empire. And we cannot afford to sit back and wait for it to simply carry us along with it," said Brother Scieran.

  He looked at Arrow. "What do you counsel?" he asked.

  Arrow frowned. "If change is afoot, then now is as good a time as any to change things in our favor." He looked at Sister Prasa, then at Brother Scieran. "I say we kill the Minister of the Interior. He's over the Army, and that will both send the Army into disarray – stopping them from whatever they're doing on the side of the mountain as well as impeding their movement into the other States – and give us an opportunity to draw the Chancellor out into the open to kill him."

  Sister Prasa frowned. "And what about the Emperor?"

  Arrow shrugged. "Sounds like he's already dead, to me. The Chancellor is going to move on him. We'll try to turn him. If we can't turn him, we'll try to replace him with an alternate heir." He looked hard at Sword. "If we can't replace him with with a legitimate heir…." He shrugged. "We improvise."

  Brother Scieran said, "That's as good as anything I can think of."

  The priest's gaze came to Sword. She shook her head. "I don't think the idea of putting any hopes on me as being a part of the royal family is a good one. At all. But the rest…." She spread her arms wide. "I have nothing better."

  Brother Scieran nodded. "Very well. I shall call the Council." He and Sister Prasa moved toward the door. "Will you continue looking at the scroll, Arrow?"

  "I've already looked at it so hard my eyes feel like coals in my skull… but sure, why not?" He put the scope-glasses back on and bent over the scroll, moving one of the three glo-globes on the desk
a bit closer for more light. Rune leaned over the scroll as well, shimmering once and pointing him to a different part of the page.

  Sword remained for a moment, a strange feeling coming over her – wanting to stay with Arrow even though there was little she could do here.

  Instead, she turned and ran out of the room. She caught up to Brother Scieran and Sister Prasa, who turned when they heard her footsteps echoing off the stone floor.

  "What is it?" asked Brother Scieran.

  "Can I – can I talk to you?"

  "Are you all right?"

  "Aside from having the possibility of an Empire thrown on me even though I know – I absolutely know – that's the wrong thing to do?" she shrugged. "Not really."

  Brother Scieran turned to Sister Prasa. "Go on ahead. Get started with the Council. I'll be along as soon as I can."

  She nodded. Then, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Brother Scieran glowed red. So did Sword, though she wasn't sure why.

  Jealousy?

  "I, uh… I thought you weren't allowed," she finally managed.

  "We're not." Brother Scieran watched Sister Prasa leave. "But my Order allows you to leave the fold, without judgment or retribution of any kind. Often has Prasa made it known that she would like to do so. With me." He sighed. "And often have I wished to say yes."

  "Why don't you?"

  "Because here I am a High Priest and a leader in the Order of Chain. I can help move the Empire, and until things have settled in a better direction, that is what I must do. And hope that there is time after. Time for a better tomorrow – for all of us." He drew his eyes away from Sister Prasa. Looked back at Sword. "But we're not here to talk about me. What troubles you?"

  "What's –" She hesitated. There were so many things to ask – why he was so sure she belonged on the throne, what she could do to help get ready, a million others. But the only one she could think of: "What is Second Gift?"

  "You're asking because of what happened at the Archive, aren't you?" asked Brother Scieran quietly.

  She nodded. "I didn't know if you saw that."

  "Saw a sword of flame burst from a broken hilt? Saw you fight off an invincible man?" He snorted. "Hard to miss, that."

  "What was it? It wasn't my Gift." She spread her hands. "Or it was a different part of it."

  Brother Scieran stood, still and silent, for a long moment. "One in a thousand people is a Gift. One in a thousand of them is Blessed – or Cursed. And of them, some are born with Second Gift. It is often an extension of their Gift, though more powerful. For instance, Rune –"

  "She has Second Gift?" asked Sword. "I thought she could only see forward a few seconds."

  Brother Scieran pursed his lips in an almost-chuckle. "Think about what she does. You'll see it if you try."

  Sword did. Thinking back about the shimmering girl, thinking about how she seemed to know what was coming, to be able to adjust for it. And suddenly felt like hitting herself on the forehead. "She doesn't just see a few seconds into the future. She can travel back a few seconds into the past. To redo six seconds she's already lived once, and fix mistakes that are made." She frowned. "But how is that even possible?"

  Brother Scieran spread his arms wide – a gesture that took in not just the two of them, but the Cathedral, the mountain of Faith, the entire world. "How is any of this possible, Sword? Some things were not meant to be understood, only used and, hopefully, enjoyed as that use added to our enlightenment."

  "Anyone else? Anyone else have Second Gift?"

  "One of us. But he does not want to ever use it. Nor can I blame him."

  "Who?"

  Brother Scieran ignored the question. He looked at her. "The question here is: what is yours? Some people know intrinsically what their Second Gift is: they know the instant they discover their First Gift. Others – like you, I gather – have to discover their Second Gift."

  "Is it just to create a flaming sword?" she asked.

  Brother Scieran shook his head. "I don't know. Is it?"

  Sword hadn't replaced her broken katana, but nor had she been able to bring herself to go without at least the appearance of arms. She pulled the broken blade from the scabbard, looking at the six inches of steel that remained, willing them to grow, to brighten, to flare into flame.

  For a moment, a single instant, it seemed as though a spark rippled along the edge.

  Then it died.

  Sword and Brother Scieran watched the steel for a time, both absolutely still in the silent hall.

  She sheathed the katana – what was left of it – and felt like she was saying goodbye to a wounded friend.

  Then footsteps sounded. Running. The echoes of nearly panicked steps coming their way.

  Sister Prasa turned the corner. She saw them.

  "The Cathedral!" she shouted. "It's –"

  And then the first explosion hit.

  27

  Wind was out of candy. And that was sad, she supposed. But there were worse things.

  And as always, that thought brought the visions. The memories. Sights she sought to hide from every day, things she wished she could unsee, but knew she never could.

  A village burning.

  A father, throwing her and her brother from the flames of their home. He was screaming. She couldn't hear it, of course – she was born deaf – but there was no mistaking the look on his face, the circle of his mouth that looked like it was trying to tear his face apart. Screaming, screaming as he burned and yet still rushed deeper into the house, searching for her mother and two younger brothers.

  No one else came out. She and Wind – though they had been called by other names then – were the only ones to escape.

  She never knew why her village was destroyed. Never understood why everyone who survived was rounded up, and the adults skewered on long spears jabbed into the dirt, while the children who still lived were chained together and led away sobbing.

  She also never understood why she watched. Cloud tried to pull her away, to yank her out from behind the log, to run with her into the forest. She wouldn't go. She had to stay. Had to see. Had to bear witness. She would never speak what she saw, but some things had to be remembered, if not passed on.

  She did understand that the people who did it were soldiers. That they were dressed in the Emperor's red and black. That they came bearing papers that let them into the village with open arms. And as soon as they were embraced, they destroyed.

  She didn't hear any of the destruction. Didn't hear her father's screams. Didn't hear the shrieks of the people killed in the aftermath. But it was all so loud in her mind. And all the louder because she had nothing else to compare it to. Born deaf, the only sounds she heard were the ones she created inside her, and they were all of fear, of terror, of woe.

  She and Cloud waited behind that log for three days. Not knowing if the soldiers were still in the area, or if they would return.

  When they finally came out, they had barely enough strength to make it to a nearby stream. They drank, and Wind felt like she had, indeed, died. The water revived her body, but the fact that she had lived when so many others died simply made her feel guilty.

  She should have done something. Should have saved her father, her mother, her brothers.

  She drifted through the land with Cloud, and neither spoke. She because she could not, he because he would not. It was as though he had joined her in her deafness – only where she had been born with hers, his had come upon him in that day of blood and flame.

  They straggled along to a place where there was a white building. It had the sign of Faith on its roof, made of black wood that looked like it had been struck by lightning.

  They went to it. Not because they felt they should, but because they were hungry. They both wanted to die, she understood that, but they were also still alive on some deep level… a level that would not allow them to simply give up. There was a place that demanded they live. They fight.

  They seek revenge.


  The door to the white building opened and a smiling man in a priest's robe let them in. He spoke to them, and Cloud nodded. Wind understood how to read lips, but she wasn't looking at what he said. She was tired, and the screams of recent memory were too loud for her to hear the soundless words of the man before her. She just followed Cloud as they were led to a table. As they were fed. Then taken to a bed.

  They slept.

  They woke.

  They ate again.

  Slept, woke, ate, slept, woke, ate.

  At one point the man came to her and said, Do you seek sanctuary? There are men here looking for you, and I need to know if I can stop them.

  She didn't understand the words he mouthed. She just nodded and went back to sleep.

  Woke, ate. Slept again.

  She wasn't sure how long it continued. Forever, it seeemed. But it couldn't have been forever, because she still fit her clothes when she finally ventured outside again.

  The man in the priest's outfit was in the back of the small building. He was working in a garden, hoeing between rows of berries. Cloud was beside him, running hands absently through the thick brown soil.

  Welcome, said the man. This is the Small Cathedral. He smiled. Not a very creative name, but it serves. He held out a small trowel. Would you help with the weeds?

  She did. Not because she wanted to, but for the same reason she had said yes when he asked if she wanted "sanctuary": it simply seemed the thing to do, there and then.

  The day passed in the garden.

  Wind and Cloud stayed with him for weeks. Then Wind ran away. She didn't tell her brother she was going. She just left. She found her way back to the village.

  It was still rubble. The dead were dessicated creatures, broken puppets on shattered sticks.

  She went to the remains of her home. Picked through it and tried to ignore the things that looked like bones. Tried to convince herself they were merely parts of the thatching.

  She failed.

  Eventually she found what she looked for. A chest. It was a big thing, wood planks bound together by thick ribs of iron. The wood was singed and black, but the iron – including the lock – still held.