The Guns of Empire

by Django Wexler

  The Borels are not unified, she thought. And Dorsay and Orlanko are on opposite sides. Interesting. The question was, who else was in Orlanko’s faction? If we can play them off one another at the conference table—

  “His Lordship,” the butler boomed, “Count Janus bet Vhalnich Mieran, First Consul of the Kingdom of Vordan!”

  —

  The room went quiet as the main doors opened. Slowly, without wanting to seem like they were interested, the assembled dignitaries crowded around.

  Janus wore a new dress uniform, less ornate than he’d worn as Minister of Justice, though his shoulders carried laurels wrought in gold to match the leafy crowns of the ancient consuls. Six soldiers accompanied him, all wearing silver pins in the shape of a rearing scorpion. Over the winter Janus had reorganized the army and created new badges and insignia; the scorpion marked veterans of the Khandarai campaign. His most loyal soldiers, presumably. Raesinia felt suddenly cold.

  The First Consul waved as he entered, raising a hand as all three foreign delegations pressed forward. Count Dzurk shouldered his way to the front of the Murnskai and stared at Janus in open fascination, while the Hamveltai delegation was a roil of shoving and elbows. Dorsay stayed by Raesinia’s side, pushing through the crowd in a more dignified fashion.

  Raesinia tried to see Janus the way the others saw him, these foreigners who knew him only by reputation. Tall, passably handsome in a cold way, but with huge gray eyes that seemed to shine with their own inner light. He had a way of looking at a crowd so that each man felt his gaze, as though the two of them were face-to-face. And when you were face-to-face with him, the power of his intelligence was like the heat of an oven, threatening to burn anything that strayed too close.

  He looks like a king.

  “My lords,” Janus said, in a high, ringing voice. “My sincere apologies for being late. Armies are needy beasts, I’m afraid.”

  There was a ripple of uncertain laughter. Janus smiled, just for a moment.

  “I have kept you waiting, and so I will get straight to the point,” he went on. “Tomorrow morning we will begin what promises to be a great deal of tedious back-and-forth over how we might achieve peace. I thought I might be able to improve the process by laying our cards on the table, as it were. These are Vordan’s terms.”

  What is he doing? Negotiators in the Ministry of State had spent weeks on their strategy, and this had been no part of it. Should I stop him? But that would show division in front of the other leaders, and if Janus chose that moment to stage a confrontation . . .

  He knows I won’t. His gaze lit on her, just for a moment. Of course he knows. I don’t dare interfere, because I don’t dare force a showdown, not in public.

  But why?

  “There is one power not represented in this room,” Janus said, “who are nevertheless at the heart of this war. It is they who began it, inserting their agents into the Vordanai court to take advantage of the illness of the late king. When that failed, it was they who pushed the other powers to make war on Vordan, to interfere in a purely internal political matter.

  “I speak, of course, of the Sworn Church of Elysium. They are the true enemy of Vordan in this struggle. And until Vordan is convinced they are willing to make peace, we dare not put away our swords.

  “So our terms are these. The leaders of the Sworn Church must swear to never again interfere in matters of state in Vordan, or in any other country where they are not welcome. To guarantee their good behavior, a Vordanai army will be permitted to occupy the fortress of Elysium, at the Church’s expense. In return, the Vordanai state will agree to a cessation of hostilities, with all captured territories to be returned to status quo ante.”

  Raesinia had thought the room quiet before. Now it was dead silent, as though everyone present was holding their breath. She herself was too stunned to speak. What the hell does he think he’s doing?

  “We will accept nothing less,” Janus went on. “Indeed, we cannot. The Church will pick up new puppets no matter how many we smash to pieces. If we are ever to have peace, this is the only way. I urge you—”

  There was a commotion among the Murnskai delegation. Prince Dzurk, medals jingling, pushed clear of his companions and strode across the empty space between him and Janus. The Colonials closed ranks in front of their leader, polite but firm, and the prince was left staring at Janus across a wall of blue uniforms.

  “You arrogant blykaak,” Dzurk said, accent thickening further in his rage. “You dare insult Father Church like this? No southern army will ever come within sight of the walls of Elysium. I invite you to try. You will all find your graves in the empire, and I will piss on them!”

  “If necessary, I will take you up on that invitation,” Janus said mildly. “But I’d prefer not to have to.”

  “Just because you defeated a pack of fat old bankers, you think you are invincible.” Dzurk’s hand went to his belt, searching for the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there. “The warriors of Holy Murnsk will be pleased to show you the error of your ways.”

  Janus gave a little shrug and one of his brief smiles. Dzurk snorted and spat at the feet of the nearest Colonial, then turned and stalked away.

  Suddenly everyone was shouting. In the pandemonium, Raesinia grabbed Duke Dorsay’s arm. When he turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised, she mouthed, Later.

  Dorsay nodded.

  —

  “Is the man mad?” Dorsay said.

  The best suite in the hotel had been reserved for Raesinia, but in Talbonn that didn’t amount to much. Everything was ornate, oversized, and covered in gilt, a commoner’s idea of luxury. A few obvious repairs couldn’t disguise the generally threadbare state of the place, with flaking paint and patchy carpets. Raesinia sat at a wrought-iron table covered in gold leaf, made to look like a blooming flower. She glanced down, not wanting to meet Dorsay’s eyes, and picked idly at a bit of gold where it was peeling.

  Sothe stood by the door. All the other servants had been dismissed for the evening, and to Raesinia’s surprise Dorsay had come alone.

  “I don’t believe the First Consul is insane, no,” Raesinia said carefully.

  “Then does what he said represent the position of the Vordanai government? Does he speak for Vordan?”

  There was a long silence. A piece of the gold leaf tore free.

  “The First Consul is our highest authority on . . . military matters,” Raesinia said carefully. “In that sphere, he has my full confidence.”

  Dorsay sat back in his chair, eyes hooded.

  “I thought the prince’s performance felt a little forced,” Raesinia offered.

  The Borelgai shrugged. “Prince Dzurk may be a boor, but perhaps not quite as big of a fool as he seems. I think he finds the appearance of boorishness convenient.”

  “I didn’t think he was such a religious type.”

  “I suspect it is more about pride. With the Murnskai, it is always about pride. They believe the south has looked down on them since the days of the Tyrants.” Dorsay shook his head. “They will never agree to these terms. Even if the emperor wanted to, his people would rise against him when they found out. Dzurk may not be a religious man, but the commoners of Murnsk worship with a fervor you southerners find hard to understand.”

  “And the Borelgai?” Raesinia said.

  “Borel is . . . more complex. We’ve always been a mix of north and south. Old and new, Mithradacii and Vanadii. Church and commerce.” Dorsay sighed and ran a hand over his bald pate. “I’ve always been a soldier, Your Majesty. Matters of state make me uncomfortable.”

  “Your king sent you here to negotiate.”

  “He did, the rat.” Dorsay grinned. “There are factions at court that would be pleased to see the war end. War is bad for business. Georg is inclined to agree with them—”

  Raesinia opened her mouth, and Dorsay held u
p a warning finger.

  “—but he is afraid. He will not lay aside the sword while he is afraid.”

  “Afraid of Vordan?” Raesinia shifted uneasily. “What guarantees does he want from us?”

  “Not of Vordan, exactly.” Dorsay leaned forward. “He is afraid of Janus bet Vhalnich.”

  Another silence.

  “The First Consul saved the throne from traitors,” Raesinia said. “Saved me personally. The people love him.”

  “And his prowess on the battlefield is legendary. All this is what makes him a threat. Having a man like that at the head of your government is like carrying a naked sword. You cannot expect peace negotiations to begin until you sheathe your weapon.”

  “It would be a poor reward for his service, to cast him aside.”

  “A comfortable retirement. Heap titles and honors on him, if you like.” Dorsay chuckled. “Send him to me, and I’ll preach the virtues of a quiet life keeping bees and breeding dogs.”

  “What about Orlanko? He seems to have some influence.”

  “Ah.” Dorsay’s smile faded. “He has made friends among the faction that wishes to see the war go on. But Georg has indicated to me that his patience for our ex-duke is growing thin. If talks were to begin in earnest, the court might view his request for continued protection from Vordanai justice . . . unfavorably.”

  He’s offering me Orlanko. The Last Duke on a platter. A bribe, of sorts. She wondered how much the King of Borel knew and how much he merely suspected.

  Raesinia was surprised to find that she was tempted. She didn’t think of herself as a vengeful person, but having Orlanko in her power was more attractive than she’d expected. It doesn’t have to be simply about vengeance, she rationalized. Think of all the answers he could give us. Right now, in Vordan City, Concordat agents who had committed unspeakable crimes on Orlanko’s orders walked free. He could give us justice.

  And, in exchange, they wanted her to sideline Janus. An honorable retirement.

  I owe him a great deal. But . . . She put that thought aside. More important is whether he would accept it. If I dismiss him and he refuses, then what? Who will the army follow? The people? She was uncomfortably sure she knew the answer to both questions. Besides, if I lay aside my sword, I’ll lose whatever leverage I might have.

  “Do you know why Prince Dzurk was so rude to you?” Dorsay said, breaking into her thoughts.

  “I assumed he was unfamiliar with the etiquette of the south,” Raesinia said, the diplomatic answer coming almost automatically.

  “Because he’s an insufferable prick, you mean?” Dorsay smiled. “It’s not that. At least, it’s not only that, because of course he is an insufferable prick. But he’s capable of covering it up when he wants to. No, it was a test. Dzurk—and his father—want to know the same thing everybody else does.”

  Raesinia frowned. I’m getting sick of these leading questions. “And what would that be?”

  “Where the true power in Vordan lies. Is it with you? Or the much-decorated First Consul? No one is certain, and it has us all on edge. It’s hard to negotiate when you don’t know who you should be sucking up to. Dzurk apparently thought a few insults might provoke a response that would clarify matters.”

  Raesinia caught his eyes, the question there.

  “I rule Vordan,” she said. “With the cooperation of the people, via the Deputies-General.”

  “Ah, yes. We cannot forget your famous parliament. I hear they’ve nearly finished picking colors for the drapes in their meeting room.”

  Raesinia winced, though the jibe was not exactly unjust. The Deputies-General was so contentious that almost any action took ages to accomplish. Since Janus had banished the Directory, the deputies had been engaged in a furious debate over the finer intellectual points of the still-theoretical constitution, happy to leave the conduct of the war to their new First Consul.

  “The First Consul serves at the pleasure of the monarch and the Deputies-General,” Dorsay said. “Or so we are told. Did he bother to inform you before he made his little speech today?”

  There was no safe way to answer that. Raesinia smoothed her face into a bland smile. “Thank you for your visit. It’s been very informative.”

  Dorsay knew dismissal when he heard it. He pushed his chair back and bowed.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I hope we have the opportunity for further discussion.”

  Sothe opened the door, then closed it behind the Borelgai. When he was gone, Raesinia leaned back in her chair.

  “Well?” she said.

  “I believe he’s being truthful, as far as it goes,” Sothe said. “Dorsay is famous for his fair dealing, and the king presumably chose him with that in mind. More important, it makes sense. Janus is brilliant, popular, and ambitious. Dangerous. A young queen and a paralyzed Deputies-General are much to be preferred, from Borel’s point of view.”

  “Set Janus aside,” Raesinia said, “in exchange for peace.”

  “In exchange for the possibility of peace,” Sothe said. “His Grace was careful to promise nothing, you’ll note.”

  “Except for Orlanko.”

  Sothe shrugged. “Orlanko is an embarrassment. Returning him to us kills two birds with one stone if it buys them anything at the negotiating table.”

  “Would you want him as our prisoner?”

  “I think he should receive justice,” Sothe said evenly. If she had personal feelings on the matter, she kept them to herself, as always.

  “What about Janus? Any thoughts on what he’s doing?”

  Sothe frowned. “I’m not certain. We need more information.”

  “Then we’d better get it.”

  —

  To Raesinia’s intense irritation, it was after midnight before Janus was ready to speak with her. While she waited in her rooms, a steady stream of diplomats and courtiers from all three delegations trooped in and out of his suite. She couldn’t simply push her way in without foreigners noting the discord. Assuming the guards would let me. And let’s not have that confrontation before we need to . . .

  When the knock at the door finally came, Raesinia stood up and smoothed her dress while Sothe answered it. To her surprise, the messenger was not some ranker, but Marcus d’Ivoire, now wearing both the Colonial scorpion and two stars above the silver eagle on his shoulder. He bowed low.

  “Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Marcus,” she said. He flinched at the informal tone, and Raesinia sighed inwardly.

  It had been only a few months since the brief, mad stretch of time they’d spent together, between the attempt on her life and the fall of Maurisk, but it felt like years. Raesinia had thought they’d shared . . . something, a closeness as comrades in an impossible situation. He was one of the only people who knew the secret of the demon bound inside her, and she thought she’d earned his respect. She’d even imagined—

  Never mind what I imagined. As soon as Janus had returned, Marcus had gone back to his side with evident relief, leaving Raesinia to face the endless, stultifying formal rituals of the court. In the few times they’d seen each other since then, he’d been scrupulously polite, but the discomfort he felt in her presence was obvious.

  “The First Consul is ready to see you,” he said. “He sends his apologies for the delay. It’s been a busy day.”

  “I can imagine,” Raesinia said sourly. “Have you heard what he told the conference?”

  “In general terms.”

  “I don’t suppose he’s let you in on what he’s thinking?”

  “You know Janus, Your Majesty. He doesn’t tell anyone anything if he can help it.”

  “He’s too in love with drama for his own good,” Raesinia muttered, sweeping past Marcus and into the hall.

  He shut the door and led her to the other side of the building. The hotel was mostly quiet. Voices d
rifted up from below, where a certain amount of convivial drinking and celebration was no doubt occupying the more junior members of the delegations, international tensions or no. The soldiers, especially, were unlikely to let a war get between them and liquor, especially when the Crown was buying. But up here on the third floor, the lamps were low and only the occasional hotel servant was visible, bowing respectfully as soon as Raesinia came into sight.

  “You’re well, I trust?” she said eventually.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. We’ve made a lot of progress these past few months.”

  She pointed to the new insignia on his shoulder. “What do the stars mean?”

  “Janus has created new ranks, to give the army better structure. Two stars is for column-general.”

  “That sounds high.”

  “It’s the highest in the army,” Marcus said, blushing a little. “Aside from the First Consul himself, of course.”

  “I see. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He looked sideways at her and smiled a little. “It’s a relief to be back with the army, in the job I was trained for.”

  Raesinia’s face was a frozen mask, but she tried to keep her voice pleasant. “I’m sure you’re doing wonderfully.”

  She must not have succeeded, because Marcus looked away again and swallowed. A moment later they reached Janus’ door, guarded by a pair of Colonials. They saluted Marcus, bowed to Raesinia, and stepped aside, and Raesinia went in without a backward glance. Forget about Marcus. I have bigger problems.

  The suite was much like hers, but Janus had pushed the ornate furniture into the corners and set up a folding table, on which he’d spread a large map. Untidy stacks of flimsy paper surrounded it. Some of them bore long strings of circles and dashes, which she recognized as the code the flik-flik operators used to transmit messages with their lanterns and mirrors. It always felt strange to receive his reports of what was happening in Vordan City, weeks away by carriage. Now, looking at the pages full of incomprehensible cipher, Raesinia wondered how much of what the First Consul learned he was passing along.