The Emperor (NaNoWriMo segment)

Dawn’s angry red fingers crept up the shore, chasing the stars away and giving the laborers of Bellaron enough dim grey light to work by. Emperor Pan stood alone on a beach near the docks, taking in the sights and sounds. None drew near him, as the mysteries surrounding his three hundred year reign wove a web of fear among even the most loyal citizens. Though the details of his history had been deliberately obscured, the world knew that the Emperor fought the war to keep the grand Republic united, deposing the cruel tyrant who’d created the rift between peoples in the first place and surviving no fewer than six assassination attempts by the elves, whose guild had never before met with failure. Legend of his indestructibility, more than his capacity for violence, had protected the Emperor from attack for decades; for all the enemies he had in this city alone, none could marshal the resources necessary to depose him. The workers on the docks had arrived shortly before sunrise, and set to work as soon as they could see well enough, hoping to move as much cargo as possible before the day turned intolerably hot. None even dared to whisper about the Emperor while he stood on the beach for fear his attention would fall upon them, though of course tongues would wag unceasingly later that day. The docks slowly waking up registered in Emperor Pan’s mind, but he’d slipped into a reverie as the ocean waves rolled hypnotically in and out. He remembered his childhood, centuries ago now but recalled with perfect clarity, and standing on the beach of his home city admiring a particularly complex sandcastle he’d labored over for hours. The sting of sunburn and thirst from the salty sea air that day came through clearly as well, and Pan remembered watching the tide come in slowly, inexorably, eventually nibbling away at the grand wall around his sand palace before it fell into ruin and permitted the primordial chaos of the ocean to wash it away. Now, as then, he didn’t feel frustrated, for what else could one expect of sand? No, he knew that sand and sea would always remain this way, and didn’t wish for anything different. Instead, he wished he could forge a palace on the beach made from stone, or glass, something resolute and enduring in the face of time and patient waters. His empire prepared to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the civil war’s conclusion, the date his empire became whole. Tradition and law guided citizenry and comforted them while the Emperor’s legions moved throughout the Republic, quashing conflict wherever it rose. I could not have built this with sand, he thought to himself, letting a handful of grains from the beach slip through his fingers. One must make their own glass I suppose. His idle thoughts manifested as the sand left in his gauntlet fused together, becoming a lump of smooth glass as though struck by lightning. It fell from the Emperor’s gauntleted hand to splash in the sand below, content to sit there even when the tide continued its march upward. His ornate brass and orichalcum gauntlet matched the rest of the full body armor he wore, giving him a fearsome visage as the unusual tines protruding from his pauldrons and the angelic visage on his faceplate seemed at odds. Only his eyes remained exposed to the air, and Pan relished these small windows to the outside world. He didn’t wear the armor by choice, though this secret remained his most closely guarded. As his reflecting slowly ended, Pan silently raised his hand. One figure emerged from the dozen men waiting a hundred paces from the Emperor. His personal guard functioned more as an early warning system and miscellaneous entourage than proper bodyguards, owing to Pan’s own prowess, though the man who now approached at Pan’s signal could be the lone exception. He stood as tall as the Emperor and looked no less imposing for wearing a simple mail hauberk with a handful of plates supplementing his protection. He carried no shield, instead wielding a massive two-handed sword of bronze, two hands wide and seventeen hands long. A brilliant purple power stone rested in the blade near the hilt, and though any wizard worth the name could describe the enchantments necessary to make such a massive blade practical in a human’s hands, this human used the stone’s power for something else entirely. The man finally reached Pan, and dropped to one knee. “At your command, Emperor.” Pan bade him rise. “Saldana, thank you for accompanying me on my morning routine. I know this is unorthodox, but I needed some fresh air. I also wanted to see this part of the city, as it’s been some time.” Saldana shook his head. “You have no need to explain yourself to your humble servant. Is there any way in which I can assist you?” So loyal. “I need an update on the outer provinces. I know the augurs met with you this morning; surely they imparted some news.” Pan noticed Saldana shift uncomfortably, which rarely happened. The news must be catastrophic. “Sunrise has little to report, and trade relations between them and the Seven Kingdoms proceed smoothly. Granoss has noted an uptick in nomadic activity southeast of their city, but spy reports suggest that the nomads are skirmishing with Hisarlik, keeping them from engaging our Republic meaningfully.” “And what’s the bad news?” Pan’s tone remained light, though Saldana’s omission concerned him. Three legions had marched west into Older Sister, the northernmost continent of the Three Sisters, and Saldana hadn’t mentioned them. “Our forces west of Greengate are gone.” Saldana’s voice cracked almost imperceptibly; his old unit had been among them, and the weight of his words fully struck Pan. “Gone? Routed or butchered?” “The savages in that land lured all three legions into a swamp, and ambushed them. A few dozen survived and fled, but they’re the only survivors. So far as we can tell, the camps were sacked afterward, to prevent any sort of retaliation.” Emperor Pan stood stunned for the first time in years. “Three legions? 18,000 men and women? They’re gone!?” His tone rose only slightly, but Saldana knew him well enough to understand how upset the Emperor felt in that moment. “Yes, my Emperor. With your permission I would like to assemble a force to recover what equipment we can and see to rites for the dead.” Saldana waited on his knee, knowing that the Emperor would need a minute to compose himself. He’d been chosen to serve the Emperor and the Republic as the junior consul, Pan’s right hand man, nearly five years ago. Saldana had always possessed a knack for reading people, and had come to understand even the most subtle gestures from the Emperor. “See to it personally, Saldana. This grievous loss must be answered, but until we can marshall the forces necessary to do so I will not have those barbarians thinking they may do as they please with our honored dead and their tools of war. You will be on a skyship by tomorrow at sunset.” Rage built up in the Emperor’s chest, and it took a conscious act of will to avoid clenching his fist and screaming his frustrations to the sky. Hot tears of anger rolled down his cheeks, obscured by the serene brass mask over his face. Saldana had nodded and stood to leave, but the latter waiting until the Emperor had taken more time to exert control over his emotions. It would not do to let the other guards, or gods forbid any of the townsfolk, see him in such a state. Though the Emperor often came to this spot, he didn’t do so on any set schedule, and Saldana couldn’t help but curse the bad timing. Pan took a deep breath and winced at the pain in his ribs he caused by doing so. The ocean always presented a trial for him, and this news had hit him hard. The carefully cultivated city streets lay in specific geomancy to channel prana directly to the Emperor, and felt weaker here by the sea. Saldana moved already, heading out to make preparations for bringing a cohort out to the cursed battlefield that had cost Pan so much. Three legions, that leaves twentyone. How did savages accomplish this? The Emperor walked resolutely back to the detail who would escort him through the city; half had left with Saldana, but the junior consul had a purpose that required haste. The Emperor could never be rushed. Ignoring the stress and panic rising in his mind and shortening his breath, the Emperor walked calmly and slowly back to the palace.
***
The day matched his Emperor’s mood, and Saldana found himself slogging through puddles and small rivers as the skies opened up over the city and sent wind to lash the rain into a frenzy. The whole city knew him by sight and few were willing to test his proficiency with the freakishly large blade slung over his shoulder, but on days like this, few people even noticed him coming and crowds that normally parted cleanly before him slowed him down even more. Turning a corner, Saldana cursed under his breath as he saw the rubble before him, and realized he’d stumbled across the wreckage from a warmachine fight a week ago. For the sixth time, elves sent an assassin after the Emperor, and for the sixth time the Emperor had bested his opponent. This wily elf managed to escape however, savaging a neighborhood and three warmachines during his escape. Repairs moved slowly, traffic in the area mover even slower, and with a weary sigh Saldana took another route to the skyport. Bellaron consisted of seven hills and a large wall built around the whole, even out into most of the harbor. The hilltops housed the most important temples, government buildings, and residences, but the sprawling valley below often grew choked with the sheer number of inhabitants and their desperate attempts to build or squat in structures. It took nearly two hours for Saldana to reach his destination, and he whispered a prayer of thanks as the officer in charge of the military skydocks had seen him coming with ample time to brew a pot of coffee. Lucree had served the Republic for thirty years, and held the distinction of being the most senior officer in the city by age and time served; only her lack of desire to engage in politics kept her at this rank. “To what do I owe the pleasure, consul?” she drawled in her gravelly voice. Saldana smiled and gratefully took the steaming mug she offered him. “I need transport for a cohort, a few weeks out. And I need it by tomorrow.” Lucree scoffed. “Oh, that’s all?” Seeing the look on Saldana’s face, she changed her tone. “It’s about the legions out west, isn’t it?” “Bad news travels fast.” Saldana took a sip of his coffee and paused a second to savor it. Lucree had always served competently, if in an undistinguished way, but Saldana couldn’t think of a better coffee brewer in the city. She may have missed her true calling, he mused. “I can make it happen, don’t worry. Might bump a few other requests, but for you Slabs, I’ll get right on it.” Lucree had poured herself a mug and sat down opposite Saldana. “After I conclude my duties as host, of course.” “I miss that.” Saldana muttered. As he sipped more coffee, he noticed Lucree’s puzzled look. “The nickname. Only soldiers call me Slabs. I’ve been wearing nice togas for too long, and not nearly enough armor.” “I figured you’d be going with the cohort. Not that I envy your duty, but you’re cooped up, consul. I’ve known a lot of people like you, and I can see when the city’s starting to dull your eyes a bit. Get out of here for a few weeks, and maybe that toga won’t feel so uncomfortable.” “The Emperor did tell me to see to it personally. I’m sure that’s what he meant, so yes, please prepare a vessel with a small suite for me if one’s available. Nothing ostentatious, though. Whatever the minimum is to meet propriety.” Lucree laughed. “You’re leaving propriety up to me, consul? I’ll do my best. I’ve got some grappa I can include, though for that, you’ll owe me. I am curious though, why do you need to oversee funerary preparations? Most of the towns and barbarian cities in the west couldn’t muster the forces to ambush a cohort if you’re doing a quick in-and-out.” Saldana shook his head. “I don’t know, Luc. Between you and me, this loss hit the Republic harder than just about anyone wants to admit. Maybe he’s sending me so I can feel like I’m doing something about it. You’re not the first one to notice I’ve been antsy.” Lucree nodded. “Sure. Your old unit is among the dead though, right? I know how tough that is, Slabs. Nice of the Emperor to give you a chance for closure.” “He’s got a lot on his shoulders, but Emperor Pan really understands people. I won’t be much use to him if I can’t clear my head.” She doesn’t need to know how shaken the Emperor himself was, he thought. The two made small talk as they finished their coffee, and Lucree excused herself to begin preparing a suitable vessel. Skyships had difficulty flying in wild areas, as the prana flows weren’t directed and varied wildly. Special ships could navigate even the wildest areas, but of course were rare and rather expensive. Having set things in motion, Saldana left the skydocks after arranging to have dinner with Lucree, and headed toward the barracks of the Praetorians. The only military forces allowed in the city, Praetorian guards served as bodyguards for the consuls and senate, as well as city defenders in the extremely rare event of a siege. A young lieutenant on duty stood up from his desk and rendered a crisp salute as Saldana entered. “Ready to serve, consul. How may I assist you?” “The Seventh Praetorian Cohort will be accompanying me on a mission to the west, and we leave tomorrow. Alert the Seventh’s commanders, and inform them that they must be ready to move out by noon.” It would take a few hours to collect the soldiers of the Seventh, and they’d need replacements for guard duty. Saldana often felt that there were too many officers in any given unit, but when it came to the tremendous hurdles of bureaucracy, they could be invaluable. “Of course, consul.” The eager lieutenant called for another soldier to replace him and ran off into the barracks. Saldana wrote out his orders on a scroll to leave at the desk and stamped it with his personal seal before leaving to find the temple, confident in the abilities of his often sycophantic officers. It would be a short mission, normally too short for a soldier tired of the garrison, but Saldana had no illusions about the trial before him. Coming to terms with the death of so many men and women he had served with would take time, and though he wasn’t there to help them himself, Saldana felt that seeing them into the next life would be something. One man couldn’t have turned that kind of tide, he tried reasoning, but the feeling persisted. Never before had he doubted the Emperor’s decisions or his destiny, but this trial stirred doubts within him. His devotion to the Emperor had earned him supernatural gifts, such as the strength necessary to wield his incredible sword, but what good did her serve amidst the petty bickering and politicking the Emperor tolerated at the capital? His fellow soldiers called him Slabs because of his blade, which functioned more like a slab of raw bronze being whipped around than any edged weapon. Saldana terrorized the Republic’s opponents and inspired his fellow troops, neither of which did a damned bit of good in Bellaron. It lay well beyond his mandate, but his prowess and the training of one cohort would surely permit some punitive raids. The barbarians of the west had to answer for their behavior, or at least know that they couldn’t butcher Republic legionnaires with impunity. He barely registered entering the temple, so consumed with his thoughts, but Saldana snapped out of his daydreaming to see a statue of the Republic goddess of war, Tuzont, before him. The soldiers’ temple had seven small alcoves for six of the most popular gods and goddesses to stand alongside the Emperor, and Saldana took it as a sign that he should appear before this specific shrine. He pressed a coin into the palm of a nearby acolyte and lit some incense, waiting for the boy to bring him a small sacrifice worthy of the goddess. Plans fell into place as Saldana thought more and more about the Emperor’s mandate and the barbarians in the west, and the anguish threatening to choke him subsided ever so slightly as he resolved not just to care for the dead, but to avenge them.