Everything Breaks

  — Gobert —

  "Help me move him!" Gobert kicked the dead guard's body to the side and tried to heave the Tyrant's body over his shoulder, but he was pinned firmly to the parapet. "Fool! Why don't you ever listen to me?" The Tyrant's eyes fluttered. For a second, Gobert thought there was hope if he could get him to a healer. Then he remembered: their healers were useless.

  He looked along the Princes' Wall. Ormaz, Olson, Mateza, and three other ministers were dead. A third of the guard detail was dead or dying. They had competed. They had fought. They had enjoyed some successes, too, even if the Tyrant enjoyed the fruits of those himself without regard for his hard-working ministers' contributions. Now their age had ended. They had no proper heirs. There wasn't even time to mourn, because the few survivors were all about to die.

  Too late! Everything learned too late to do anyone any good at all! Gobert's eyes traced the direction of the stubby arrows in reverse to Citadel's second-tallest tower, where the expected watchmen were missing. It was a far distance, improbably so, but maybe not impossible for disciples.

  "We have to get you out of here, Minister!" Gauntleted hands grabbed Gobert by the shoulders, forced him onto his feet, and hurried him away, sandwiched between large armored bodies. They practically threw him down the nearest steps, and he was only saved from a broken neck by colliding with the man in front of him. They reached the ground floor and broke into a run until they were safely under the inner gate of the Citadel. Four guards, Gobert, and two message boys. They were the only survivors.

  A sound reached Gobert from the ground, like a heavy footstep at first, a giant's tread upon the ground. Here and there, he heard a sharp report.

  He shouted at the guards. "We can't stay here! Get everyone off the walls. I don't care where they go. Get them off the Citadel walls! You, boy! Run to the east battlements and tell them the same!"

  Gobert crossed through the gate into the eastern city, his one remaining guard covering his back. The walls were talking like sea ice in the north, a conversational grind in several octaves, hard consonants and explosive snaps. Men were standing up and looking around, searching for a source of the commotion. He called to them as he marched along the central avenue, pulling them away from the doomed stacks of dressed stone. He looked back, to take one last look at them, the great work of his ancestors.

  The walls cracked and cried and complained about their age. They were answered by the curtain wall to the east. The voices of tired stone rippled under their feet, two old men comparing ailments.

  When the end came, it was as if the old fort gave up. The walls didn't fall over so much as sag to their knees and lay down to sleep. The proud wall erected by Hadith tumbled into slumber, exhaling a mountain of dust that blinded most of the city.

  For a while, Gobert was lost. He couldn't see farther than his arm could reach. His guards were lost in the gritty clouds. At some point, he got turned around and was heading north when he wanted to travel east. He only realized his error when he found himself among the houses of the wealthy, doors and shutters closed fast against the mist of ruin, and the people who, herded from their homes near the harbor, had come uphill to stand on firmer ground. There was fearful crying in the streets but few apparent injuries. They looked like lost spirits to him, all a dry gray color with the same dark holes for eyes. Gobert turned east again and swam through the mortar dust.

  When he found the east wall he also found the soldiers, his soldiers now, formed into their companies and taking roll. Their lines stretched farther than he could see. He called out to them and was met by a veteran with a vulpine face and a bald head. He wasn't of the Hadith Line, but he wore a captain's braids. Lord Olson must have found him reliable.

  "Olson is dead. Where is your second?"

  "This way, Prime Minister." He shouted commands to his men in passing, sending them to their posts. Every spear was needed at the wall. As long as someone was giving orders, Eagle Corps should hold together.

  "How's the wall?" Gober could only see the nearest section halfway to the ramparts.

  "Wrecked." The captain strode quickly, not caring if the Prime Minister could keep up. "Both gate towers are down, and all of the south side. The north," he pointed at the wall, "is ready to fall. A single gurantor could push the whole thing over in an hour."

  They passed by men and messengers until they entered a small storehouse. Bodies lay in a line, with thin blankets for shrouds.

  "What's the count?"

  "These six," said the lieutenant, "and four missing. Fifteen wounded. That's not counting the detachments we sent into the city." He pulled back one of the shrouds. Prince Addir, thirty-something in the ranks, had died with a hole in his chest. The shaft that killed him lay nearby, thicker and shorter than a normal arrow, with a bronze broadhead. The edges were still sharp. "That thing went through him and kept going. Killed the man next to him."

  "What's your name?"

  "Captain Hiram, My Lord."

  Gober unfastened the loops of Colonel Addir's braid of rank, ignoring the bloodstain. "We're running out of princes, Captain Hiram. The Tyrant and all his other ministers are dead. I'm promoting you to Colonel of Eagle Corps, temporarily, and entrusting you with the defense of the city of Kashmar." Hiram stood at attention in the makeshift morgue while Gobert relieved him of his Captain's braid and replaced it with Addir's. "Who do you want for a second?"

  "There's a Hadith upper lieutenant in the mounted company. Berkant. Still fresh but talented. I can train him up."

  Hiram could have named anyone right then, and Gobert would have had to trust him because there wasn't time for a proper review. He could have pulled a more experienced captain, but he instead chose the most promising Hadith within reach. Either he was trying to win points with his superior, wanted to keep good commanders where they were, or he was looking beyond the needs of Eagle Corps. Kashmar needed princes and would have to train them fast.

  After another round of speed walking, they found their mounted forces formed up outside the walls, facing east toward the enemy. The dust had mostly settled, but the distant camp was still obscured. Hiram called for Cpt. Teoman, who had command of the appalons, and got a report: the Calique hadn't moved.

  Hiram loudly informed them all of the situation. Before the shock could turn into discontent, Gobert started making demands of his new Colonel. Send men to the Citadel to check on the nursery and fetch scholars. Get a damage report from the city. Scout the hills for enemy activity. Berkant was called forward and promoted to temporary Captain with Hiram's old braid.

  Of all his worries, one weighed on Gobert the most: that people would rebel against the princes. Gobert and Hiram filled the power vacuum with orders. Hadith's Line was battered but unbroken. As long as men knew what they were supposed to do, they were less likely to think up strange ideas on their own.

  Within half an hour, Gobert was surrounded by a knot of shivering yellow robes who worked at makeshift tables in the garrison's command center. Hiram redeployed his forces for a fight on the open fields east of the city. Berkant was buried in boards but had the sense to borrow administrative help from Gobert's scholars. None of them harbored illusions about fighting disciples on open ground, especially not after that morning's show of force. But if Hadith's Line wasn't willing to fight for the city, they might as well stop being princes.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Aside from the devastation of the princely ranks, the death toll was mercifully low. Citadel was intact despite its new lack of walls. A few score people were unaccounted for from the harbor district. Another twenty-four died when heavy debris from the Princes' Wall tumbled to the streets and homes below.

  Gobert called for lunch just after noon, which he took standing on a tall pile of broken stone that used to be a gate tower. He had his newly promoted officers and three promoted ministers around him. They could barely see the Calique in the distance, lounging against their kneeling mounts, looking like they were more prepared to nap than attack the city.

  "What are they waiting for?" The new City Minister wanted things decided. If the city was going to burn, then he wanted it done sooner instead of later. If it would be spared, he wanted to start rebuilding right away.

  "They're giving us the next move," said Cpt. Berkant. "Do we want to fight, or do we want to deal? The question is, what do they want?"

  All eyes turned to Gobert. He attended the last parlay with the rebels. "They want their people returned, and they want the desert. Forever."

  The assembled princes and officers stared at Gobert in skeptical silence. They thought he might be joking.

  "Is that all?" asked the new Minister of the Treasury. He was the oldest man on the mound, with a gray beard he stroked into a curl. The style had been out of fashion for over forty years, but some people didn't care about keeping pace with younger princes.

  "That's all they asked for last time. Thoughts?"

  All eyes followed the broken wall and gazed down to the practice yards where tents sprouted up to shelter homeless families from the harbor district. The idea would have been unthinkable the day before. Nobody wanted to say it, but Gobert waited. These were the highest-ranked princes alive in Hadith's Line, plus two officers who commanded what was left of their army. They were thinking similar thoughts, but nobody wanted to go first. So, Gobert picked on the youngest.

  "Berkant?"

  The young officer had his answer ready. "We would have to find a new way to test our princes. Otherwise, the desert never did anything for us."

  "But it's a founding promise," added the new City Minister. "We have to address that somehow."

  "The great works have fallen, except the Line itself." The Justice Minister swept his eyes toward the harbor. "Under the circumstances, we could rewrite the promises."

  From that point, it didn't take long for the group to suggest their acting Tyrant should look for a deal from their enemy. The only problem was they didn't have the flag for it.

  Gobert paced his appalon slowly toward the enemy camp, attended by a rather large group composed of three scholars, five officers, three ministers, and one hastily constructed flag. It took less time to decide they should talk to their enemies than to locate a flag of parlay. Their only one was buried under the gate tower ruins, so they had to find the cloth to stitch one together. He tried not to show it, but he was relieved when the Pasha came forward with a similar group of bulwarks, Calique hunters, and disciples.

  Pasha Phillip could have humiliated the defeated Kashmari by making them wait, but chose not to. In return, Gobert knelt his line of mounts first, then waited as the Pasha did the same. As the party seeking terms, it fell to Gobert to introduce himself and his party first. Phillip dispensed with his casual pose from the previous day and followed the formalities, respecting the process. Eventually, they came around to the point.

  "We seek an end to the hostilities between our peoples," said Gobert, "and would hear your terms."

  "Hostilities." Silver-blue fire haloed the Pasha, reminding Gobert he was also the Hierarch of Nexus. Phillip's own people edged away from him, except Dread Ma'Tocha. She alone seemed invigorated by the spirit aura around him. Gobert's knees could barely hold him, and he was aware his people had taken a step back, all except Col. Hiram and young Berkant. Their trembling hands went to their swords, but they didn't draw bronze. That would have been certain death.

  "There is no hostility on our side. We have never sought your people's lives. We don't want your territory or gold. You princes of Kashmar made war on us. If you want this to end, you know our demands. They're the same as yesterday. Or must I kill another thirty thousand? I don't savor the thought, but I'm up for it."

  The people nearest to Phillip stepped back again. Dread Ma'Tocha stood in his growing fire and smirked bloodlust at them. Gobert felt sharp pins of spirit against his skin and feared he would faint.

  "Of course, please forgive my choice of words." Prime Minister Gobert, assumed to be the new Tyrant of Kashmar, offered a conciliatory bow to his terrifying counterpart. It was only a few degrees, but it was unheard of. But so was everything else that happened that day. "This war was entirely our making. Henceforth, North Kravikas will be known as the Principality of Kashmar and relinquish all claims to territory south of Morufu's Teeth. A Tyrannical Declaration will be published, and the promises revised. We will locate and return your people taken from Satoma."

  "We know where they are," Phillip interrupted. "We only need your order releasing them and someone with rank to accompany Iraj when he retrieves them. I want this done quickly, without bloodshed."

  The fire had mostly subsided by then, enough to allow a list to pass between the two sides. While scholars were reviewing the information, Phillip accepted a fantastically large gemstone the length of a scepter. As soon as he touched it, the fire vanished. The priceless relic was quickly put away.

  "We have other matters to speak of. Shall we sit?" Phillip looked to one side, drawing the attention of Kashmar's party. A firepit sat where grassland used to be, with a smokeless flame already burning. Stone benches ringed the pit, with desks behind them for record-keepers.

  "First, a gift from us to you." A stack of boards was passed around to Kashmar's side of the ring. "The top board is a secret order from Enclave, issued a few Hierarchs back. It directs the lead healer in Kashmar to watch for any children who may grow up to be shifters. When he finds one, he is to declare it unfit for the Hadith Line. The rest of the pile is a record of all children found wanting. As you can see, your breeding project started bearing fruit a while ago, but Enclave has systematically pruned the best branches."

  If Gobert thought nothing else could shake him that day, he was wrong. There were a lot of names going back a lot of years. So many of them …

  "A shifter doesn't have beast traits," muttered one of the scholars, "because they have two forms."

  "That's a good way of putting it," agreed the Pasha. "But listen, because this is important. If you're going to raise shifters, you're going to need help. I'm not one myself, but I understand an awakening can be dangerous without preparation. I can put you in touch with several people to guide your children. In time, you can have an Assembly Hall full of shifters if that's what you choose."

  "Why would the church do this?" Berkant held a pair of boards in his hands and looked ill. There was a good chance he had relatives on that list.

  "Enclave didn't like any power that wasn't under its control. It also had some gross irregularities with its chain of command. These orders were never re-approved by later hierarchs. If Noora had known about this, she would have stopped it.

  "And that brings us to your habit of tossing toddlers into the sea. If you truly can't bear to keep them around, give them to Nexus. We'll either raise them in the church or find homes for them far away."

  "We thank the merciful Hierarch for his offer, but I don't believe it will be necessary. That policy is long overdue for reconsideration. Given Enclave's involvement, I am suspicious of its origins."

  "It pleases me to hear the next Tyrant say so. It gives me hope for the Principality's future. As Hierarch of Nexus, I have an agenda beyond this war. Most of Enclave's responsibilities will fall to us. We need to discuss the status of temples and their glebes, and conditions for accepting cadres of practitioners."

  Those were large issues but familiar ones to Gobert. Host countries set aside property for the church to use. The church used the land to build temples, housing, and other facilities. They could even run businesses for profit, provided various conditions were met. Similarly, practitioners belonged to the church rather than the country they were stationed in. There were rules about what a head of state could request from a practitioner and how they should be compensated.

  The biggest problem was obvious: Nexus was their enemy just that morning and had destroyed a large part of the city. Suddenly installing them as a permanent fixture would not go over well with most people. Gobert would have to blame a third party. Enclave was good for it, considering their role. He could spin a story about their foul deceit and claim the entire war was their fault, along with all the consequences. Some of it would be true, but not all of it had to be.

  "I am open to hearing Your Holiness's thoughts," Gobert responded, careful not to promise anything, "but accepting yesterday's enemy as a friend today won't be easy. We have thousands of homeless people who need help. If Nexus were to aid them alongside our soldiers while Enclave remains absent, it would simplify the transition."

  Phillip smiled. Minutes ago, Gobert had been afraid of him. Now, he wanted the young man to like him. He was a creature of fearsome charisma.

  "I was thinking along the same lines. I have some ideas … "