----------------------

  David Brown

  ----------------------

  David gripped one wrist in front of himself, thumb and forefinger pinched together. His hand was trembling.

  “Focus on your own thoughts,” Garen whispered. “Your own conceptions. What is fire to you? Is it warmth? Heat? Pain? Its true essence is all this and more, but you are not trying to create mere fmes. You are trying to make your fire. Take what you know, force it into reality.”

  David focused. He tried to shut out everything. Everyone. The entire world. He tried to imagine his vision narrowing to a single dot, at the very point skin met skin.

  Burn, he ordered it. Burn!

  His fingers began to tremble. The shaking began in the tips of his fingers, moving down to his wrists, then traveling up through his arms, until his whole self was shaking with effort.

  “Stop.”

  David smmed his palm on the table. “Damnit!”

  Garen sighed, leaning back. “It is not something one can master in a day, David.”

  “Your students could at least do something, though! From the very moment you tried to get them to do magic!”

  “They were born to this world. They have Csses, Skills, abilities and experience that you still ck. You are sixty years old, and yet you ck a Css. You are a man without precedent.”

  David groaned, rubbing at his eyes. In the half-lit dimness of his office, sleep was already cwing at him. He looked at his watch, a cheap Rolex knockoff that was now his single most prized possession, and found it to be nearing nine in the morning. He should have been wide awake, but he’d barely grabbed a few hours sleep the night before.

  David shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had been trying to use magic to create the tiniest fme for weeks. He'd been trying to cast magic of any kind in nearly every free moment he'd had. Fire, a ball of light, a shard of ice, anything. Those were the spells that Garen had told him were the most basic, most fundamental tools of spellcraft.

  He’d tried them all, and all without success.

  “Could it be possible that I’m just not a mage?” David asked. He stretched his hands, trying to force the anxiety out.

  “I doubt it,” Garen said. “From what you have said of your life, you clearly have an innate desire for it. If anything, you far more closely fit the historical profile of summoned Champions than does your daughter. She may love it, but she is too callous to view spells as anything other than a means to an end. You seek it for the joy of the craft. I would not dare to cim I understand the gods, but I suspect Tavan would not deny his gifts to one such as you.”

  “But what if I don’t have the… whatever-it-is, to use magic? You said that Sara’s magic is different to everyone else’s, because she’s a Champion. I’m from another world, but I didn’t get changed like she did. I’m just pin old me. So what if I can’t get a Css, can’t do magic?”

  “You are making several jumps in logic, David,” Garen assured him. “When children first begin to bor in earnest, it can take them several years to earn the first Level of their Css. You cannot compare your personal progress to that of your daughter’s.”

  “See, that’s another thing!” David turned in his chair to face Garen, who was writing at a desk next to David’s. “How do I know what Css I’ll get? How do I make sure I get a good one? This stuff determines how the rest of your life goes! If I screw up, I could end up with a css like, I don’t know, ‘Teacher.’ Which wouldn’t be the worst, I suppose, but it’s certainly a far cry from Wizard, or Researcher, or something else that will really do me good.”

  Garen chuckled. “There have been untold numbers of essays written on the topic of guiding one’s Css, David. It is in fact a pressing concern even within Tulian at the moment. Your daughter’s army has produced a number of young individuals who have gained a combat Css, which has concerning implications for their path through life. If they wish to return to civilian life, it may require several years of experience before they gain comparable Skills to their peers. Alternatively, they could remain in the army, but the dangers of such a life are self-evident. Your fears are simir to the circumstance they already find themselves in.”

  “So you’re saying I’m right to be worried, then?”

  “I am saying that you have stumbled upon a legitimate concern. How you address it will determine whether your response can be considered productive.” Garen turned back to his work, dotting out several quick marks with his quill. “For now, I think that you will not be led astray by following the most common advice given to those with your concerns: live your life as you desire, so that your Css will best fit the self you already are.”

  Despite the fact that the wizard’s words made perfect sense, David heaved out a sigh. He’d been dropped into a world that had everything he ever could have dreamed of. A world of monsters and magic, where wizards fought beside sword-wielding warriors cd in enchanted armor. A dream he’d had since he’d been listening to his mom read, a pile of finished Ursu K. Le Guinn books on the bedside table. But now that he was here, now that he’d finally found something he’d given up on so, so long ago… he was just a spectator. Barely able to touch the reality he’d yearned after for all those years.

  “It’s getting close to time to leave,” David noted, gncing at his watch yet again.

  Garen eyed him. “Is it? The sun doesn’t look quite that high to me.”

  “The clock doesn’t lie, Garen.”

  The archmage huffed, rolling up a paper and disappearing it into his sleeve. “I begin to question the wisdom of copying that device on your wrist. People like you will want to run the whole world by their little ticks.”

  “Well, you’re already ahead on the compining,” David said, collecting his own work. “Lots of people back in the day whined about being kept to a clock, too.”

  “I suspect I will soon consider myself among their number. What are cloudy days good for, if not to excuse teness to an appointment?”

  David ughed as he finished piling his student’s papers into a satchel, throwing its strap over a shoulder. The provisional elections hadn’t yet occurred, which meant he was technically supposed to be at the upcoming meeting as one of Sara’s ‘advisors.’ It felt like an awfully officious term for being his daughter’s father, but she insisted.

  David could at least agree with her reasoning. The absolute outwing of any form of hereditary authority was always among Sara’s numerous first drafts for a constitution. She had to ensure that every official government event, or at least all of them that could be seen by the public, would be in line with the upcoming ws.

  Of course, this meeting was shaping up to be a little more public than most.

  The detachment from the mysterious ‘Empire’ had fetched up a few miles beyond the city te the previous evening, but after runners had exchanged a few letters back and forth, it was agreed that it would be best for them to arrive in the morning. It gave the city Guard time to prepare an escort through the city for the hundred foreigners, which would surely be something everyone wanted to see, as well as let word spread that they were coming in the first pce.

  Of course, Sara had her own reasoning for it. David didn’t know what it was, exactly, but even before she’d gotten a goddess on her side, she’d always been a thoughtful girl. He had no doubt that she had a dozen different schemes running at the same time, sussing out the exact impression she wanted these Empire-types to get on their way to the city.

  David also knew that he, in some way or another, had a role to py in her pns. But he only knew that because she'd specifically told him, and he could quote it:

  "Don't worry about it. Just do you."

  That was incredibly suspicious. Sara had never told David to act like himself. Not since middle school, at least. Any time she'd introduced him to a friend she'd always told him not to be weird, or not to embarrass her, or at the very least to keep away from certain topics. Not once had she asked him to act normal.

  Thankfully, David was exceptionally good at being himself, and funnily enough, it didn't take much thought for him to do it. And it was even easier when he had something to keep his thoughts occupied, like he would here.

  See, the actual meeting, the big important one, it wasn't for a couple hours more. No, what David was going to see, and what Garen had decided to accompany him for, was something completely different.

  David heard it before he saw it. The old noble mansions of Tulian had been knocked down months ago, well before David had turned up, but not all of the plots had been filled. Some remained empty holes in the city streets, cleared of everything but dirt and cobblestone. And it was in one of those conspicuous gaps that a crowd had gathered, banced on hastily assembled, rickety wooden stands.

  The crowd roared louder, shouting and jeering with wild abandon, and David hurried his footsteps, breathing hard. He'd lost a good amount of weight over the st couple months, mostly on account of losing access to any and every form of food that tasted even halfway decent, but no one could yet accuse him of being fit. Garen easily kept pace as they made their way to the back of the crowd, David's neck craning to get a view over the sea of heads.

  There was a man sprawled out in the center of a rge patch of sand, a woman standing with feet pnted on either side of his torso, flexing her biceps as she bent over to roar her victory in his face. Her posturing was met with cheers and boos in equal proportion, the stands creaking as the audience pounded their feet.

  Sara suddenly appeared from the sidelines, hustling to drag the woman out of the arena before her taunting threw the crowd into a true frenzy. Another pair of individuals, this time dressed in white shirts, ran out and hefted up the half-conscious man by his armpits and ankles. He came to as he was being dragged out of the arena, spitting a fusilde of profanity, ciming that he hadn't lost the fight.

  The audience's ughter drowned out his protests.

  "It seems a rather barbaric practice, compared to the dueling affairs I am used to," Garen said.

  "Maybe. But it's a lot of fun, too. Come on, I'm going to go pce some bets."

  "What for?" Garen raised an eyebrow. "Have you any idea who is fighting, or who is the most skilled?"

  "No. But it makes it more fun if you have a bet on someone."

  David dropped a smattering of copper pieces on various upcoming fighters, not paying particur attention to who he was betting on. There was something deeply satisfying about handling all his transactions with physical, metal currency. The betting clerk swept the coins off into a bag with a pleasant little series of clinks, then handed David a slip with his bets written on it.

  He and Garen took their seat in the stands, waiting for the next bout to begin. Garen had worn pin clothes, instead of the voluminous robes that marked him as a mage, and they went rgely unharassed. A few people recognized David as Sara's father, but he wasn't the celebrity she was. They nudged their friends and pointed at him, but that was all.

  "I cannot understand why Sara is holding this informal tournament with the Empire's envoy so close to the city," Garen said. He spoke quietly, to not be easily overheard.

  David shrugged. "Power py?" He guessed. "They show up expecting her to roll out the red carpet, only to find her still sweaty from running a sporting event. That's gotta send some kind of message."

  "I suppose so. Still, there is much that could be prepared. It seems ill-advised, in my estimation."

  "Sara knows what she's doing. I mean, she clearly has a pn, right? She asked us to show up here, instead of the Peasant's Theatre, where the Empire's group is supposed to show up."

  "And this arena is pced along the route that the Guards will be using to escort them through the city, yes," Garen said. "But I cannot help but wonder if she is being too aloof. The size of the conflict that my apprentices reported was awe-inspiring. Should they unch an immediate attack, either army would sweep us aside like so much chaff."

  "All the more reason to act like she doesn't care, right?"

  "There is such a thing as too extreme a bluff. This Empire has no knowledge of our firearms; they will not be cowed by fear of the weapons as an equivalent Sporaton force might."

  Two fighters walked out onto the circle of sand. David leaned forward as he spoke, growing distracted. "Maybe. But if they were really here to invade, and they didn't know how much damage we can do with guns, I can't imagine they would have bothered with feigning a peaceful meeting, right? They'd just wipe the floor with us and be done with it." David checked his betting slip. "I think I bet on the one on the left, by the way."

  "You think?"

  "Yeah. We'll see once Sara announces their names, though."

  Sara joined the two fighters on the sand a moment ter, encouraging the two women to shake hands. Unlike the st fight, which had been unarmed, these two were fighting with swords, the gdiuses that David had learned were patterned off of Carrion Navy weaponry.

  The two women were Marines, he guessed. Most of the combatants at these little tournaments were members of the city Guard, Navy, or Army. All three forces had been severely downsized with the end of the war, but unlike most societies in this medieval world, Sara had establish a small standing army of professional soldiers.

  She'd mostly been forced into it; plenty of the army's volunteers had been so young that their participation in the war had earned them the first level of a combat Css. For all the benefits that came to this world through the existence of supernaturally powerful Csses, David thought there were some small misfortunes hidden in the cracks. With most of the uneducated popuce never reaching a Level higher than six or seven before dying of old age, even a single Level in the 'wrong' css could be disastrous. Plenty of kids that would have been farmers or craftsmen had been dragged into a life of violence, just because they'd wanted to defend their homes.

  Not that the two examples before him looked like disappointed, however. The two women were all but straining at the leash to fight, only Sara's presence holding them back. Both their swords glowed white, magic keeping the bdes safely dulled, but they looked ready to test the limits of the protective enchantments.

  When both women had taken their pces on opposite ends of the sand, Sara backed away. A moment ter, a bell rang.

  David cheered with the rest as the duel began, pulses of light leaving spots in his vision every time the two bdes cshed. His guilty pleasure back on earth had always been pay-per-view boxing matches, and he'd been gd to find out that dueling scratched the same itch. Even better, between protective enchantments and healing magic, he didn't even have to feel bad for supporting an abusive industry. Everyone would be coming out of the fight as healthy as they'd gone in.

  Unlike boxing, duels with weapons only ever sted to the first lethal touch. That meant each round consisted of a minute or more of careful, trepidatious circling, followed by a few seconds of nigh-incomprehensible, lightning-fast swings. Half the time, David couldn't even tell who won until Sara held up a hand, pointing to the corner of the victor. Judging by the fact that the crowd's roar always peaked right after she decred the winner, he wasn't the only one. Even a single Level in a combat Css seemed enough to take someone past the limits of pure human physicality.

  That or my eyes are shot, David admitted. He'd been meaning to get his prescription doublechecked for a while. But that's not going to happen now, is it?

  He shifted the old-timey spectacles on his face, waiting for the next round. Weapon duels were fought in a best of five format, just to make sure they sted long enough for the audience. Unfortunately, that didn't much help David, who lost both his first and second bets. Garen ughed at his misfortune each time, but in a friendly, good-natured sort of way. Between rounds, the archmage spent his time telling David of the far more formal duels that happened in Sporatos, where nobles fought one another to settle petty grudges or matters of familial honor. By the sounds of it, the difference between noble duels and Sara's ad-hoc fighting ring were shockingly few, once you broke things down to their essentials. All that really changed was the size of the bets and the number of sylbles used in the crowd's insults.

  As one duel turned into two, then three, then on and on, the time continued to tick by. At first David checked his watch every few minutes, feeling the upcoming meeting like a too-close stranger breathing down his neck, only to find himself steadily more distracted by the fights. It really was an amazing spectacle. Thanks to the safety provided by spell-wrapped weapons, about the only thing that wasn't allowed was grabbing the opponent by the neck and twisting until something snapped. Each duel was as close to a real fight as David had ever seen.

  Suddenly, without any warning David had noticed, Garen stood, dusting himself off.

  "Well, the envoy has arrived. Let's see what your daughter has in store for them, hm?"

  "I guess-"

  Before David could stand as well, Sara's voice boomed across the ramshackle stadium.

  "And that concludes today's fights, dies and gentleman! But don't leave quite yet, because I've got something I think you'll all be interested in!"

  On queue, several members of the city guard walked out, holding tables with cloth draped overtop. They set them down at one end of the arena at the same time a second group emerged, this time rolling out wheelbarrows full of dirt.

  "Hm." Garen sat back down, humming thoughtfully. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else."

  "What do you mean?"

  Garen nodded to the tables. David watched his daughter walk up and grab a corner of the white cloth, pausing for just long enough to build tension. Then, with all the dramatic fre she could muster, she tossed it into the air, revealing a table lined with the manufactory's test muskets.

  "Ah," David said. "I see. I don't know why I was expecting something subtle."

  Garen chuckled. David settled back into the stands, listening to his daughter expin the rules of Tulian's first sharpshooter audition.

  ----------------------

  Mui Thom

  ----------------------

  When Mui first id eyes upon the capital of the so-called “Tulian Republic,” his first reaction was simple. A bowing of the head and soundless twitches of his lips as he offered a prayer to the Goddess he feared he had offended.

  Oh Goddess of Shields, she who guides the Bonds of all things, I ask for your forgiveness. So great was your magnificence that I failed to believe your Champion could be found in a pce so distant. To have been found wrong is a curse and a gift, for in my error, I have been provided opportunity to atone.

  He lifted his head. It wasn't the best prayer he'd ever heard, but he hoped it was fancy enough for the goddess. He'd spent the journey secretly rolling his eyes at the Warrior's concerns, certain beyond doubt that the barbarian's cim of being ruled by a Champion was an outrageous falsehood.

  His first gnce of the city had ruined that impression.

  The tall walls that he had been told to expect were present, but they had been altered in strange, alien ways. Lumps of seamless white stone protruded all along its base, made of no material Mui had ever seen. The same white stone was spattered in clumps across the wall itself, filling in gaps where some terrible damage had been wrought, giving the dark granite the appearance of a pustule-infected face. Atop the walls roved neatly arrange squads, each man and woman holding more of the strange wood-and-iron poles. Even the small group of city guards that emerged to meet them held the strange weapons, carrying them with the confidence of hard-earned experience.

  Though he had no formal proof, each strange sight had him further convinced that he truly was on his way to meet a Champion of the gods. The peculiar mixture of barbarian primitivity and alien architecture had no other expnation.

  And so, because he could think of no other way to prepare himself, Mui ordered his squad to begin polishing their weapons and armor to a glistening sheen. While they waited for the city gates to allow them entrance, Mui joined his troops in ensuring they were in the most presentable conceivable condition. Ruler of barbarians though this Champion may be, they were still a Champion. He would not have his squad leave a foul impression with an emissary of divinity.

  The rest of the hundred-strong envoy did not bother imitating Mui's preparations. Unlike him, they were hand-picked for this task, each squad and officer chosen for their record of at least one remarkable achievement. They were veterans all, their equipment bolstered by years of war, having survived enough battles to afford them looted wealth far beyond their station.

  Mui's squad, in contrast, had been chosen for perhaps the least illustrious reason he could imagine. The Champion's letter had said that only a hundred members were allowed to visit the city, and after hand-picking sets of squads and officers, the Warriors in charge of the expedition had come up with ninety-three members. Mui, by sheer happenstance, was one of the only sergeants in the army who had exactly six healthy members of his squad left.

  It was not the most enviable of reasons to be allowed on such an important duty, but he had no intention of squandering the opportunity. By the time the city gates swung open, Mui and his squad were polished enough for a parade.

  And to his astonishment, a parade it would be. The moment the gates swung open, Mui was greeted by a wall of half-armored guards lining the street, using long quarterstaffs to shove back an eager crowd.

  The Warrior at the head of the column called out the order to march. Mui instinctively fell into parade-mode, kicking his legs out high on every step, and his squad imitated him. Shortly thereafter, recognizing the unexpected attention they were receiving, the rest of the envoy group joined their formal marching, boots ccking emphatically.

  The interior of the city, Mui realized, was even stranger than the outside. Despite the teeming crowd just barely being held back by the city guards, every street they passed seemed empty, once he looked beyond the crowd. It was if the entire city had turned out to view their arrival, if the entire city were to only number ten or twenty thousand.

  The crowd itself was strange, too. There were more purely human faces watching him than he thought he'd ever seen in his life. Catfolk and orcs represented one out of five, perhaps even less, and he saw no sign of elves, lizardfolk, vanara, or even azarketi. He had been told the northern nds were a dull, empty pce, but he hadn't realized that banality extended to its people as well.

  Mui's gawking was interrupted by a peculiar crack echoing down the street, startling him. The entire column of a hundred soldiers flinched, instinctively ducking. It sounded like the crack of a whip directly beside Mui's ears, and he turned about, looking for the source.

  To his surprise, not one of the native guards escorting them had reacted in the slightest. Even the crowd barely reacted, though he did spot some curious turning of the heads.

  "What was-"

  The crack repeated, slightly louder, and was soon joined by several more. Mui rested a hand on his sword pommel, prompting his squad to shift their spears to a more ready stance. He swiveled his ears from left to right, trying to determine the exact location of the noise.

  "There is nothing to worry about," a heavily accented voice called. Mui gnced over, finding a strange looking man speaking to a Warrior at the head of the column. His skin was bck as the night, and cked any crease or pore.

  "There is... normal," the man said, doing his best to smile reassuringly. "These sounds are ahead. You will see?"

  The Warrior frowned, not bothering to respond to the man's broken abuse of nguage. Still, to pcate the city guards who were growing anxious at the envoy's readying stance, the Warrior waved a hand, signaling them to rex their stances.

  Mui did so, but it took considerable effort. The more he listened to the noise, the harder it was to parse. He had thought it close at first, but soon realized it was nowhere near. It was simply so loud that it carried across the city.

  True to the man's word, they approached the source of the cacophony in short order. By the time he was close enough to see what was happening, Mui was cringing at every booming thud, each crack driving a needle into his skull. Many of the other catfolk in the envoy were reacting simirly, something their escorts apparently noticed. A few guards produced bundles of fluffy white cotton, distributing clumps to any of the Empire's soldiers who asked for it. Mui raised his hand and received a wad, which he promptly stuffed as deeply into his ears as he could.

  This done, Mui joined the others in walking around the final corner.

  He was met by a cloud of something disgusting, almost as bad as a lungful of skywreathe. He recoiled reflexively, trying to wave away the scent, only to find that there was no point. It was as pervasive as the air itself, choking every crevice of the street.

  "Squad, keep t-together-"

  Mui was forced to trail off as he inadvertently took a deep breath through his nose, filling it with the acrid smoke. His eyes burst with watery tears in an instant, and a moment ter, he was forced to bend double, a violent sneeze tearing out of his throat.

  "The hells?" He choked out, wiping his muzzle with his arm. He didn't sneeze. No catfolk did. Not unless they were sick as could be, diseased beyond the point of delirium. Until that moment, he'd never even known what it felt like to sneeze.

  Regrettably, it seemed his squad was aware of that, because he heard several half-swallowed ughs behind him.

  This is awful! What is this foul air?

  Mui wiped his muzzle again, trying to drag the strings of snot out of his fur. He wished he had a mirror, because it felt as if there was a great deal of something disgusting tangled in his upper lip.

  The Warriors waited for no one, however. He was forced to keep marching forward, even as he rubbed wildly at his muzzle to combat the itch burrowing into his skull. Looking about himself, he saw many of the envoy's other catfolk simirly affected, though the degree of their suffering varied.

  The only distraction from the maddening itch came from the source of the poisonous fog. A ring of half-filled stands had encircled the sandy pit of what could only have been dueling grounds, though the area was being used for anything but. Between the rows of feet and wooden sts, Mui could see lines of civilians waiting behind a table that held more of the strange wood and metal tubes, the frontmost row pressing the weapons to their shoulder.

  Without warning, one of the weapons vomited a puff of that same awful smoke, producing its own version of the cotton-muffled crack. Barely an instant passed before there was an answering metallic cnk from further away, the sound of a hammer striking an anvil.

  Many things suddenly clicked for Mui. Firstly, that this was an archery range for the weapons, which were unching some sort of projectile faster than the eye could track. Secondly, that he was standing in the city of a people nearly as militant as his own, for this was clearly their version of the archery auditions that the Emperor's Adjutant required all vilges under his domain to undergo twice yearly.

  And thirdly, that he had been very, very right to regard the metal weapons with caution. The targets that had been set out for the range weren't simple bales of dried grass. They were metal breastptes, enchantment runes visible across the steel, and they were each punched full of holes.

  Some barbarians these are, he thought, eying the targets. No barbarian could have produced such fine work; even to his untrained eye, they seemed equal to any equipment used by the Warriors of the Empire.

  And a crowd of civilians was currently tearing the armor to shreds.

  Before he could fully digest all the implications of this, his mind was ripped in an entirely new, equally terrible direction. A pair of women were approaching the envoy, and he recognized them. The ebony-skinned guard who had been escorting them to this location called out their name, announcing their identities in his awful accent.

  "Chosen of Amarat, Sara Brown, and Wife, Evie Brown!"

  Oh, shit.

  He recognized the woman- the Chosen. Bck, waving hair, with a face of sculpted beauty that defied easy description.

  "Sir?" Mui called, pressing forward through the column. He was trying to reach the Warrior, calling out. "Sir! I have something I need to-"

  "Back!" One of the men guarding the Warrior barked.

  "I know, I'm sorry, but it's just- I have something I need to-"

  "Silence in the presence of your betters, Sergeant!" The man barked, flicking the haft of his spear up. It smmed into Mui's chin, popping his jaw shut with a painful cck. Mui stumbled backward, kept from falling only by stumbling against a soldier behind him.

  Lesson thoroughly learned, but not yet willing to give up, Mui tried his best to plead silently, pressing his palms together like a begging dog, staring as pointedly as he dared at the approaching Chosen.

  Not subtly enough. The woman noticed him, their eyes locking.

  Mui staggered. He held her attention only for a moment, but it seemed to st a lifetime. Her expression shifted just the barest bit, one corner of her lips curling upward, a cheek twitching in a half-wink. It should have meant nothing. He shouldn't have even taken notice of it, with how quick it flicked across her face.

  Impossibly, Mui found himself convinced that he knew exactly what she was trying to communicate. The mischievous twinkle in her eye told him that she was not particurly worried that he might reveal his prior meeting with her, yet it was modified by a slight smirk, somehow implying that she still wished for him to stay quiet, if he thought it possible. She was confident to a fault, seemed vaguely amused to see him, and wished to talk to him ter, if only he would keep his quiet.

  He had no idea how he knew all of this, yet he was certain of each conclusion.

  Mui's consciousness snapped back into time, his head whirling. The Chosen was moving on to greet the Warriors, not acknowledging him in the slightest. If it weren't for the absurd level of detail that had been communicated to him in that instant, Mui would have thought he'd imagined it.

  He was close enough to hear the perfunctory greeting of the Chosen and the small cluster of Warriors at the head of the envoy, and unlike the rest of them, he wasn't surprised to hear her speaking in fluent, unaccented Kemari.

  "I apologize for greeting you in such a state," the Chosen said after they had exchanged pleasantries, indicating her sweat-stained clothing. "The time got away from me. There's been so much to do of te, and your presence, though certainly welcome, has added yet another item to my overflowing pte."

  "Your apology is accepted," the Warrior replied tersely. He was Suy-Ty, a rge Warrior of not inconsiderable renown within the Expedition. His performance in the most recent battle, in which he had felled two enemy Warriors and captured three more, had earned him the right to represent the Emperor's Adjutant for the duration of this meeting. He was dressed for the occasion, his armor etched with the many symbols of the Empire, a fanciful bcksteel bde dangling off his hip. Despite the considerable muscuture hidden beneath his thick armor, he was still dwarfed by the Chosen, who wore nothing more than pin cloth.

  Unperturbed, Suy-Ty looked behind the Chosen, peering through the cloud of awful smoke.

  "And this... dispy? It was intended to intimidate, I presume?"

  The Chosen ughed. "I can only wish I had that much forethought, Warrior. No, I'm afraid that I should have been in the Peasant's Theatre hours ago, preparing for your arrival. I get carried away far too easily for my own good."

  It seemed absurd to Mui that the leader of a nation could simply forget an appointment of such magnitude, yet he couldn't find the slightest hint of falsehood.

  "Peasant's Theatre?" Suy-Ty asked, words rumbling.

  "The Peasant's Theatre," the Chosen confirmed. "It's where our Republic's government is housed. An odd name, I know, but what else is governance, if not theatre for the peasants?"

  Suy-Ty's irritated scowl cracked ever-so-slightly, lip curling. "Just so, Chosen. It's important to make them feel involved, isn't it?"

  The Chosen ughed warmly, which surprised Mui. He'd had a very different interpretation of the meaning behind the name of the Peasant's Theatre.

  "Do you need time to prepare for our meeting at this Peasant's Theatre, then?" Suy-Ty asked. "I do wish to be back to the army as soon as possible, but it would be uncouth of me to insist you attend to us while in a condition you would otherwise avoid."

  "No, there's no need to concern yourself. I assure you, any attending will be done at my leisure. You've nothing to worry about."

  Suy-Ty's burgeoning smile fell back down, disappearing into the familiar frown.

  "So you say, Chosen. Let us be away, then."

  With a sharp whistle and sharp gesture, the column of Imperial soldiers and their escorts set off. Mui returned to his squad's pce in the line, immediately suffused by their whispered questions. He answered what he could as truthfully as he dared, mostly quoting what he had overheard, without adding his own interpretation. It wouldn't do to criticize a Warrior, after all.

  This is going to be a very interesting few days.

  As they left, the strange weapons continued to spit fire and smoke.

  ----------------------

  Sara

  ----------------------

  Suy-Ty, Preeminent-Most Warrior of the True Emperor's Adjutant's Northern Expeditionary Force, had at least two problems that Sara could find in the opening minutes of their meeting.

  Firstly, his title was ridiculous. It was a miracle anyone ever managed to chew their way through the garbled mess of adjectives, much less find anything respectable in their meaning. She used the full thing once, and only once, and had referred to him by his name ever since.

  Secondly, he was confident. Even sitting in the repurposed theatre chairs that decorated Tulian's only cramped, flimsy diplomatic hall, he seemed to swagger his way through every word, making eborate gestures that sent light glinting off his gemstone-encrusted armor.

  It was an impressively expensive set, she had to admit that much. It also looked faintly ridiculous. A conical helmet came down to sweep out and away from his ears, as if the smith had been enamored with the lines of a particurly svelte drainpipe. And instead of curving, textured metal adding detail to his chestpte, engravings and inset gemstones served the duty, creating an intricate swirl of shifting designs. His arms and legs were covered simirly, if with fewer gemstones, and a metal mask sculpted to painstakingly mirror his own face hung off his hip, ready to be slid into pce should he need the protection. The man himself fit what Sara imagined someone living in a rainforest ought to look like, with broad, strong features across his deeply tanned body.

  She wanted to say that the way he funted his armor was a sign of overconfidence, but she couldn't. Even as they started their discussion, fresh off his experience seeing the muskets in action, he was completely rexed.

  It was a testament to that confidence that those in the room with Sara, most of whom could not understand the man in the slightest, were taut with tension. Evie was standing behind her in the familiar stance of a bodyguard, her gargantuan revolver obscured by the enclosed leather holster strapped across her simple cuirass. She'd already made a point of summoning her rapier in view of the envoy, ensuring they knew she wasn't unarmed. The rest of the guards present, hand-picked from Ignite's Marines for the duty, were silently lining the small room's right wall, staring down their opposites to Sara's left. Both sides were armed and armored simirly, but Sara's gut told her that if it came to a fight, it would be her and Evie against the rest. Even the most veteran Tulian Marine was nowhere near the Level of experienced soldiers.

  In this miasma of simmering tension, there were only two people who appeared rexed. Sara was settled comfortably into her chair as the Empire's representative spoke.

  "As you can see by our adherence to the terms of your invitation, the True Adjutant's forces had no intention of trespassing on the nds of a Chosen Warrior, My Lady," Suy-Ty said, yet again melodramatically waving his glittering gauntlet. "Our intention was only to pass through nds we thought unoccupied, hoping to reach our destination on a path less traveled by traitorous scouts."

  "I'm certain you meant no offense by it," Sara assured him, though there was absolutely nothing she was certain of yet. "However, your enemy seemed to find you well enough. I've been told the battle was fierce. You and your troops have my condolences for their losses."

  "Fierce, yes, but victorious!" He grinned. "They have run, and we stand strong. And now fate has honored me with the gift of a Chosen's presence! What more could a commander of soldiers ask for?"

  Sensing an opportunity, Sara decided to apply her first bit of pressure. "Quite a lot, I'd imagine. I've made contact with both armies, Warrior Suy-Ty, and you've each cimed the battle as your victory."

  "Ah, but who holds the field, Your Holiness?" He grinned widely, making a point of showing his teeth. "They have scurried back into the jungle, unable to answer your summons, while we solidified our control of the open fields."

  So the objective was securing routes of travel, Sara noted. He wouldn't have been so happy to suffer heavy losses for no territorial gain otherwise. Do they not have a fast way to get through the jungle?

  "You've secured nds?" She asked in an intentionally half-hidden affront, as if poorly disguising the offense she'd taken. "You are encamped on rightful Tulian nds, Warrior Suy-Ty. The purpose of this meeting is to determine how your army will conduct itself during its brief stay in our borders."

  "Ha!" The man barked his ughter. "Or what? Your wooden bird will drop more pamphlets on us?" His friendly gaze sharpened in an instant. He leant forward just a hair, narrowing his eyes at Sara. "No, Sara Brown. The purpose of this meeting is not for you to dictate terms to an Empire. The purpose is to answer one single, all-important question: Are you a Chosen of the Gods, or a leader of the people?" His eyes glittered dangerously, his brilliant smile unchanging. "It is the solemn duty of all the Emperor's subjects to revere the Chosen. I believe in this mandate wholeheartedly, I assure you. But to go so far as cowering before the ganglord of a dead city? That is not within the demands pced upon me by your title, Sara Brown."

  "So." Suy-Ty bent forward yet further, grin widening. "Which will it be? Are you a Chosen? Or are you a leader of people?"

  "A leader."

  Sara's response was harsh. Immediate. It brooked no argument, and not even the Deaf could have missed the venom it spat into the air. Though none of them could understand a word being spoken, Evie and the Tulian Marines stiffened, knuckles whitening on the hafts of their halberds.

  "I see." Suy-Ty slipped backward into his chair, shifting to find comfort. He tossed one leg over the other, appraising Sara openly, his teeth disappearing from his grin as his lips closed. He was still smiling, however. There was no mistaking that. It was a sedate, predatory grin. It looked far more natural on the Warrior.

  "You've a city in ruins, poputed by the detritus of a discarded Kingdom. I've thirty thousand troops ready to march at a moment's notice, and in a week, I'll have ten thousand more. What grounds do you have to threaten me, Sara Brown?"

  "My title is Governess," Sara said, taking care to enunciate the foreign word, for his benefit. "And I have weapons you cannot possibly hope to equal. Three months haven't passed since my people broke the back of the continent's most vaunted cavalry. I sent their King and his whole army into a rout. To do so, I defied the will of a God, and in doing so, earned the favor of another. With that, I granted not just my people, but all peoples, everywhere, the hope of freedom. You've lived two lives, haven't you, Suy-Ty?"

  "I have," the Warrior said, caution entering his voice for the first time. "There is no one who hasn't, I believe. The gods have worked strange magics upon the world as of te."

  "Not gods. God. Singur. And it was because of me." Sara met his eyes. She did not look away. She held his gaze, unflinchingly. "Your Empire is a cesspit of corruption, Suy-Ty. At every level, in every position. There are those who worship a god you do not know, one that no mortal mind but mine once knew, and their adherents work to undermine everything that could possibly resist them. I revealed this to the world, Suy-Ty, at Amarat's behest. And to honor my achievement, she granted me a wish. Do you know what I did with it?"

  Sara began drumming her fingers on the tabletop, slowly, one tap at a time. "I demanded she break the colrs. I ordered her to reach back through time, to the moment they were created, to shatter them. She couldn't, unfortunately. The things were created by more than one god, which as I understand it, is the only thing that a single god can't overcome. But she did all she could. Not because I asked. But because I ordered her to. You've no sves in your army, Suy-Ty. Is that because you belong to a just Empire, one which abhors the practice? Or is it because the fear of their rebellion, impossible to fathom but a few short months ago, has become suddenly so much more real?"

  The Warrior's smile had slipped as Sara spoke. Not enough to turn into a scowl. He was too practiced at controlling his emotions for that. But beneath the fading smile, Sara saw what he really thought.

  "All these achievements you speak of, they are the actions of a Chosen," Suy-Ty said. His words were stiff, brittle, cking the warmth of his earlier confidence. "And as I have said before, I will always respect the providence of a Chosen. But you cim to act independent of this aspect of yourself, no? That you are a... a Governess, a leader of the people. Were you to tell me my force stands in the way of your Quest, I would happily stand aside. But if it stands in the way of your Republic?" He scoffed. "What do I have to fear?"

  "Guns," Sara said. "A gun in every hand of every citizen, firing down on you."

  "And?" Suy-Ty brought his hand up, counting numbers off his fingers. "We've seen your fields, walked your city. What could you muster to resist us? Five thousand strong arms? Ten thousand, if you arm the elderly and invalid? Say your 'firearms' can kill five of our soldiers for every loss of your own. We would still win."

  "And if they can kill ten for every one?" Sara asked. "If they can do it from a range you can't equal, at a speed you can't match?"

  "Then you'll have presented us quite the surprise, earning yourself some minor note in the dusty corners of this war's annals."

  "You think your entire force is worth sacrificing?"

  "Think?" Suy-Ty ughed. "We are the Northern Expeditionary Force, Sara Brown, but among the Warriors, we often refer to ourselves as the Northern Expendable Force. A war rages across our Empire, Governess. With some rare exceptions, the troops I command are the inexperienced fools that would not be missed elsewhere. I don't believe for the briefest second that you really could maul this army, but if you actually did, what next? What will you have achieved? It would only cement your inevitable obliteration, when some actual army bothers to travel far enough north to swat your city into the sea."

  Sara watched him carefully through his response. Her every Blessing was at work, drinking in every detail. For the rest of her life, she would remember with crystal crity every word, every drop of sweat, every minor intonation and slight shift in the pitch of his words. She could see him from all angles, above, below, and behind, and felt each shift of his body as if it were her own. There was no comparable experience for how much she could comprehend in that single moment, because it should have been impossible. Superhuman, in the most literal of senses. And with that knowledge, she determined that...

  He seemed pretty honest.

  Suy-Ty really did seem to believe everything he said. Sure, he exaggerated. The guns concerned him greatly, but not when they were in Tulian hands. He was worried about his enemies getting them, imagining what the so-called traitorous factions could achieve with something so dangerous. And 50,000 troops dead and gone would be a disaster, of course, not some minor setback, but he felt comfortable bluffing on that point simply because he didn't believe Sara could manage it. He was also intimidated by her as an individual, and was worried that he wouldn't survive a fight, should one break out here and now. Yet he was loyal enough to his Empire that he didn't let that fear color his responses.

  No, in his estimation, he really did think that they could wipe the Tulian Republic off the map. He had only the slightest doubt that his forces alone weren't enough, while he was absolutely certain that his Empire's rger armies would have no trouble.

  And the worst part was, Sara agreed.

  She could count the number of times someone had called her bluff on one hand, and this was shaping up to be one of them. Tulian was devastated, and its people were exhausted. They were too fanatically loyal to her to surrender outright when they saw the size of the army bearing down on them, but it would've been smarter of them to give up. The Empire's force was too numerous, too well-equipped, and clearly commanded by battle-hardened veterans.

  "Well, I don't think this is going anywhere productive," Sara said, heaving out a great big sigh. "I don't suppose you have any supply runs heading back to one of your cities? I'd much rather speak to someone with real authority."

  Sara didn't catch it, but ter on, Evie would tell her she had heard Suy-Ty's teeth grinding.

  "As a matter of fact, Chosen, I do."

  "Good. Send a letter with them notifying your betters of my intent. I'll allow your army to continue on its way, but I'd like a representative of your Empire to remain behind, along with a number of soldiers. Whoever you can spare of those so-called dregs, so long as they speak your nguage, to help tutor my own people. I won't be able to depart for a month at least, on account of my wife's pregnancy that is soon to resolve itself, but that shouldn't be an issue. It will allow your people time to prepare a proper reception."

  Suy-Ty's eyes flicked to Evie, then down, to her stomach.

  "Your wife's... pregnancy?" He asked.

  Oh?

  "My other wife," she expined, fascinated by his reaction. "She wasn't present today for obvious reasons, but she should be due any week now."

  "I... see..." He muttered.

  Really? Sara thought. This is what gets a reaction out of the dude?

  Sara had been publicly married to two women for months, and while it certainly wasn't standard in this world, the reaction of others had been fairly limited. Jealousy, for the most part. Never something prudish.

  Is this Empire the first pce I've found that gets weirded out by polyamory? Or is Suy-Ty just a weird motherfucker? Mentally, Sara shrugged. Oh well. Either way, it's gonna be fun to fuck with him.

  "Have you a partner, Suy-Ty? I know most people talk about their favorite part of having children being the 'making' part, and while I certainly enjoyed myself, the closer I've gotten to the upcoming birth, the more excited I've been. It's a wonderful thing, to be anticipating a child."

  "I... no, I have not," he said.

  "Had children? Or had a partner?"

  "I have a wife," he said, shaking his head as if he could knock away the cobwebs of her btant taunting. "But we haven't had children. We decided against it, so long as I am out on campaign."

  "Well, that's a shame. I hope you two enjoy yourself at least, when you make it back to visit her."

  Suy-Ty's dark skin looked red enough to choke. He swallowed visibly, giving a tiny bob of his head.

  "She is a lovely woman, of course."

  "Really?" Sara grinned, the slightest touch of something lecherous entering her expression. "If I have the chance, we'll have to introduce our wives to one another. I'm sure they'll get along excellently."

  Suy-Ty shook his head yet again, desperately, no longer even attempting to meet Sara's gaze. "Perhaps so, Chosen. Perhaps so."

  Evie, who had gathered enough context clues from the man's reaction, swept in for the killing blow with her broken version of their nguage.

  "Handsome, you. Lucky girl, lucky-lucky. Or maybe... man?"

  Even speaking like a drunk caveman, Evie's poker face was impeccable.

  Suy-Ty burst into a coughing fit, pounding his chest. Sara's eyes flicked out to his guards at the wall, catching hidden smirks flitting across their faces.

  If you're gonna negotiate with the Champion of Lust, you're gonna have to be ready to py ball.

  "As you can see, my wife does need considerably more practice with your nguage," Sara said, offering the mercy of a topic change. "And we will need a guide to your cities. Who can you spare of your envoy to remain behind?"

  "To honor your invitation, I prepared some of my best soldiers," Suy-Ty said, seizing the lifeline she'd tossed. "I would not willingly part with any one of them. I'm sure a suitable repcement can be brought up from the main force, however."

  "Really? Most of your troops seemed like veterans to me, but not all of them."

  Suy-Ty racked his brain, trying to remember who Sara was referring to. She waited patiently, already knowing the answer.

  "Ah, yes. I had forgot. Some young fellow was brought along to round out the numbers. I haven't the faintest clue of his character, to be frank. I'd rather you be left someone more... educated, if you are to be using them as a tutor of our nguage."

  "I wouldn't want to be a bother," Sara said, "and I certainly wouldn't want to deprive you of anyone of worth, when all I'll need is their tongue. Leave the fellow behind; I won't take offense."

  And you won't have the chance to send me a spy, instead.

  "If you insist," Suy-Ty reluctantly agreed. "Though I ask that you not take some junior officer as a representative of the Empire's truly cultured citizenry."

  "Of course not," Sara assured him. "Now, have you any need of supplies before you leave? Bandages for your wounded, perhaps?"

  The conversation steered itself away from touchier subjects, sliding into safe discussions of mundane necessities. Sara established protocols for contacts and letters, gave Suy-Ty basic maps of the Tulian borders that she still cimed control over, and gave him only the most basic information of the northern political situation, just enough to entice his masters into hankering for more. He had an aid enter the room to take notes at the very end, with Sara adding a few corrections to his summary here and there, and then they made their excuses. Suy-Ty filed out of the room with his troops, formally escorted by Sara's own guard.

  "Alright, we're alone," Sara said.

  Evie fell down into her p as the wall to their left creaked open, revealing Hurlish and the 32-pounder cannon that had been pointed directly at Suy-Ty's torso.

  "How'd it go?" Hurlish asked, waddling out to take a seat. The wooden chair creaked ominously under her weight, but held firm.

  "Fine enough," Sara said, wary of answering directly while the rest of the troops that had been hidden with Hurlish were still around. "I think they knew someone was back there, by the way."

  "But they probably thought we'd actually have to come out to hurt 'em," Hurlish said, grinning at the soldiers filing out of the room. Every Empire soldier, unbeknownst to them, had spent the entire meeting with a pistol pointed at their head. "No one thinks they're gonna die before they can even hear what kills 'em."

  "Nope. Thank god we didn't have to try, though."

  Hurlish gave Sara a curious look. "Really? They that big of a deal."

  Sara sighed, absentmindedly petting Evie's belly under her shirt as the feline curled up tighter in her p. "He was cocky as hell, but it seemed like he'd earned it. This Empire shit is real business, Hurlish."

  "We still got guns, though."

  "We have firearms, but no army," Evie expined. "At least not one of a size worth mentioning. The Sporaton forces were a peasant horde led by exceptionally powerful Knights. From what we observed in their camp, this Empire has a true military. Every soldier is afforded metal armor and fine weaponry, and they are paid both well and regurly. Many of their officers have purchased their own equipment, some with minor enchantments, and even the common soldier owns multiple changes of clothes and a number of personal comforts. As far as Sara could determine, there were not even any conscripts in the force. Fifty thousand volunteers, well-trained and well-armed."

  "It's basically what I would have created in Tulian, if I'd had the time and money," Sara confirmed. "And Suy-Ty was still talking like he was small fry. A bastard with a big ego like him, admitting he's not shit? His force must be really, really outgunned. We wouldn't stand a chance, not with what we have now."

  "So what did you do?" Hurlish asked. "All I could understand was a bunch of jabbering back and forth."

  "Basically, I said that he wasn't important enough for me to bother with," Sara expined, smirking. "He believed me, too. Again, he thinks he's small fry, which is kinda terrifying. So in about a month, I'm gonna be heading to one of their cities to talk to some political figure or another. Should keep them off our ass at least that long. Meanwhile, I'm gonna be treating some of their own soldiers to our own hospitality, so they can lead us back when we're ready to travel."

  "Well, shit. Guess I'm gonna have to pick up on the gun front, aren't I?"

  "No," Evie snipped, "you are going to continue resting, and when you have the child, you are going to spend at least a month without any hard bor."

  Hurlish snorted. "A month? You really think you're gonna manage to pin me down that long?"

  "I insist upon it."

  "I'll be fine in a couple weeks, tops."

  "You have no way of knowing that."

  "Watch me."

  Sara sighed. A part of her wanted to take Evie's side, paranoid as she was about the upcoming birth of their child, but she knew better than to think she'd win an argument with Hurlish.

  "We'll listen to the healers and see how you feel," Sara said. "At the very least, you'll have to stay home while Evie and I go to this meeting. I feel like a bitch for leaving you after we just had a kid, but..."

  "Oh, I'll be fine," Hurlish said, waving her hand. "But y'all are gonna be on diaper duty when you get back, just so you know."

  "That's fair."

  Several of the soldiers returned, informing them that the Empire's envoy was out of sight. Sara gave them permission to start taking down the fake walls that had let them roll the massive cannon into the Peasant's Theatre, and used the chance to head out.

  "By the way, I got you a nguage tutor," Sara told Evie as they entered the sun-lit streets. "Remember that catfolk sergeant from the other night?"

  "The one that kept staring at your chest, until you pretended to be suffering from battle shock?"

  "In his defense, everyone stares at my chest. But yeah, him."

  "Why did you choose him, specifically?"

  "Because he knew I'd snuck into the camp, but didn't squeal. I figured that was worth something. Besides, he seems like an interesting guy. He was nice enough, all serious and proper, but I could tell it was a bit of an act. I think he'll be pretty straight with us about the whole Empire thing."

  Hurlish gnced Sara's way.

  "What?"

  The massive orc shook her head, lips tugging at her tusks in amusement. "Nothing."

  Sara turned to Evie. "What's she on about?"

  "I can't imagine, Master."

  Sara's eyes narrowed. "Wait. You reverted to the Master-shtick again. What's up?"

  "I'm sure it's nothing of consequence, Master. Now, Hurlish, about increasing the manufacturing capacity of our firearms. How has the production of a precision the been progressing?"

  "Still struggling with maintaining an even speed. We need a lot of gearing reduction, and we're gonna have to start small, just to make the parts..."

  Sara fell into the industrial talk easily enough, accepting the distraction for the success it was, but in some small corner of her mind, she still wondered what her wives were getting at. She was tempted to use her Blessings to let her figure out exactly what they meant, but she held off. After all, sometimes surprises were nice.