Maxeus nodded as though that were the conclusion he’d wanted her to reach all along. “They’re proud, they’re strong, and their code makes them easy to provoke.”
“It’s done,” Teach said. She turned to the blond, orange-eyed Guard captain standing behind her. “Take rotating squads and blockade the road leading to the Luminian headquarters at Hightower. Use whatever excuse you can to take a Pilgrim into custody, or get a Knight to challenge you. Hold the casualties to a minimum; we just need proof that they attacked us, I don’t want you to waste men.”
The captain hurried off, leaving Calder a little stunned. When the Head of the Imperial Guard wanted to act, she acted fast.
“Maybe you all discussed this when I wasn’t looking, but why do we need them to attack us at all?” He tapped the news-sheet. “They made up a story about us, even though they got it right. Why can’t we do the same? Trot out a few wounded Guards, and print up a story about how the Luminian Knights assaulted us because they were so against the idea of a unified Empire.”
“Witnesses,” Cheska answered simply. “Any story we put out can be verified or denied by the Witnesses. If we lie, they’ll let everybody know it. That’s what we would have done for this story, except that it just so happens to be true.”
Which led Calder to wonder why the Independents had published the article in the first place. Was it really fabricated? If the Witnesses could verify anything, how would anyone dare to lie?
Short of asking the enemy Guild Heads, he would probably never know.
“And speaking of Witnesses…” Cheska continued. She reached under the table and hauled up a wooden case. A familiar one. She popped it open, revealing a set of white candles. “…we need to get a team on these yesterday. The alchemists and Consultants are better-funded than we are, so we might as well tap into what funds we can.”
Calder’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he objected. “Those are mine!”
She smirked at him. “Technically, they’re the property of the Guild of Witnesses.”
“I mean, I had them. They were in my room.”
“That’s right. Where my men found them and brought them to me.” She waved a hand at him. “Oh settle down, we’re not going to abandon you on the side of the road. We never needed you to Read these, just to carry them to us. We have other uses for you.”
That was actually somewhat of a relief, but Teach took over by drumming armored fingertips on the table. “That brings us neatly to our second point of order: we must announce an Emperor immediately. Therefore, we can paint any enemy action as opposition to the Emperor instead of just a disagreement between Guilds.”
There would be a lot of merit to that. Some philosophers painted disloyalty to the Emperor as morally equivalent to Elder worship. Even if Calder wasn’t the original Emperor, the taboo would still work in their favor.
Maxeus shook his head. “There’s an issue. If we simply raise some nobody to the position of Emperor, we can expect an outcry. However, I have a solution that I believe will smooth the transition.”
Over the course of this meeting, Calder’s biggest supporters had called him a nobody and a slack-jawed idiot. He was looking forward to a long and glorious reign.
The Head of the Magisters produced a sheet of paper, similar to a news-sheet but printed on thicker paper. Calder could smell the ink, fresh from the printing presses, and the letters were bold and stylized. The palace sometimes put papers like these out in the Capital as Imperial announcements, and he could immediately see how they would lend him an air of legitimacy.
The contents of the paper were brief but poignant, starting with the seal of all four Imperialist Guilds on top…and the seal of the Witnesses at the bottom, verifying that the text was legitimately produced by the Imperial Palace.
+
Loyal citizens of the Empire,
+
In the wake of the Emperor’s untimely and unholy death, may his soul fly forever free, we grieved together in the years known as the Long Mourning. As a people, we have been fragmented and leaderless, banding together under the banners of those who would divide rather than unite us.
+
But now, on behalf of all faithful Guilds of the Aurelian Empire, we will raise a new leader. A man who will bring us together, not drag us apart. A man who will once again protect us from the foul incursion of the Elders and their spawn.
+
In memory and honor of the original Emperor, the father of us all, we are hereby proud to announce the man who will lead us forward into the future, the Imperial Steward of the Aurelian Empire, Lord Calder Marten.
+
Calder’s name was repeated in much larger, more flowery letters on the bottom of the sheet, as though he’d signed it. He’d never seen the signature before in his life.
“There are several versions of this declaration for various audiences,” Maxeus went on. “This one is primarily aimed at Guild members and their families, but we have variants for laborers, nobility, and the educated classes. This also can’t be our only announcement, of course; we’ll have to send a coronation date along with it.”
Teach scanned the paper and tossed it back onto the table. “It works. I can back it up. As long as you can keep the Regents under control.”
Maxeus leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “If I’ve proved anything this week, it’s that I know how to handle the Regents.”
“But not the media,” Cheska muttered, still reading. “Doesn’t this seem a little…abrupt? The people have no Emperor, and then they read a piece of paper, and now they have one all of a sudden?”
“We have to strike quickly,” Maxeus countered. “And we’ve done our best to acclimate the population of the Capital to the idea for years. If they’re not ready for a leader now, they never will be.”
Calder’s stomach fluttered, and he was having trouble keeping the grin off his face. “Can I have this framed?”
Teach let out what might have been, in someone else, a laugh. “I suspect you can have whatever you want.”
“If he can sit on the throne,” Cheska reminded her.
“That’s still a concern.”
The door flew open, and Bliss hopped in. “No it’s not! I figured it out.”
Calder looked from her to the open door. “Have you been eavesdropping? Why didn’t you just come in?”
Teach was beginning to look exhausted again. “You were invited to this meeting, Bliss.”
“I was waiting for the appropriate moment,” the girl replied, lifting her chin. “That was it. Now I need you all outside the Emperor’s quarters with your weapons.”
Maxeus stood up. “Not me. I have business to attend to at my estate, I’m sorry to say. Not that I would be much use against a wall of Elder flesh anyway.” A Magister’s greatest weapon was his Intent, and using Intent directly against an Elder creation was a particularly painful way to commit suicide.
Bliss waved him off. “I don’t need him. The rest of you, follow me.”
Teach and Cheska traded a look, but they followed without complaint. Calder took another look at the printed announcement.
Imperial Steward of the Aurelian Empire.
It was real. At last, he’d made it.
He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.
CHAPTER NINE