“I can change my mind quickly, when necessary. I’m decisive.”
“That’s a flattering word for it,” Andel said.
“As long as we’re trying to win, then I need to be there. I captain the fastest ship in the Navigator fleet, I can use the Emperor’s crown, and I need a reputation as someone who handles my problems personally. I won’t fight if I can help it at all—”
“I was worried for a moment there,” Andel murmured.
“—but I have to be there. If only to show the people that I can do something myself.”
“If you want to do something, then find a way to use the Optasia,” Teach insisted. After Lucan’s testimony, Calder had demanded a more thorough investigation into the state of the Emperor’s throne. Finally, they had taken a volunteer Reader from one of the Imperial Prisons and allowed him to briefly use the Optasia—under careful supervision—in exchange for a commuted sentence.
After five minutes, the man had clawed out his own eyes. He would spend the rest of his days in a Luminian sanatorium.
The carriage slowed, clattering to a halt, and Calder opened the door without waiting for Teach. “Yes, well, at the moment I’m somewhat attached to my eyes.”
When they’d boarded the carriage, Teach had said only that it would take them “to Baldesar Kern.” Calder had assumed they would end up at a chapter house, or a mansion, or maybe a fortress of some kind.
He’d never expected the Head of the Champion’s Guild to live in a quaint little townhouse, with a yard and a white-painted fence. Patches of flowers grew in front of the porch, where a pair of rocking chairs sat side-by-side. The door was bright blue and the roof tiles a matching shade; it looked like the home of a grandmother. He half-expected to see a pie cooling on the windowsill.
Guild Head Kern himself knelt by a section of wooden fence. He wasn’t much taller than Calder, but he was broad, with enough solid muscle to suggest that his skin was packed with rocks. His black hair was winged with silver, and he squinted at the fence in utter concentration. He’d rolled his sleeves up so that only his bare forearms were splattered with paint.
Very delicately, he dipped his paintbrush into the can at his side. When it came up dripping white, he brushed it lightly against the fencepost, as though afraid that he might break the wooden plank if he pressed any harder.
As Calder dismounted from the carriage, he examined the full length of the fence. Only the segment in the middle was new, unpainted wood; the rest of the posts in the row were white and somewhat weathered; they might have stood there for years.
It was so mundane that Calder almost couldn’t believe this was the Head of the Champions. The man who had singlehandedly sent a rebel fleet down to Kelarac. The series of novels about his legend were labeled “Not Suitable For Children,” due to their expressions of extreme violence.
“I hope you don’t mind if I keep working as we talk,” Kern said, squinting at the fence as he applied another stripe of paint. “It’s almost lunchtime, and I have to take my roast out of the oven.”
Calder was standing in the man’s yard, wearing the Emperor’s old clothes, and Kern obviously knew who he was. Yet he didn’t seem to care.
In a way, that made things easier.
Teach stood by the carriage, keeping watch over Calder, and Andel started to walk over. Calder motioned for him to stop. “Of course I don’t mind. Would you like some help?”
Kern flashed him a smile. “Promised I’d do it myself, or I’d take you up on that. It would do you good to get some stains on those clothes.”
Calder glanced down at the layers of dark purple, violet, and lavender that he’d been forced to wear today. “I assure you, they’re not mine.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched as Kern kept painting, moving as though he expected his paintbrush to shatter. He was waiting for Calder to make the first move, and he seemed like a man who appreciated the blunt approach, so Calder dove right in.
“I want the support of the Champions.”
“I’m sure you do,” Kern said. He sounded gentle, without the edge of sarcasm Calder might have expected.
“We’re currently planning a major military action, and having the Champions along would go a long way toward ensuring a decisive victory.”
Kern’s brush paused. “A major military action. I don’t mean to seem hostile, Captain Marten, but have you ever served in the Imperial Army?”
“I’ve drawn my sword before,” Calder said, the words dry. “I’ve fought Elderspawn, cultists, rebels, Consultant assassins, Imperial Guards, Kameira…you name it, I’ve crossed swords with it.”
“I would expect no less from a Navigator Captain. But I’m asking you if you’ve ever been a part of an army.”
Calder thought back to the clash between the Blackwatch and the Consultants. That might count as a battle, but hardly as an army. “I have not.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most people haven’t. We’ve been an Empire so long that precious few of us have ever been soldiers. Even if you had, the Imperial Army is effectively a standing police force.” He returned to his work, moving his paintbrush carefully up the fence. “I may have lost my point somewhere in there. Forgive me.”
Calder had been waiting for the Guild Head’s argument so that he could counter it, but now he’d lost his balance. He tried to regain the initiative. “Your experience alone would be invaluable. And I know the Champions are more loyal to the Empire than any other Guild.”
“Hmmmm. The Empire. That’s tricky.” He tucked paint into the last few corners of a fencepost, sat back on his heels, and examined his handiwork.
“What’s tricky?” Calder prompted.
“Is there an Empire without the Emperor?” He waved a hand before Calder could respond. “I suspect you’re tired of people calling you a figurehead. I know you didn’t take the job unless you had the hope of real power someday, so I won’t hammer on that. But the fact remains that my loyalty was not to the idea of a united Aurelian Empire, it was to one man. Now that the man is gone, who am I fighting for?”
He was trying to mire Calder in an argument. Whether he’d been doing it intentionally or not, he was keeping the focus on the intangible aspects of Calder’s position, taking the subject away from the Champions. If Calder couldn’t keep the conversation grounded, it would go nowhere.
“Will the Champions commit to fight for the Empire, or not?” Calder spoke firmly, holding the man’s gaze, hoping he would be impressed rather than offended by blunt speech.
Kern tapped excess paint off his brush, watching Calder. “I will not commit the Champions to your cause. First, we don’t believe in it. Some of us think your Guilds are crazy for trying to hold the Empire together, some of us agree with the Regents that we’d be better off governing each region separately, and many of us just don’t care much. Second, we don’t believe in you. You’re young, you’re no one, and you’ve come out of nowhere. You’re clearly just a puppet for the Guild Heads, but we don’t understand why they need you at all.”
He nodded to someone over Calder’s shoulder. “No disrespect intended to General Teach. But that’s why I will not call up an army of Champions to your rescue. There’s a more pressing issue: I can’t.” Kern’s brush glided smoothly over the wood.
“There is no Champion’s Guild anymore. There are only Champions. I’m the Guild Head no longer, and I expect the Witnesses will issue our public declaration of complete dissolution within the month.”