Valerius waited. It was funny, he mused, that for all the years he’d spent in the twelfth legion, wishing for just a moment to lay down and rest, now that he had the time to do so, he found he couldn’t stand it. He longed to have his sword in hand, shield at the ready, facing the dead hordes of the shokin deathlords once more. Even the simple work of a soldier, shovel in hand as he helped dig fortifications, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers-in-arms, would have been a welcome relief. He chuckled for a moment at the image, an old man in senatorial purple, heaving dirt as he waded up to his knees in mud.

Instead, the only mud that faced him now was the depthless muck of reports and requests that graced his desk. He gently rubbed the aching joints of his hand as he shot his quill a glare. As much as he hated waiting, he hated the paperwork more. Truly, success had become his greatest foe. Still, a soldier’s lot remained ever the same, and with a stiff groan, he resumed his seat and dipped the quill in its well, beginning to shovel once more.

There was a heavy rush of air, and the abominable papers scattered from his desk. He smiled. “Consul Marianus, I see you have returned safely.”

“Consul Valerius,” the fyrkin nodded, settling his wings before striding in from the landing balcony. “I bring news.”

“As I had hoped,” Valerius said, groaning as his knees protested being forced to stand once more. “Share your news.”

“It is about the western refugees,” Marianus said, striding to his half of the consular offices and immediately beginning to pick through the bookshelves there. “They are indeed from Uthed.”

“I see.” Valerius began to tap his fingers on his chair, despite the way it tortured his joints. There had been many conversations about such an event, most held in confidence and private dreams, soldiers young and old musing by firelight about seeing their rebellious descendants brought to heel. Though they were ostensibly trading partners now, it was an old wound, one that would likely ache until the end of the republic’s days. Unless, of course, something should happen to Uthed. “And what did you learn of the state of our dear neighbor?”

“Troubling things,” Marianus said, hooking a book with his claws and laying it out on the desk. Peering over, Valerius was surprised to see the codex motrui, and the sight instantly washed away all happy thoughts of an Uthed cowed.

“You’ve never been one for dramitics, Marianus,” Valerius said, lips pressed into a thin line. “What have you heard, exactly?”

“The owner of the ships identified himself as Thorvig Crissea, a minor merchant we have had dealings with in the past. He described the incident that had befallen Uthed as best he could, and while he has no military observation experience, some things became abundantly clear.” Marianus continued to flip through the book, sketches of shambling, reanimated abominations proceeding one after the other. “They were attacked by entities that resembled soldiers, however, they seemed to be made of some sort of semi-substantial material. As he described it, they would scatter like smoke upon being struck, only to reappear a moment later, completely whole.”

Already, Valerius was making his way to his own shelves, picking through them. When the deathlords had finally fallen, the anatomists brought in to ensure they were dead had discovered countless writings scribbled within the bones and skin of the deathlords, again demonstrating the shokkin aversion to anything that could not be carried with them. Valerius finally found his transcript of the translations, and laid it out on his own desk, beginning to flip as well.

When the scholars had gone over the anatomists discoveries, hoping to perhaps find some keystone to the deathlords power, what they had instead found were quasi-philosophical ramblings on the nature of death and the soul. The deathlords, it seemed, had been seeking some sort of bodiless immortality, a way to remain in the physical world without a body to maintain them. The shokkin stormlords had denounced the quest as ‘heretical’ when confronted on it, but many in Kinpatria (Valerius included) had suspected it was more a matter of denouncing the losers than a legitimate religious schism. In either case, it was clear was Marianus was concerned. Valerius was too.

“Do you think a deathlord could have made their way to Uthed?” Valerius asked, already pouring through treatises on ‘mediums’ and ‘phylacteries.’

“Unlikely,” Marianus snorted. “It was magnetomancers that turned the tide in the war,” he said, certainly no bitterness in his voice. “I highly doubt a kin fleeing the fire would think of a firepit as his escape.”

“Just so,” Valerius continued to study the book. Again, the similarities were undeniable. “Was there anything else of note?”

“The shades, as the refugees called them, seemed to move as one, which would suggest a deathlord’s control, but they seemed to be as affected by rocks and arrows as steel weapons, and there was no sign of electrical arcing from them.”

“So almost certainly not a stormlord directly,” He continued to rap his fingers on the book. “An understudy?”

“Who would they deign to teach? Shokin have an even lower opinion of humans than isskin do.” A wry smirk teased at his jaws. “Your charms are utterly lost on them.”

“A shame,” Valerius shared in the moment of levity before it drifted away again. He continued to tap on the book until it hit him. “What if it wasn’t a living deathlord?”

“Hm?” Marianus glanced up as Valerius brought the book over, thumping his hand on it. “How did we learn the secrets of the deathlords? From their bodies. It need not have been a living deathlord, but a dead one!”

“Yes,” Marianus nodded slowly. “That would make sense. They did embalm themselves to keep their flesh preserved. It’s reasonable that a dead one would still have legible writings on them for years after the fact.” He shook his head. “It just means we have less to work from though. We don’t know if a corpse was simply stumbled upon, or actively bartered for.”

“We have to assume some sort of intent,” Valerius said. “One does not accidentally raise undead legions on the seat of rule. In one move they decapitated the monarchy and shattered the country. It would be enough to take the kingdom with mundane forces, to say nothing of undying legions.”

“True,” Marianus nodded, closing the codex. “If it is stolen knowledge, then we can only assume we are dealing with something entirely new.”

“And how will we deal with it, become the question,” Valerius sighed, making his way back to his own seat and dropping into it with another groan. “How stands the army? I haven’t been out to do a proper review in… too long.”

“It stands well,” Marianus said. “It’s not the army that’s at issue. It’s the navy.”

“Of course,” Valerius sighed. He had known that bloody treaty with Uthed would come back to bite them. Agreeing to scuttle most of their navy in return for aid had been a costly decision, but a necessary one at the time. Now, ironically, by preventing the very invasion they’d feared, Uthed left themselves to deal with their new threat alone. It almost brought a smile to his face. “Something must be done, though.”

“We can still mobilize an expeditionary force, at least,” Marianus offered. “Even if we aren’t dealing with a true deathlord, it sounds as though their weakness of centralized command remains. Somewhere, there is a head to this beast, and it takes but one sword to sever a neck.”

“True,” Valerius said. In truth, it was not the sort of victory he would have hoped for. While allowing a deathlord, or some sort of impostor of one, to exist was unacceptable, there would be little to be gained in the long run from such a move. At most Uthed might thank them and offer some token concessions. It might be embarrassing for them to be sure, but neither the hive mothers nor Aureana on Uthed’s borders gave two figs about international prestige. A feather in the republic’s cap would be worth a feather.

“It makes you long for the old days, doesn’t it?” Marianus grumbled, his eyes straying towards the stacks of paper on his own desk.

“When our nation was as vital and strong as we were!” He chuckled and sighed. Such days were behind them now, the future holding just a ceremonial retirement behind a desk, followed by a formal one. “Ah, what a dream to go back again.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

A dream.

The thought tickled something in his mind. He reached down into his desk, and pulled open his favorite drawer. He felt Marianus’ eyes on him as he pulled out the stack of yellowing pages, and began to rifle through them. “What are you thinking, old man?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, shuffling through the stack of rejected proposals. It was standard policy to keep proposals to the consuls in triplicate to make sure there were copies for later reference, but Valerius liked to keep a copy for himself whenever something truly absurd crossed his desk. Finally, he found what he was looking for. “Fetch a messenger. We have a hive to visit.”

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

Valerius stifled a cough, reminded again why few visited the ashback exclave. Though there were marvelous stories of the hive mothers across the sea and their gleaming glass hives, the ashback hive inspired a completely different kind of awe. Rain fell in constant, acrid sheets as the towering mass of brickwork continually belched ash into the sky above. Even so far away, the thunderous rattle of trains was everpresent, the great metal serpents continually feeding the hive’s insatiable need for fuel. Seeing the place, Valerius was quietly glad that the isskin trade guild had lobbied any and every railsystem proposal into the ground. He couldn’t imagine being woken to the sound of the steel monstrosities rolling through the streets of Hearth at all hours of the day.

Still, it might just be the solution he needed.

“Come along,” Valerius said, cloth wrapped over his mouth. “Let’s get this over with before I start coughing up coal.”

“Agreed,” Marianus mumbled through his own face cloth. For all that they breathed fire, fyrkin found ash and smoke no more agreeable than any other race with lungs. “Though I wish you wouldn’t be so mysterious with my time.”

“I simply want a… fresh impression,” Valarius said. “An idea of how the senate might react at first glance.”

As they strode through the streets, it was like navigating a river. All around them, the wasplike forms of the ashbacks scuttled, glassy bodies stained black by their environs, resulting in their namesake. Each one carried a metal coal furnace with them, pipes around their bodies spreading the warmth they desperately needed, sparks scattering as they shifted about constantly. It was always unnerving traveling through a place where the inhabitants found any sort of fire prevention more lethal than fire. The thought of being set alight as hundreds of emotionless eyes stared on was not a pleasant one.

Eventually they made it to the primary ironworks, the clamor of hammers and endless clicking of legs raising the sound to a bruising level. “We are the consuls,” Valerius paused to cough. “Valerius and Marianus, here to investigate proposal #33854.”

Instantly, one of the drones detached itself from the forges, a ripple propagating through the crowd as jobs were reshuffled seamlessly to accommodate the sudden absence. The drone scuttled straight up to them, and bowed. “I will arbitrate the proposal. Please follow.” It turned and cut a swath through the crowd, leaving the two consuls to follow.

It led them further into the labyrinth of the hive, away from the thunder of the forges and towards the thunder of the trains. After countless turns, they emerged into a massive warehouse. Again, the building thrummed with activity, wood, coal, and anything flammable being unloaded from the trains even as iron and steel were piled back on them. The whole thing was done with such terrifying effieciency that, were it not for the isskin guild’s hegemony, Valerius had no doubt the ashbacks would have replaced all industry in Kinpatria.

“We have stored a prototype in anticipation of later interest,” the drone said, leading them over to a relatively inactive corner of the warehouse, where a large steel form sat idle.

It was a long, elegant thing, reminiscent of a fish or a bird. Stubby wings projected out from the sides, and elegant, curved blades projected from lumps upon them. If Valerius had understood the proposal correctly, they were supposed to revolve and provide a driving force, similar to the pumping of a kin’s wings. A bizzare solution, but then everything the ashbacks did had a somewhat alien bent to it. “Have you tested the prototype?”

“Yes,” the drone scuttled over to the side, recovering a piece of paper that had been pinned to the side, hurrying back and passing the document to him. He glanced over it. The numbers were slightly lower than the initial proposal, but still within reason. The cost, however, was significantly higher.

“This seems more expensive than was proposed,” Valerius said, showing the paper to Marianus and getting a startled choke for his trouble.

“Structural issues necessitated internal redesigns. The issues were rectified but more exotic alloys were needed,” the drone said. “It should still fit within budgeting constraints for the proposed use case.”

“The consul and I must confer for a moment,” Marianus said, pulling Valerius aside. “Valerius, I have indulged you thus far, but what is this contraption?”

“Why, Marianus,” Valerius said. “I should think that was obvious. It is largely untested, grossly expensive, likely horrendously dangerous, will doubtless require a rigorous training regimen to be of any use at all, and does the same thing a ship does.”

Marianus rolled his eyes. “And what does this… indulgence have to do with the situation in Uthed?”

Valerius grinned. “Because, my friend, you have neglected what it isn’t!”

“Reasonable?” Marianus offered.

Valerius grinned even wider. “A ship.”

Marianus stared at him a moment, began to open his mouth, and then his eyes went wide in comprehension. He glanced back at he machine, then to Valerius. “The senate will never agree.”

“Won’t they?” Valerius continued to grin, some of that old campaign energy warming his bones. Or maybe it was just the oppressive ashen heat. “A deathlord or some shadow of their arts sits ascendant in Uthed. We could hardly break the treaty under the pretense of providing Uthed aid, it would look utterly transparent. On the other hand, if we are ready to deal with a threat and simply opt to do so…”

“But we are not ready,” Marianus said. “Building such a fleet, if we even can, will be just as transparent.”

“Will it?” He glanced at the drone. “The ashbacks are a pragmatic lot. If we tell them the purchase is contingent on the machines already existing, they will simply claim they built all of them in anticipation. All the senate has to approve is the purchase: the ashbacks will handle whatever minor details go into construction.”

Marianus was silent for a few moments, glancing back at the machine, then at Valarius. He finally sighed. “Alright, what do we do about the isskin trade guild? You know they treat anything built by the ashbacks like its filled with vipers.”

“The operational costs!” Valerius crowed. “We wave an exclusive trade contract under their noses and they’d let us buy actual vipers!”

Marianus nodded along. “Yes, and these are too expensive to properly threaten their sea trade anyway.” An expression of wonder began to dawn on his face. “We could actually do this.”

“One last campaign!” He slapped Marianus on the withers. “We swoop in, we stop the rebirth of the deathlords, we repay Uthed their assistance in the war. Not only will they be in no position to complain about our new fleet, we can even use it as leverage to get the old treaty overturned!”

“Depending on the state of the monarchy,” Marianus conintued. “We could even install a provisional government.”

“A local senate!” Valerius followed. “Instilling the values of the republic while respecting the sovereignty of Uthed.” He grinned. “We will be heroes!”

“Yes!” Marianus returned the grin. “Yes we will.”