layers of the disk slowly revolved to count the hours and turn day into night.
Theodosius remembered, as a boy, the look on his father’s face the day a team of laborers hoisted it above the council table.
“I want all of my ministers to gaze upon it,” his father said over the rattling of the chains. “It’s a reminder and a warning: the Oerrans may be heathens, but they aren’t
savages
. Savages couldn’t create something this majestic. No, they’re backwards in their beliefs, but as cunning as we are when it comes to the art of war. The day we fool ourselves into thinking otherwise is the day they’ll beat us.”
They’d been cunning enough, in the aftermath of the sacking of al-Saresu and the caliph’s winter palace, to maneuver the Empire into a stalemate and sue for peace. Decade after decade since, Theodosius had waited for some provocation, some excuse to surpass his father’s victory.
Every single day, the Sand Clock silently mocked him.
I am the trophy of your father’s greatest conquest. Where is YOUR trophy?
“What do we know?” Theodosius asked the twenty ministers ringing the table. Papers slapped the wood and men jumped to their feet, everyone shouting at once. The emperor winced, rubbed his forehead, and waved them down, waiting until one voice cowed the others into silence.
“Al-Tali,” said his advisor Zellweger, a heavyset man with dangling jowls. “It’s a trading post inside the no-man’s-land east of Carcanna. Utterly destroyed. The few witnesses to escape all told the same story: the attack was carried out by Caliphate men riding from the direction of al-Badra.”
“Our spies report no change from the Caliphate borders,” Minister Wruck said, shaking his narrow face and rattling a sheaf of parchment. “No massing of troops, no increase in war readiness at all. It doesn’t make sense. Your Excellency, I suggest we send a diplomatic envoy to al-Badra.”
General Baum sat like a coiled spring, arms crossed tight over his chest. “And get our diplomats killed? No,
they
need to explain themselves to
us
. I say we close the borders, recall all settlers to our side of the no-man’s-land, and wait for them to make the first move.”
“They already made the first move,” Zellweger grumbled out of the side of his mouth, “when they slaughtered everyone in al-Tali.”
“We don’t know enough to risk—”
“Gentlemen,” Theodosius said, holding up one hand for silence. “Are we strengthening our border presence, as I asked?”
Baum nodded. “We drew down numbers at forts throughout Belle Terre and the western Empire to buffer our holdings in Carcanna. And again, Your Excellency, I must object. Belle Terre is still a volatile—”
Theodosius narrowed his eyes. “The war is
won
, General Baum. The Terrai are
broken
. I won that war.
Me
. And the wags and peasants in the streets, do you know what they still call me?”
“A great man,” Zellweger said.
“Our glorious leader,” Wruck added.
“
Theodosius the Lesser
,” the emperor hissed, spitting out the words. “My father, of course, being Theodosius the Greater. And do you know why he’s remembered that way? Look above your heads, gentlemen. Look at that marvel of the world, the Sand Clock, seized from the caliph’s own bedchambers. My father crushed the heathen hordes, drove them before the armies of the light, and forced them to crawl to the treaty table like the dogs they are.”
The ministers shot nervous glances around the table as if they were passing folded notes, and every note had the same warning written inside.
“They’ve played at peace all these years,” Theodosius said, prowling back and forth across the marble floor, “but this is more than a provocation: it’s a sign. No, this is no time for timidity, no time for meekness. We
attack
.”
One of the treasury men swallowed hard and sank low in his seat. “Y-your Excellency, we spent almost three decades in open war with the Terrai,
Theodosius remembered, as a boy, the look on his father’s face the day a team of laborers hoisted it above the council table.
“I want all of my ministers to gaze upon it,” his father said over the rattling of the chains. “It’s a reminder and a warning: the Oerrans may be heathens, but they aren’t
savages
. Savages couldn’t create something this majestic. No, they’re backwards in their beliefs, but as cunning as we are when it comes to the art of war. The day we fool ourselves into thinking otherwise is the day they’ll beat us.”
They’d been cunning enough, in the aftermath of the sacking of al-Saresu and the caliph’s winter palace, to maneuver the Empire into a stalemate and sue for peace. Decade after decade since, Theodosius had waited for some provocation, some excuse to surpass his father’s victory.
Every single day, the Sand Clock silently mocked him.
I am the trophy of your father’s greatest conquest. Where is YOUR trophy?
“What do we know?” Theodosius asked the twenty ministers ringing the table. Papers slapped the wood and men jumped to their feet, everyone shouting at once. The emperor winced, rubbed his forehead, and waved them down, waiting until one voice cowed the others into silence.
“Al-Tali,” said his advisor Zellweger, a heavyset man with dangling jowls. “It’s a trading post inside the no-man’s-land east of Carcanna. Utterly destroyed. The few witnesses to escape all told the same story: the attack was carried out by Caliphate men riding from the direction of al-Badra.”
“Our spies report no change from the Caliphate borders,” Minister Wruck said, shaking his narrow face and rattling a sheaf of parchment. “No massing of troops, no increase in war readiness at all. It doesn’t make sense. Your Excellency, I suggest we send a diplomatic envoy to al-Badra.”
General Baum sat like a coiled spring, arms crossed tight over his chest. “And get our diplomats killed? No,
they
need to explain themselves to
us
. I say we close the borders, recall all settlers to our side of the no-man’s-land, and wait for them to make the first move.”
“They already made the first move,” Zellweger grumbled out of the side of his mouth, “when they slaughtered everyone in al-Tali.”
“We don’t know enough to risk—”
“Gentlemen,” Theodosius said, holding up one hand for silence. “Are we strengthening our border presence, as I asked?”
Baum nodded. “We drew down numbers at forts throughout Belle Terre and the western Empire to buffer our holdings in Carcanna. And again, Your Excellency, I must object. Belle Terre is still a volatile—”
Theodosius narrowed his eyes. “The war is
won
, General Baum. The Terrai are
broken
. I won that war.
Me
. And the wags and peasants in the streets, do you know what they still call me?”
“A great man,” Zellweger said.
“Our glorious leader,” Wruck added.
“
Theodosius the Lesser
,” the emperor hissed, spitting out the words. “My father, of course, being Theodosius the Greater. And do you know why he’s remembered that way? Look above your heads, gentlemen. Look at that marvel of the world, the Sand Clock, seized from the caliph’s own bedchambers. My father crushed the heathen hordes, drove them before the armies of the light, and forced them to crawl to the treaty table like the dogs they are.”
The ministers shot nervous glances around the table as if they were passing folded notes, and every note had the same warning written inside.
“They’ve played at peace all these years,” Theodosius said, prowling back and forth across the marble floor, “but this is more than a provocation: it’s a sign. No, this is no time for timidity, no time for meekness. We
attack
.”
One of the treasury men swallowed hard and sank low in his seat. “Y-your Excellency, we spent almost three decades in open war with the Terrai,
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