'Father-we've been allies for a hundred years!'
'And look where it's gotten us! It's turned our young fighting men into a race of worthless nancies.' Old Utrelli senior prodded a finger at the dandified Luccio. 'In my day, men were men. Soldiers and commanders… like your brother here. Now there's a fine figure of a man. Not some damned paintbrush-swizzling, tinker-brained, gnome- headed, leveling little freak!'
Lorenzo's younger brother puffed out his muscular chest in pride. Lorenzo sneered and jabbed at the creature in unremitting spite.
'He's exactly what's wrong with the entire system of social class! He has the brains of a golem and the education of a goblin; yet we're told that the lower orders have to listen to every word the damned fool says! If we're ever going to have true justice, we need to run governments through meritocracy. Set up a way to have the ruling done by those most fit to-'
'The nobility are most fit to rule!'
'No one has given the common folk a chance to try, so how can we possibly…'
Lorenzo's father stuck his fingers in his ears.
'I'm not listening!' He began to sing loudly and tonelessly, instantly attracting Tekoriikii's attention. 'Not listening! Not listening!'
Lorenzo's sister tried to intrude with her sweet, genteel smile.
'Now, Lorenzo, you know how father feels about your proposition to overthrow the ruling classes.'
'What would you know about it? The only thing you ever overthrew was your own virtue.'
Lorenzo's brother stirred into action with an 'I say, steady on…' The family argument settled into full swing. Watched by an innocent and confused Tekoriikii, who flicked his head from side to side and up and down like a frog at a gnat convention, all four members of the Utrelli family, their two maids, and their gatekeeper all crowded into a circle and began a wild melee of words. Invective flew like an arrow storm, accompanied by hand gestures, stamping feet, and wild bellows of rage. Miliana watched in growing fury, slowly cramming her ruined hat deeper down over her brows.
'Shut up!'
Miliana's voice snapped like a lightning bolt, bringing an amazed halt to the family wars.
'Shut up! I order you to shut up!'
Lorenzo's sister blinked at her in shock, then opened her mouth to speak. She took one look at Miliana and blanched as the princess bunched a fist.
Short, begrimed and bespectacled, Miliana kept the Utrelli family rooted to the spot as she snapped out orders like a leader born.
Her first command sent Lorenzo's brother scuttling away.
'You! Go return my horse to the city gate. You maids-go get a room for me and then pile some straw in a corner as a nest for the bird. He wants a box of salt biscuits, a bucket of nuts-and get me a bottle of new white wine.' Filthy, tired, and angry, the princess kicked Lorenzo's brother on his way. 'Move it! The rest of you-I want baths for me, for Luccio, and for Lorenzo, a change of clothes and a meal-and someone get me a map of the Blade Kingdoms, now!'
Trying to preserve her air of cynical gentility, Lorenzo's sister faced Miliana with lowered lashes.
'And is there nothing else?'
'I'll work on it.' Miliana marked the door to the bathhouse and hitched up her filthy skirts. 'I get the bath first. Just find me a decent dress and some towels.'
The sister gazed down her nose at Miliana with a sneer.
'And what, my dear, should you be called?'
'I should be called when I've finished my bath.' Miliana ruthlessly pushed the larger girl aside. 'After that, you can call a meeting of your Blade Council, and call your troops to arms.'
Miliana departed in a slap of bare, muddy feet. Lorenzo's sister kept a smile frozen on her face as she swiveled furious eyes upon Lorenzo.
'And who, exactly, is she?'
'She's serious.' Lorenzo managed to pull off one mildewed boot, releasing a shower of stones across the floor. 'Don't bother her until she's had her bath.'
Luccio departed for the pantry, slapping his hands together in glee. Lorenzo crawled off to find himself a tin bath and a mug of beer. Watching the entire household whir like a hornet's nest, then depart, Lorenzo's sister drew in a magnificent breath of protest, only to find her audience had flown.
Exasperated, the girl stamped her foot in rage. With a toss of her head and a heave of her breast, she stormed irritably from the room.
… Leaving Tekoriikii in full possession of the floor. The bird looked about himself in curiosity, spied a string of pearls dangling about Lorenzo's sister's receding neck, and waddled off in swift pursuit, naked avarice gleaming in his eye.
'My lord? My lord, the dockyard guildmasters wish to tender their report.'
Approaching nervously in the shadow of the hippogriff aerie atop Sumbria's highest tower, the Colletran chief of staff faced Ugo Svarezi with a bow. Behind the administrative head of Svarezi's new army, terrified technicians tried to hide from the bite of the first winter storm.
Forever clad in his black velvet brigantine, Svarezi ignored the interlopers and stared at the tower above him. His cold, chiseled face showed neither hatred nor joy, merely a desire for absolute, soulless efficiency.
With the winter months blooming bitter cold, the hippogriffs were restless. Svarezi ordered boilers stoked beneath the aeries, warming the floors to a springtime heat. Normally, the creatures bred in spring, the mares raising their young across the summer season, but this year, Svarezi wanted every mount upon the wing. He would breed his beasts through winter, and have the fledglings weaned before the summer campaigns began.
'My lord? My lord-the dockside artisans… their report i-is quite important…'
Svarezi turned and his expression chilled the artisans' blood stone cold.
The prince walked toward them slowly, the wind whipping through his coarse black hair.
'I require forty warships in twenty days. That is all.'
The dockside guildmasters wrung their hands; already their crews were working like men possessed. Svarezi kept their wives and children under guard within his walls-to 'remove the distractions they might offer to proper work.'
The master of Sumbria's caulker's guild crept forward by a pace.
'Sire-the numbers required-it is far too-'
'It is what I have ordered.' Svarezi placed a hand on the man's shoulder and walked with him to the battlements. 'In twenty days, we will have a fleet.' The cold eyes met level with the guildsman's own.
'We will have a fleet.'
'S-sire, it is too much. You require too many hulls!'
'Then use river barges as a base.' Svarezi turned aside without a care. 'Commandeer them from Sumbrian docks… or take them from puny Kirenzia…wherever seems convenient.'
Behind the old guildsman, his colleagues paled. One man stole forward with sweat starting from his brow.
'But the sea and river trade, sire! The barges are essential to bring produce to the cities! How will the harvest be brought in once summer-'
'Harvest is harvest; now is now.' Svarezi never even spared the man a glance. 'By harvest time, we will have the loot of whole cities to buy the goods we need.'
Walking his underlings to the wall overlooking the port, Svarezi gazed over the dockyard and its pathetic scattering of half-built battle craft.
'I will draft three thousand peasants as your labor force; in winter, no one needs to till a field.'
'We will lose men, sire. The land grows cold.'
'Yes-we will lose at least half-but we will have a fleet in twenty days.'
Svarezi pushed the old man forward; with a detached expression, he watched him fall, screaming, onto the rocks a hundred feet below.
'I believe you can be motivated into far, far greater speed.'
