34 Searing, 122
The afternoon was calm, relatively. The way Stefan's life had taken turns in the last two years involved many things he had not expected, but he had climbed his way back out of the mental abyss that had tried to claim him and was now settling into his new roles. Science Minister. Husband. Father, soon enough.
Delia was due any day now and the thought of his impending fatherhood filled him with equal parts pride and fear. There would be joy, from more than one quarter, when the heir of Dornkirk was born, and he could only hope that no sorrow accompanied it.
The hum of the Windworks around him had helped far more than he had imagined it would. Though most of the work he did in his office was for the government while other men oversaw the business, it still felt like where he should be.
There were more people, and his private sitting room was now being utilized as an office for the government officials, his subordinates, that needed to be at hand on a daily basis, but, other than that, the place hadn't really changed.
Dienerin had just made the rounds to take lunch orders from Stefan and the officers, and Eitan was due to join him for what was becoming a tradition; their shared lunch. Often they discussed government or Order business, but they could also slip comfortably into conversations domestic and personal.
His sudden rise to power which had, initially, felt foreign to the point of discomfort now fit him like a tailored uniform. He could do this.
Standing he went to his window, a design of his own, mini stained glass scenes of airships framed the four corners, while the main three panels were clear and offered a good view of the city. A reminder of what he did, and a reminder of why.
Something unexpected caught his eye, like lightning but red, from the clear morning sky. Stefan blinked; something about what he was seeing made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his shoulders itch to be back-to-back with a companion he trusted.
Then, the world exploded. Even at a distance from the event, there was no mistaking the cataclysmic nature of it; everything shook, books and papers rattling off their shelves and delicate instruments falling to clatter against the carpet. When the initial blast had settled, the shaking didn't stop, it wasn't the rush of concussive energy that the blast had caused, it felt more like an earthquake, or the slow rising of some unimaginably huge behemoth rising from the earth.
Stefan's military instincts kicked in first and he stepped over to throw open the door to what had been his sitting room, where his officers would be. Before he'd even called out to them, his instincts to protect his family rose up and kicked the militant ones in the head.
The orders he'd been about to give died on his lips like the air being knocked from his lungs as his head whipped around and he snapped out the name of his manservant instead. The man must have already been making his way to his master, for it wasn't even a second before the main door to his office came open and Dienerin's slim form half fell through it. Before the man had righted himself Stefan's voice whipped out precise orders,
"Take the Nachtherr, get Delia, Luca, and all the servants who will go. Get your family. Get my parents. Take them to the country manner."
It took choking on the words not to add Brenner to the list, but they were both officers with a duty to Zaichaer that superseded their own lives.
The whites of Deinerin's eyes were showing as they locked onto what was happening outside the window, but it took only a moment for his old soldier instincts to find him too. He snapped into a militant stance and nodded. No questions were needed, he would go to where the ship was docked in the bowels of the Windworks and fetch the people who mattered most, in the order they had been given.
Stefan turned back to the officers, who were now piling into the office, watching through the window as chaos begin to literally swirl over the city.
He began snapping off orders, sending someone to find Brenner for orders, others to give orders to all those who served under Stefan. Whatever was happening, attack, or natural disaster, protecting the citizens was the first priority.
Two of the men who served as managers in the Windworks were standing just outside the open office door, watching the uniformed men run to obey. Stefan called to them, told one to gather as many men as he could and head into the street, to go through the neighborhood that surrounded the Windworks and bring anyone who would follow them. The Windworks was as heavily warded as six months' worth of layered wards could make it, and had several huge, underground levels. Civilians could shelter there until the danger passed.
The second man he ordered to take get a crew onto the largest cargo ship currently in the building and take it to the city granaries. Stepping to his desk he wrote out a quick set of orders and sealed it with his Ministerial Seal. The man understood, he was to gather as much food as possible and return, in case of a prolonged siege. As soon as he had the paper in hand, he too, fled.
For a moment Stefan was alone, then he heard familiar footsteps crossing the sitting room.
"Eitan," Was all he said for a moment, letting more into that one word than he could have spoken aloud. Seeing a mirrored fear in his brother's eyes he said, "I sent Deinerin in the Nachtherr for Luca and Delia. They'll be out of the city before it reaches the Hall."
He hoped they would, it was hard to tell how fast the storm was moving. It wasn't a storm, but it was the only way his mind could wrap around it that made sense.
"Do you know what this is?"
The answer, when it came, chilled him to his marrow.
"We have to get the people into the Windworks, into the Hall, anywhere they'll be safe. Start reinforcing the wards, as best you can." If Eitan knew of other, better things he could be doing, or orders to give based on his greater knowledge of magic, Stefan knew he wouldn't hesitate to take action or command as needed.
Turning from his friend he saw that more men were stepping up to his office door, ready to follow his orders, as employer or minister, it didn't matter anymore. He started snapping off more of the same sort of thing he'd told the first two; get the people in, get provisions in, set up defenses. He had one group start setting up an infirmary, another a quarantine area for those affected by the mists. He would set soldiers to watch the contaminated ones, and kill any that showed signs. It was the best he could do for them.
He didn't know how long later it was when the officer he'd sent to the Presidium for orders returned. The man looked shaken and there was blood on his uniform and the side of his face. His report deepened the lines on Stefan's face. The High Marshall was missing. The First Minister had left the Presidium at a gallop and no one seemed to know where he'd gone. The stark reality of the fact that Stefan was equal with the highest ranking civilian government officials that anyone could currently locate was only softened by the fact that most, if not all, of the other ministers were in the safety of the Presidium, where they could maintain order.
A strangled gasp from the reporting officer was the only warning Stefan had before a deafening peal of thunder cracked through the city hard enough to shatter what remained of his window. Whipping about to face the now empty frame he was just in time to watch the center of Zaichaerian government explode outward. Time stopped.
"Minister?"
The trembling voice of the young officer settled onto him like a palpable thing. Stefan could feel the way the word had changed from a courtesy to a plee, from an honorific to a mantel of terrible responsibility. He let his eyes close. The exact shape of the bright flash of the Presidium tower coming apart showed in perfect relief on the inside of his eyelids.
Delia was safe. Eitan was safe. Brenner had left the Presidium. Had he known?
Questions for later. There was a chance. He opened his eyes.
Moving to his desk he wrote out a set of orders, simple, precise: Save the people. Get them to warded buildings, or get them out of the city. All ships still capable of flight were to be conscripted to this cause. He paused for a moment, calculating the most likely pattern of spread before writing out the borders of a quarantine zone. No one was to be allowed into, or out of, that area without the permission of a captain's rank or higher. He yelled for an undersecretary and told the man to make copies of the orders until he was told to stop. He gave the trembling officer the task of distributing the copies to any other officers he found. The man was still shaken, but Stefan spoke with calm authority, clapped him on the shoulder, looked him in the eye. Metal returned to the man's spine, he nodded, snapped off a salute, and left.
The next hour Stefan walked the Windworks, supposedly to make sure his orders were being followed, but realistically to check that none of his men were breaking under the strain of the knowledge that, aside from the Order headquarters, the Windworks might be the only remaining place of safety in the city. Shouts eventually brought him to the main entrance, where barricades had been erected and, on his orders, all canons had been pulled off the ships in dock and placed either behind the barricade or on the roof. As he stepped outside the nearest soldier pointed down one of the streets. Where they had been empty only a little while before, the citizens trying to hide in their homes, they were now filled with running people, screaming, and...
There was no name for what they were. Abominations of the mists.
Drawing himself to his full height, attempting to embody the Lord Dornkirk and a Minister of Zaichaer with all of his being, Stefan called for a gun. A soldier's sidearm was put into his hand. Not what he would have chosen. The thought almost made him laugh, in light of everything else this day had brought.
Catching the eye of the officer commanding the canons he ordered covering fire for those fleeing. The cannoneers on the roof would have a better vantage, but all guns were needed. Once he saw the artillery being aimed he raised his own gun and ordered all the soldiers within hearing to protect the people from the creatures ripping through the streets and bodies like paper from a New Year's gift.
Not looking back to see how many were following his orders in the face of the unfaceable he charged from the safety of the wards and began to fire. If magic was to be their end, then he would have Zaichaer make such an end as would tremble in the hearts of mages for all time.
The deafening retort of the canon fanfared his charge as chaos rose up to claim him.
