Eldred Alsnow looked around the room, he seemed to be utterly surprised. Then, furrowing his brow, he asked, "My Lord, why does it matter if a few city-states want to bleed in the Empire's war? The Accord didn't vote for this. Let the three of them deal with the consequences."
Lorian didn't answer. He simply stared at Eldred. He let the silence stretch for a full minute until the older man began to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Finally, a thin, cold smile appeared in Lorian's lips.
"Tell me, Eldred," Lorian asked quietly, "What happens to us if the side those three support loses the war?"
A few of the Old Guards chuckled. Eldred's face reddened sensing that.
"The new Emperor wouldn't just punish the three," Lorian continued, not waiting for speechless Eldred's response, "He would condemn the entire Accord for the transgression of a few. He would see it as an excuse to wage war on all of us."
Lord Chancellor Theron Valerius, the Master of Coin, nodded, "And if their prince wins? It's even worse. Backed by the Empire's steel, those three cities will suddenly find plenty of excuses to 'annex' their neighbors. Namely, us."
"Why are we making this so complicated?" Alsnow asked, his voice bordering on desperate, "This isn't the first time a city has traded with the Empire. They are our largest partners!"
"You're right about that," Gravil Fartom broke his silence. He leaned back, crossing his arms, "But humor me, Eldred. What happened the last time one of us got tangled in an Imperial succession?"
"Nonsense!" Eldred scoffed, "There hasn't been a succession war in a century. The Empire follows primogeniture. The eldest son takes the throne. Always."
"Ah, my mistake," Gravil waved a hand dismissively, "I meant the last time there was a rebellion."
"The last time there was a rebellion, the seven cities won their independence!" Eldred's voice was sharp with irritation, "We have never been entangled in foreign politics since. Not once!"
As his rant ended, Eldred realized the hall had fallen into a heavy, amused silence. Every eye in the room was on him. He realized, too late, that he had been walked right into a trap.
Lorian walked behind Eldred Alsnow, put his hands on his shoulders, his eyes locked to the torch on the opposite wall, "The fire doesn't stop at your door just because you had refused to pick up a torch, Eldred. If we don't decide which house burns, we're just waiting for the wind to change and take ours too."
"So, what do you propose, My Lord?" Theron Valerius asked, turning to Lorian, "Do we back the same prince as our neighbors? Or do we support his rival?"
"Neither," Lorian replied in a cold calculating tone, "I do not care which dog sits on the throne in the North, so long as it is a dog that knows who holds its leash. So, initially, we will focus on milking the opportunity this upcoming chaotic time is going to offer us."
Lord Commander Lucien Lehance looked pleased, but still he raised a hand, "Forgive me, My Lord, but if we play both sides for too long, we become a target for both. Are we prepared for when their resources run dry and they look to us to refill their coffers, by hook or by crook?"
"I know the risks," Lorian said, "We will join the war eventually. But it will be on our terms, and at our time. Until then, we earn."
Lorian slammed his feet on the table, his eyes were glowing with raw greed, "The Empire counts its strength in bloodlines and banners. I count mine in bread and silver. A soldier may or may not die for a King, but he will for sure kill for a hot meal and a steady wage. With enough gold, even a God-Emperor can be made to bargain."
A cold dread, sipped with excitement washed the room like an soothing winter breeze. Lorian scanned the faces of the Council. He noticed excitement in their eyes.
"Battles are won by bravery," Lorian continued, "But wars are won by the side that doesn't run out of bread, boots, or bandages. And so, before the war officially begins, we should focus on stockpiling goods."
Rylan raised his hand, "you mean grains and weapons, my lord?"
"Not just grain and weapons," Lorian smiled, "you see, a sword is just a piece of sharpened iron until a man has the strength to swing it. A hungry man cannot swing; a cold man cannot aim; a man with rot in his feet cannot march. And so, my proposal is buying the stamina of our enemies. The side that runs out of stamina first is the side that loses the world."
For a moment, there was pin-drop silence in the hall. Then, Admiral Vorlag struck the oak table with a heavy palm. The sound echoed in the cold walls of Obsidian Hall. A moment later, Gravil Fartom joined in. Then the other members.
The drumming of hands against the oak grew louder reverberating in the stone walls. It was the sound of Veridia's heart beating for the first time in a century.
For the next hour, the hall hummed with the business of war. They drafted lists- salted meats, hardtack, high-grade iron rivets, winterized tents, and medicinal alcohol. They discussed honey and dried moss for bandages, levin-leaf for energy, and high-tensile strings for the crossbows.
The process was efficient. It was going smoothly until the commotion started.
Heavy footsteps and shouting echoed from the corridor outside. Lorian's jaw tightened, "I gave clear orders- no one should disturb this session. Who dares create a ruckus at the doors of the Obsidian Hall?"
"I'll see to it," Rylan Fartom volunteered. Lorian nodded, and Rylan slipped out of the hall.
The Council waited. They weren't worried about the noise; they were curious about who was foolish enough to ignore the Lord's command.
When Rylan returned, the color had drained from his face. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost.
"What is it?" Lorian asked, "Who is at the door?"
"My Lord," Rylan whispered in his trembling voice, "It is Mistress Sunstreak. She is seeking an urgent audience."
Lorian stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor, "Where is Jax? Is not he with her?"
Rylan bowed his head, unable to meet Lorian's eyes. "He is not with her, My Lord. He is in the Restoration Wing right now."