"Minions are like bolts: plentiful and easy to replace." - Assur Vhen, Thirteenth Emperor of Kem

"Oh, you’re really in it now," said Jecks to himself. His voice sounded strange in the small, stone chamber. The room was empty, save for a table made out of the same black stone as the walls and floor. A single steelboard affixed to the ceiling cast everything in its harsh white light. "Think. You’ve been in worse spots before, right? The train wreck, was pretty bad but that worked out alright."

"Except, it got you sent here, which landed you in your current situation. You’d have been better off on the front lines, trying not to get killed by Outsiders." If given the choice now, he’d gladly take quick, painful death that he would have faced at the hands of the Empire’s ancient foe, rather than a prolonged, painful death at the hands of the Empire itself. At least if he’d died in the front lines on the Expanse his parents would have finally been proud of him.

"At least they’re safe." Jecks ceased his pacing and rested his head against the cool, damp wall. The Empire had recently discontinued the practice of "collective punishment", wherein a person’s entire family could be held to blame for their crimes. Which was a good thing, since Jecks’ was a doozy.

"No, no, no!" he said, resuming his pacing. He had a hard time keeping his eyes from staring at the only way in or out of the room in dread. It wasn’t locked. This wasn’t a cell, but one of the many little out of the way rooms that dotted the Citadel like crumbs dropped from a loaf of bread. Still, it didn’t matter. Outside were two armed soldiers, members of the Citadel Guard, who he’d only just a few hours ago still been a part of.

"This isn’t your fault." Jecks stopped and deliberately slowed his breathing and tried to calm his heart rate. "Sure, you were the guard on duty, but they had uniforms and proper authentication. They had the daily passphrase!" Just talking it out helped him calm down a little. Sure, the Iron Empire was hard, but it wasn’t without reason. Jecks had been following proper procedure.

But someone had to take the blame. He felt his heart speed back up at the thought. Could he pass the blame up the line? Probably not. His lieutenant was some Baron’s favorite niece or something, which had kept her off the front lines. You didn’t see many noble’s kids going off to the Expanse to die, stopping the Incursion. Or the most recent Incursion anyway. After a few more nervous laps around the room, Jecks made himself sit down in one of the chairs and really think about that night.

There wasn’t much to think about really. It had all been so routine. Well, right up until the alarms sounded and the entire Citadel had erupted like one of the Old One’s themselves were knocking on the walls. It hadn’t been until much later that night when things had calmed back down that they’d discovered how the thieves got in. Right through Jeck’s checkpoint.

Granted, they’d obviously had to penetrate other checkpoints to even get to his. The Citadel was the most secure place in the Empire, housing not only the Emperor himself, not that he needed much protecting, but the Blackforge, research labs, and the largest collection of weapons in the known world. It had only been infiltrated a handful of times in the Empire’s history, and in none of those occasions had it turned out well for the criminal. Or the soldiers who’d been found wanting in their duties.

The fact remained though, that Jeck’s checkpoint was the last, and the most secure that they’d passed through. Soldiers on patrol needed a daily password and a specially Etched steelboard to pass beyond, much like the one Jecks still had. He pulled the thin strip of grey metal out of his pocket. It wasn’t any thicker than two of his thumbnails put together, but it was completely impossible to so much as bend it. There were grooves all along the front and back, patterns lined with a different, more reflective metal. Every single card that had access had been accounted for, and he couldn’t even fathom how one could be made.

Whoever had made it through his checkpoint, had detailed knowledge of the security there, plus the key itself. Since he’d been the only one on duty that time of night, responsibility, if not outright suspicion were falling directly on him. He’d been tossed in this little chamber a couple hours ago and left to stew. Truth be told, he was getting pretty thirsty, and he’d needed to relieve himself for about the last thirty minutes. He’d considered knocking on the door and asking, but the guards hadn’t looked concerned about his personal comfort. He stared at the door with an odd mixture of longing and despair.

Jecks jumped to his feet as the door opened inward. A good indication of how severe his punishment would be who was conducting his interview. If it was his Lieutenant, then chances were pretty good blame wasn’t falling on him. Much higher up the chain of command though, and his future might be measured in years he spent outside the Red Rock Mines, following his lengthy sentence.

An old man stepped through the door, dressed in a finely tailored suit and Jecks could feel the blood drain from his face. He wore a pair of spectacles that emphasized his cunning green eyes. Aside from that he wore a fastidiously trimmed, iron grey beard. Though his suit bore no adornment or mark of station, Jecks, anyone who worked in the Citadel, would recognize him instantly; the Seneschal of the Emperor of Kem. Which meant...

Jecks snapped to attention, straight as if someone had hammered a board to his spine even as the Seneschal turned to face him, holding the door open. The Emperor of Kem entered just second later, and it was only Jecks years of experience that kept him from gibbering in terror. The Emperor of Kem walked into the room with the presence and authority of a mountain.

The Emperor was only barely able to enter the room without ducking. Jecks wondered briefly at why he hadn’t heard the Emperor’s footfalls in the hallway, but he moved with a quiet step, which was remarkable because he wore a suit of armor unlike anything else ever made by the hands of man. He was encased, head to foot, in smooth black metal.

Though the Emperor’s armor was enormous but he moved like he was dressed in nothing but fine silk. Simply seeing him walk into the room, in near complete silence identified him. When he spoke, there could be no doubt. Jecks was well and truly cored.

Without a word, The Emperor seated himself, and the Seneschal followed suit, while Jecks remained at attention, staring straight ahead. The old man shuffled some papers around and then handed a few to the Emperor, who proceeded to study them, or so Jecks assumed. Though he kept his eyes straight forward it was impossible not take in what details he could. In spite of his current situation he was still awed by the man sitting in front of him.

Jecks had never seen the Emperor’s armor up close before, though he’d heard enough stories. Now that he was within arms reach he could see the intricate Etchings that covered the whole of the armor, covering the smooth black surface in intricate silver tracery that glowed with a rhythmic light as power flowed through it. While there was ornamentation, it was minimal, some flares around the shoulders and pauldrons.

Jecks’ eyes nearly trailed down to the empty faceplate, smooth and featureless save for the delicate Etchings that were even more numerous and intricate. Still, it was the helmet, more than anything that lent to the Emperor’s sense of menace.

"You may be seated," said the Emperor, setting the documents on the table in front of him. Jecks rushed to obey, as the voice that issued from the helmet drove a spike of fear directly into his mind. Despite there being no visible slits or openings in the helmet, the Emperor’s voice was more than clear; it was a thing all its own, deep and resonant, it filled the small room. It was the voice a displeased god might use when chastising his followers.

"Harvin Jecks," said the Emperor, and even though Jecks couldn’t see his eyes, he could feel the Emperor’s gaze pierce him. "Four members of the rebel group known as the ’Sunderers’ penetrated Citadel Security early this morning disguised as members of the Imperial Security Forces. You were on duty at the checkpoint leading into the secure laboratories." As the Emperor spoke, Jecks could almost feel his heart beating harder against the dread of what was to come next. "They managed to penetrate one of the most secure storage areas with many untested devices and were able to escape with one of them."

"Your superiors indicate that you are to blame for this breach in security. That yours was the authorization that allowed them into one of the most secure areas of the Citadel. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Jecks stared helplessly into the smooth expanse of the Emperor’s faceplate, trying to think of his earlier arguments in his defense, but thoughts of his likely ugly futures derailed all thought. "Well?" The Emperor tapped a finger on the stack of documents in front of him, and Jecks imagined it was his own order of execution.

"It’s not my fault, Lord Vhen!" Jecks was ashamed at how desperate he sounded, but continued on, convinced this was his last opportunity. "They had proper authorization and knew the passphrase for the day. There was a patrol due when they came to my station and their uniforms were genuine." Jecks tried his best to make eye contact, to try and convince the Emperor of his sincerity, but the helmet thwarted him.

"Hmmm..." The Emperor steepled his fingers and set his elbows on the table. Jecks got the distinct impression that he was narrowing his eyes in thought. "You told your superiors their authorization indicated they were members of your unit. Did you not recognize them?"

"No, my Lord," Jecks tried to keep his voice from trembling. He could see where this was going.

"You’ve been a member of the Security Forces for five years, ever since that unfortunate train accident." Did Jecks just imagine the slightly accusatory note to the Emperor’s voice, like he had something to do with that too? The Emperor tapped a steel finger on the table, with a sound like he was hammering a nail into the metal. "Why is it that you can’t recognize members of your own Security Forces unit?" He asked the question with a sort of anticipation that made Jecks think that the Emperor had already made his mind up about him. He prepared himself for the worse as he answered.

"Please, forgive me, Lord Vhen, but it’s just about impossible to recognize other members of the guard when we’re in uniform. The faceplates on our helmets obscure our faces completely." In response the Emperor’s metal fist slammed into the table, the sound deafening in the small room. He turned to the Seneschal.

"Exactly!" The Emperor’s voice was, though still frightening, was filled with satisfaction as he turned his gaze to the old man. "I told you father’s design for those helmets was a mistake. I still can’t imagine what he was thinking, keeping that faceplate."

"If you say so, your Majesty," replied the Seneschal with a sigh, taking out a pencil and jotting some notes on a piece of paper.

"Damn right, ’If I say so.’" The Emperor directed his attention back to Jecks. "Do you know the other members of your unit by sight," he asked, curious. He leaned his featureless face closer to Jecks, like he was attempting to look Jecks in the eye. For his part, Jecks was well and truly, frightened by the featureless face drawing closer to his and scooted back.

"Y...Yes, my Lord." Jecks tried to keep the stammer out of his voice without much luck. At this point, he simply wished that the Emperor would stop toying with him and tell him what his punishment would be. "Just not when we’re on duty." The Emperor turned again to the Seneschal and looked at him, as if delivering a silent "I told you so."

Jecks started wondering if, just maybe, he might make it out of this alive. Granted, that was a lot to hope for, but he’d had a certain expectation of how things were going to progress when the Emperor had walked into the chamber. Though he was still mostly terrified, a little confusion was making its way to the surface.

"Harvin, you do prefer Harvin, right?" asked the Emperor, interrupting Jecks’ thoughts.

"Yes, my Lord," said Jecks, automatically, then, without thinking, corrected himself, "Actually, most people call me Jecks, my Lord." The Emperor’s question had been so innocuous and unexpected that it took Jecks a full two seconds before he realized that he’d just corrected The Lord of the Blackforge. His face went pale in sudden terror. "But Harvin is perfectly fine, your Majesty." He bowed his head and prayed that he could make himself look properly penitent. The Emperor cocked his armored head to one side, in what Jecks could swear was confusion.

"You see this?" he asked the Seneschal in disgust, waving a hand at Jecks. "How am I supposed to have a productive discussion with my subordinates if they are constantly falling into fits of abject terror at the merest thought they’ve offended me?"

"Yes, my Lord," sighed the old man, and Jecks could almost swear that he saw his eyes briefly roll skyward imploringly. Jecks would never have rolled his eyes at the Emperor of the Ironlands, but the Seneschal was the Emperor’s uncle. Jecks guessed the position of Seneschal came with certain privileges too. Still, this interaction was getting stranger by the minute.

"Jecks then," continued the Emperor, turning back to him. "I want you to be honest with me. I promise no harm at all will come to you. Can you be honest with me?" Jecks nodded nervously, his eyes still a little wide. "Just forget the whole ’Master of the Blackforge’ thing for a bit." Jecks was pretty certain that he wouldn’t be able to do that, since the voice emanating from the helmet was still dark and full of the threat of violence. Still, when the Emperor spoke, the intonation of his words were clearly curious with a desire for understanding. It unnerved the ever-living Forgefire out of Jecks.

"Yes, Lord." Jecks was hesitant to promise too much. The Emperor had said he wouldn’t be harmed, and that was extremely relieving. But Jecks knew he was still in a lot of danger.

"Please, call me Ghreman." The Emperor leaned back in his seat, and Jecks could swear that he was smiling behind his helmet. "At least while we’re in here."

"Yes, Lor... Ghreman." Jecks could not possibly be more uncomfortable right now, and the glare that the Seneschal was giving him was not helping matters any.

"Excellent!" The Emperor clapped his hands together and Jecks jumped at the loud explosion of sound. "I’d like to start by talking about what an average shift is like for you."

What followed over the course of the next hour was the strangest, most nerve-racking conversation that Jecks had ever had in his life. The Emperor quizzed him about their working conditions, procedure, condition of prisoners in the dungeons, how the men viewed the officers and in turn how the officers viewed the men. Whenever the Emperor felt that Jecks was growing hesitant he would remind him in that disturbingly threatening voice that he was in no danger. Every now and again the Seneschal would shake his head and roll his eyes and glanced at the ceiling as if pleading with an uncaring deity, all the while scratching notes onto his pad of paper.

"Very good," said Ghreman, as Jecks had come to think of him during the last hour and a half. He stood and Jecks jumped to his feet, coming directly to attention. "You’ve been extremely helpful, what is it, Sergeant Jecks?"

"Yes, my Lord." Jecks figured that the time for addressing the Emperor by his first name was at an end.

"That won’t do." The Emperor shook his head. "Kemmis, I think Jecks is a rather sharp lad. Find a job that he’s better suited for. Good talking with you, Jecks. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have a word with the rebel that we did manage to catch, last night. Kemiss, join me when you’re done here." With that, the Emperor strode out of the chamber, his boots, once again all but silent on the stone floor and his black cloak trailing him as he exited the room. The Seneschal, Kemmis, remained and closed the door behind the Emperor. Jecks remained at attention.

"At ease, Sergeant." Kemiss looked directly at Jecks and took the seat that the Emperor had just vacated. He motioned for Jecks to sit as well. "I have to say, you handled that pretty well."

"Um, sir?" Jecks finally let his profound confusion show on his face. "Handled what pretty well? I’m not really sure what happened? Aren’t I being punished?" Kemiss grimaced, rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration, then locked his cold gaze with Jecks’.

"What happened," he said, "Is that you caught the Emperor of the Ironlands on a very good day. You dodged the headman’s axe by a hair’s breadth. You, Harvin Jecks, managed to evade the Empire’s ire." Kemiss’ voice was soft. Even if someone had been listening at the door, they wouldn’t have been able to hear. "What happened, is that you have been given just enough rope to hang yourself with. This is what you will tell the men you work with, the baker, your family. You got lucky. You will not talk about what was discussed today, you will not think about, or comment on it."

"The Emperor does not think that you had anything to do with the theft. I, however, am not convinced. Still, I view the chances that you had a role in it as small, and there is the question of what to do with you."

Jecks almost breathed a sigh of relief, as the order of the world slid back into place. This was an interaction with his superiors that he could relate to. Kemiss was neither interested in connecting with him, only with reminding Jecks of his place in the grand scheme of things. The fear that brought with it was familiar. Things would soon be back to normal. Maybe he’d get a promotion, but really, his life wouldn’t change.

"I actually find myself in need of a new aide." Kemiss tapped the side of his mouth thoughtfully and grinned as the color drained from Jecks’ face. "Yes. The previous one had a terrible accident when I discovered he was passing information to people he shouldn’t be. Despite his oddities, the Emperor does have a good sense of people. And if it turns out you can’t be trusted, well, I’ll know exactly where to find you."

"Sir," Jecks protested, "I have no experience! I’m just a soldier; a guard!"

"Well, then. I suppose we’ll see if you’re as bright as the Emperor seems to think you are. You’ve caught the Emperor’s eye, and now you’ve caught mine. All that remains to be seen, is if you’ll impress or disappoint."

Cold settled into Jecks’ stomach like he’d just jumped into the Kem river in the middle of winter. He felt like throwing up but thought that would make a terrible first impression on his new boss. Kemiss stood, and Jecks followed suit.

"Be at my office, at daybreak tomorrow morning." Kemiss turned to the door and opened it. "Don’t be late." Kemiss’ eyes glittered, and Jecks could almost feel the man planning out how he was going to test Jecks and put him through the ringer.

"Yes, sir." Jecks didn’t salute since he supposed he wasn’t in the military anymore. Still, he stood at attention until Kemiss turned and left in the same direction that the Emperor had taken.

Jecks fell back into the chair, his limbs loose and shaking just a little bit, though whether that was from fresh fear, or released tension he couldn’t say. Somehow, he’d survived. Not only survived, but now he was going to be the aide to arguably the second most powerful man in the Empire. A man who’d be watching him like a hawk for the least sign of treason, and who would probably have him disappeared the very instant he did something to disappoint him. What was the phrase? Out of the forge and into the fire. Yup. Jecks was certainly cored. 

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: Issa