From "Lucky" Lantis DeGage, Fighting the Tide: A Memoir

The important part of my story really begins at the end of Nicator's life. Of course, the Conquest Age of the Selucarian Empire was swirling all around us, but we didn't notice it; we were too busy making buildings to see the shape of the town, if you catch my meaning. I was one of the young breed of administrators, the appointed nobles who had attained power in the new regime of Seleucar. We were too young to care about the old hates between Ashtan and Shallam. We were just excited to be working on the greatest project we'd ever heard of: empire! Dynasty! Progress!

I was the proudest of all. As the Architect of Thera, I had charge of all the public works from the gates of Ashtan to Lake Vundamere. The Shunai Bridge was one of my designs, as was the Chapel of All Gods near Thera (now fallen in the Black Wave, and never rebuilt, sadly). And my position put me close to the great man himself, Emperor Nicator. I remember him clearly, even as I reach the twilight of my own life: although he was often distant, gazing into a future I could only imagine, he always had a word for me, always had an interest in all his people. At that time, humans and Tsol'aa were the only races with true social status in the realms, yet Emperor Nicator recognized the virtues of the other races, and gave many positions of power to his old allies the Trolls, the Mhun, and even Dwarves like me.

Some criticized the Emperor. They called him a lecher because he took many wives, ignoring the fact that his marriages and offspring brought his many provinces firmly into the new union. They called him a spendthrift because of the money he spent to aid the poor, ignoring the fact that many of them became productive members of the only kingdom that had ever bothered to give them a chance. And they called him a madman, because he marshalled mighty armies and drilled them daily against a threat he could not name, a threat that never even materialized during his lifetime… and later they looked foolish indeed, biting their tongues as the great armies of Nicator did battle with the hideous monsters of the Black Wave.

My personal story is of interest to me, but no doubt of less interest to you; my autobiography tells it quite clearly, for any who greatly care. This memoir is of Nicator, and of his son Piraeus, and of the Black Wave. And it begins, for me, with Nicator's funeral. It was held in the Chrysalis Basilica, and it could have been the first and last time that the Basilica would ever be crammed with so diverse a group. Templars and Druids and Priests held company with Serpentlords and Occultists. The Templars wore armor specially discolored with soot, to indicate their estate of woe; the Priests dressed in mourning black; the Occultists and Serpentlords, normally secretive and clannish, stood shoulder to shoulder with their traditional rivals. Nicator's Theran wife, Petra, nobly led her small cadre of sister wives, each in the mourning array of their home cities, each hiding her grief with different degrees of success. Nicator's eldest son, Piraeus, the heir apparent to the throne, stood solemnly by his sister, Selicande, who held his hand gently, even as Nicator's other four children wept openly. And of officials and nobles there was a great sea, and beyond them outside the Basilica gates was an ocean of common folk, attentively listening for even the slightest murmurs of the great ceremony.

I cannot remember a word of the funeral service, nor do I remember the speeches given by the many nobles who eulogized the great man that day. What I remember is the face of the noble Princess Selicande as she comforted her brother the heir. What I remember is the strong yet tearful gaze of Queen Petra as she spoke of the love that had grown from her arranged marriage with her lord. I remember the tightly controlled grief on the face of Chancellor Severian as he poured out a libation to the gods in memory of his greatest friend. I remember the silent determination of young Prince Piraeus as he took the Imperial Crown at the sunset ceremony that same day. And I remembered the dark mutterings against the new Emperor, for even before his accession to the throne, he had declared his intent to continue to maintain the mighty host that his father had commanded. These were the sights and sounds of a great empire preparing to prove its worth… the sounds of a realm that would have to pass through greater travail before it could truly create the golden age it promised.

I remember events of the years after that, as well… the cheers and pomp and flash of spears as the youthful Emperor thrust his great armies into ever higher pitches of recruiting and training, and the strikes and protests and outcry as the ever higher cost of those armies threatened to break the coffers of the realm, and the common folk bore the price in full. I remember the stormy arguments between the Chancellor Severian, then an elderly but fiery man, and his youthful liege lord. "It may be that you have sold the chattels of the Imperial line to finance the muster of the troops, and you may well command the rest of the nobles to do the same, but in the end farmers shall starve for your useless armies, not kings!" And the young Emperor Piraeus, implacable, would bow his head in respect for his father's oldest friend, but would stand firm. "The Black Wave shall shatter on Seleucar. And if farmers must starve, I shall starve with them. Open the royal granaries and relieve those hit hard by the war tax. But the tax must hold." Chancellor Severian carried his exasperation with him to the grave, and then other naysayers took his place, and asked that the king lift the taxes. And the army's size increased, until the only ones who had enough to eat were the soldiers. It was only the size of the standing army that prevented insurrection… for who wished to challenge such a powerful military ruler as the cruel Emperor Piraeus? Only I and a few others fully believed in the "Black Wave" foretold in the vision Nicator had from Sarapis. And even we knew our doubts.

But twelve years after Nicator's death, just as the young Selucarian Empire was close to self-destruction under the weight of Piraeus' military host, the Black Wave struck, and from a direction none had expected: the depths of the earth.