“Ladies and gentlemen of the assembled, senators, legislators, and my fellow soldiers,” Vachir’s voice echoed across the enormous stone structure. His call for emergency session had been heeded by nearly every representative as well as virtually every off duty officer and soldier in the city.

Days earlier, the Prophetess had pulled her priests from every monastery and corner of the Federation. Practically overnight, her representation in daily FCF life had disappeared. There was rejoicing in the streets with commoners shouting “free at last!” but, those in authority were far more wary.

Even the embassy for the Holy Land had been promptly abandoned. Such things only happened between nations during extreme diplomatic tensions or, as a prelude...to war.

In the enormous hall, Jim, Alia, and their skeleton crew of twenty awakened sat silently, listening to what Vachir had to say. Even the ambassadors of The Protectorate and the Northern Tribes decided to make a rare appearance.

The meeting space was large enough to seat thousands. Ninety three rapidly ascending rows circled the small stone dais that Vachir stood upon. The “Circle of the Free” was a small, ugly, stone layer on an otherwise flat marble floor. It had been cut from a destroyed piece of cornerstone.

During the war for independance, nearly five hundred years earlier, the Federation has broken from the oppressive Warlord Alliance. In the struggle, a large section of the fortress at the center of Trest - the Alliance capital, was destroyed.

From that cornerstone of dictatorship and control, the dais had been milled. The representatives of the Federation agreed on little but, placing such a symbol in the center of their democratic seat was one of very few exceptions.

As the assembly fell silent, Vachir continued, “I return to you with distressing news. As you are no doubt aware, all Holy Land representatives and priests have suddenly and mysteriously evacuated our territory, leaving us free from their influence for the first time in history.”

A loud cheer burst from the assembled crowd of commoners who made up the largest section of the seating. It took a few minutes for the Ceremonial Guard to calm the raucous crowd. Calls for silence were finally heeded.

Vachir continued, “Believe me, my kinsmen, I share your sentiment. Over two hundred years ago, our ancestors dropped old rivalries and fought, side by side with the Alliance against the Prophetess. They fought with courage, valor, and cunning. And, they lost.”

The hall was still. There would be no cheering for his bleak reminder of history. He continued, “Were it not for the interference of the Protectorate, no doubt, we would all be in chains.” He gestured politely to the Ambassador of the Protectorate. The pale man nodded curtly.

“When the war ended, the Prophetess returned to her hole, deep in The Holy Land. But, her minions have operated freely in ours and Alliance territory ever since that day. For hundreds of years since her defeat, the Prophetess’ slaves walked freely among both our nations as we returned to age old blood feuds.”

Some of the politicians shifted impatiently. They didn’t need a history lesson. Vachir continued, “my kinsmen, we have been deceived. I come to you today with absolute irrefutable proof that the Prophetess has allied herself with our enemies, the Warlord Alliance, and an invasion force, the likes of which the world has never seen, will reach our lines in a matter of weeks, if not days.”

The hall erupted. For nearly ten minutes, the Ceremonial Guard tried in vain to calm everyone. Insults, encouragements, and foretelling filled the stands. It was bedlam. The scene was a chaotic mess of noise and opinions. Democracy at its finest.

Finally, the noise died down to a dull murmur.

“My friends,” Vachir continued, “As you all know. I am a prime awakened of air. The only one remaining in the Federation now. I was appointed liaison between our armed forces and the Prophetess. I’ve had the unfortunate duty of standing in her presence on more than one occasion and I can tell you, even I was fooled.”

Vachir motioned to Specialist Hartzell. Usually confident and graceful, the man was out of sorts under the watching eyes of so many as he scurried to the dais. Vachir addressed the assembly, “through no small feat of stealth, one of our men gained access to the Holy Land and infiltrated deep into the great rift.” Vachir glanced at Hartzell who shook his head. He was either unwilling or unable to speak in front of so many.

Vachir nodded, understanding. He spoke again, “What he discovered haunts me still. A ground force of at least fifteen divisions sits, training, preparing for war, deep in the bowels of The Great Rift. In addition to that, the Prophetess, with the help of the Alliance has been secretly constructing an air navy as has never been seen in history. It’s an invasion force with one simple goal...the subjugation of Ruin...starting with us.”

He had much more to say but, the outburst from the assembled crowd said otherwise. His speech was over.

***

“Damnit ambassadors!” Vachir’s hand slammed down on the round stone table, “we don’t have time for trepidation. The enemy is nearly at our gates. Your governments must act” Vachir slumped back into his chair. This conversation was going nowhere. He hated politics.

Around the table, Vachir was joined by Ambassadors Rolf Weber of the Protectorate and Cirrol Ceallaigh of the Northern Tribes. Joining them were Jim and Alia, Lieutenant Colonel Sandra Mason, and Prime Minister Halsey of the Federation.

It had been a long day. The senate and legislation stewed, locked in private deliberation most of that time, deciding how or if they should act on Vachir’s accusations. In the end, the disappearance of all priests and Holy Land representatives had provided vindication enough.

A call up for all reserves had gone out to the city and surrounding countryside. Tens of thousands of men and women were rushing to their nearest post to report for duty. Soon, it would be hundreds of thousands. Since its founding, service in Federation military was compulsory. Everyone knew how to fight and, their livelihood, possibly their survival, was a very powerful motivation.

Meanwhile, an investigation was launched into Vachir’s accusation of fraud within the government. If someone had been funneling black crystal into the Holy Land, the guard would find out. All politicians were forbidden from leaving the city until the investigation had concluded.

The news of invasion was darkened further by the Ambassadors’ unwillingness to commit to...anything. Ambassador Weber spoke first, his pasty white skin seemed to be layered in a permanent sheen. Jim wasn’t sure if the man was sick or just uncomfortably hot.

“General Vachir,” he began with his odd accent, “The Protectorate simply cannot interfere in matters of war between the Alliance and Federation. It’s not that we don’t sympathize with your situation but, we have problems of our own.”

The man stood from the table and made his way to the far wall of their small meeting room. On it, an enormous map of Ruin stretched out. Waving his hand across it he added, Our territory stretches from the eastern slopes of the Eternal Mountains all the way to the western outpost of ‘Watchtower’. As it has always been, our troops keep watch, defending the southern empires from cannibals, terrific desert creatures, and every sort of horror that comes from the north, excluding our friends in the Tribe lands of course,” he nodded toward Ambassador Ceallaigh.

Seeing his opportunity, the Ambassador of the Northern Tribes leaned in. He was getting along in years but, his fiery red beard had only begun to show it as only a few strands of grey wove their way through. He was portly but, Jim suspected, much of it was just well disguised muscle.

Nodding to his fellow ambassador, he added in his own northern accent, “Quite franklah, the Northern Tribes would have little ta gain from helping ya and little ta fear from the Prophetess. Ya have my sympatheh as well, I’d love ta see tha bitch burn. But, ma government would never be able ta joostify the lives of our navy.”

Jim had remained silent, preferring it over uncomfortable conversation but, he finally had something important enough to say, interrupting, “If I may speak?” Vachir and Prime Minister Halsey both nodded for him to proceed. He tried to fight down his pesky anxiety. Damnit, it’s just six people, Jim. Get a grip.

Taking a breath to calm himself, he spoke, “Ambassadors, I’ve met the Prophetess. In fact, I caught a glimpse of her plans for a brief moment. I can assure you, she won’t stop at the Federation. When they...we’ve been defeated,” He paused glancing at Alia. She simply smiled but he could see, she shared his and Vachir’s frustration.

“When we’ve been defeated, she’ll turn north. She doesn’t plan to stop until all of Ruin is hers. From there, she’ll spread her evil west and east to conquer the world. As she sees it, your nations are small nuisances to be dealt with quickly.”

Seeing his opportunity, Vachir cut in, much to Jim’s relief, “If we combine forces now, we can deal a crushing blow to her plans. You both claim to want her gone, well, this is the best chance we will ever have. She’s counting on the Federation standing alone. In fact, she knows, your governments would never interfere.”

He made his way to the map as he continued, “Surprise is a terrific force multiplier. This will be our last and only chance to employ it.” Ambassador Ceallaigh, stroking his red beard interrupted, “and between the Prophetess and Federation, your long time enemy sits. I suppose it’s just a stroke of luck that we’d have to destroy the Alliance on our way to the Holy Land?”

Vachir and Sandra Mason stood to protest but, they were stayed by a gesture from Prime Minister Halsey. She had a reputation for being a good listener and only speaking when it really mattered. Commoners lovingly referred to her as “Grandma Halsey.” Her voice silenced the room.

“Ambassadors, it is true that we have been enemies with the Warlord Alliance since we gained our freedom over five hundred years ago. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish for their defeat but, this is no longer a conflict between two nations. It’s a fight for our survival...all our survival.”

She stood, slowly, gracefully. As a woman in her eighties, she was the oldest Prime Minister to ever serve the Federation. Over the years, he voice had never lost its power though, “If the Federation must stand alone against the coming storm, we will do so with courage. Stories of our struggle will be told a thousand years from now. We will not disappear quietly into the annals of history. Our flame will rage against the coming storm.”

Placing her aged hands on the table, she concluded, “Go back to your governments. Tell them of the great struggle that approaches. Beg them, on bended knee if you must, to join us. Remember, history is written by the victors. You must choose. Who will write yours?”

The discussion was over. An unstoppable storm was approaching and a few good men and women were all that stood against it.