Page 14 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

She gestured to a large map of the city hanging behind her, marked with coloured pins.

"Peaceful protests in the merchant and artisan quarters, led by our human allies who face less immediate danger.

More direct actions in the administrative district, targeting the offices that process the new registration requirements. "

Her finger moved to the central plaza. "And here, where the Emperor himself will be present, our most visible statement."

The plan was bold—perhaps too bold. I exchanged a glance with Tarshi, seeing my own concerns reflected in his eyes. The resistance had grown, yes, but we remained outmatched against the full might of Imperial forces. If things went wrong, the consequences would be devastating.

As if reading my thoughts, a voice called from the back of the room: "And when they bring the dragons against us? When they burn our protests to ash?"

Mira’s voice cut through the nervous chatter, sharp and clear as struck steel.

“They won’t. The Emperor’s dragons are a tool of fear, paraded during triumphs but rarely unleashed within the city walls.

The risk of collateral damage, of burning the very districts that enrich him, is too great.

He uses them to intimidate, but their deployment against unarmed citizens would turn the masses against him. ”

A man in plain clothes rose from his seat near the front. Despite his civilian attire, his military bearing was unmistakable.

"Darius," Kalen acknowledged with a nod. "Our friend here served with the Sixth Legion until recently."

"If Vitellius and his men are coming," Darius said, addressing the room, "we need to be prepared for the worst. “Vitellius doesn’t care about the masses. He cares about purity and cleansing fire. He would see it as a righteous act.”

A wave of dissent rippled through the cellar, voices rising in a cacophony of fear and anger. Arguments broke out, the fragile unity of the meeting threatening to shatter.

I glanced at Tarshi, who leaned closer to whisper, "Vitellius is a military commander known as the Butcher of the Northern Reach. Known for burning entire settlements rather than taking prisoners. Even other Imperial commanders fear his methods."

Marcus’s grip on my hand tightened. “This is madness, Livia,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “They’re planning a massacre—their own.”

“And the alternative?” Tarshi’s voice was a low growl from my other side.

He watched the chaos with a predator’s stillness, his gaze fixed on the leaders.

“To wait in our rooms until the Sixth Legion comes knocking? Until they drag anyone with a Talfen great-grandmother into the street and gut them for sport?”

Marcus flinched as if slapped, his jaw tight. He had no answer. None of us did.

“Enough!” Kalen’s voice boomed, and he slammed a fist on the table before him.

The room slowly fell silent. “Fear is our enemy tonight, not each other! Darius is right to warn us. Mira is right that we cannot back down. The dragons are a risk, but a distant one. The soldiers in our streets are the immediate threat. Our plan must account for them.”

The man who’d asked the question wasn’t satisfied.

“What if you’re wrong? What if Vitellius and his zealots are given command of the dragons?

They won’t care about spectacle.” The name Vitellius sent another chill through the room.

Darius, the former legionary, stepped forward again.

“He’s right to ask,” Darius said, his voice ragged.

“Vitellius sees dragons not as a last resort, but as the purest expression of Imperial power. He would relish the chance to ‘cleanse’ the capital.” The carefully constructed plans, the maps with their coloured pins, suddenly seemed like a child’s game.

As the debate about dragons continued, I felt a knot form in my stomach.

If only they knew the truth—that the Emperor's greatest weapons were enslaved Talfen, forced into dragon form by cruel magic. I could end this fear with a single revelation, but at what cost? Not just to my mission, but to Sirrax and all the others like him. Many of the Talfen here were half blood or less, and those that were full blood had been born in captivity. Were any of them dragon shifters? Did they even know of their heritage? I couldn’t answer.

I needed to question Sirrax further before I revealed something this important, but I felt torn inside.

"We need contingency plans," a woman's voice cut through the chaos. I turned to see Nika, a half-Talfen healer I'd met at previous meetings. Her practical nature had always been a stabilizing force. "If we prepare for the worst, we reduce our risk."

Kalen nodded, grateful for the constructive suggestion. "Exactly. We need evacuation routes, safe houses, and signals."

Marcus leaned forward, surprising me by speaking up. "Your demonstration points are too concentrated," he said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had studied military tactics. "If the soldiers seal off a single street, half your people will be trapped."

Eyes turned to him, some suspicious, others curious.

"And you are?" Mira asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Someone who's seen Imperial tactics firsthand," Marcus replied. He stood, moving toward the map with a soldier's confidence. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, Kalen nodded.

Marcus studied the map, then began adjusting pins. "Smaller groups, more dispersed. Here, here, and here." He indicated positions that created a loose net around the central plaza. "Multiple approach points, multiple escape routes. If one area becomes compromised, the others can still function."

Darius moved to stand beside him, evaluating the new arrangement. "He's right. This spreads their forces thin if they try to contain us."

"And reduces casualties if things turn violent," Marcus added grimly.

I watched with a mixture of pride and surprise as Marcus continued outlining tactical adjustments. This was a side of him I rarely saw—the veteran fighter who understood not just individual combat but larger strategy.

"What about the dragons?" someone called out.

Marcus paused, his expression darkening. "You can't fight dragons in the open," he said bluntly. "Your only defines is to stay where they can't effectively target you without destroying valuable Imperial property. Narrow streets. Markets. Places where collateral damage would be unacceptable."

As the debate evolved into practical planning, I felt Tarshi's hand slip into mine, squeezing gently. "He's good at this," he murmured.

"He was a soldier before he was a gladiator," I whispered back. "He rarely talks about it."

The tension in the room gradually transformed into focused energy as the plan evolved from bold but reckless to calculated and strategic. Kalen reorganized the cell leaders, assigning new positions based on Marcus's suggestions.

"We need signals," Antonius contributed, his deep voice carrying easily. "Something subtle that can pass messages across districts when the soldiers start moving."

"Coloured flags," someone suggested.

"Too obvious," Antonius countered. "Street vendors. Different calls for different warnings. The soldiers won't notice what they hear every day."

The idea sparked a flurry of suggestions, and soon a simple code was established—different vendor calls to signal safety, danger, or retreat.

"This might actually work," Marcus murmured as he returned to sit beside me. There was something new in his eyes—a spark I hadn't seen since our days in the ludus. Purpose.

As the meeting continued, detailed plans emerged: the timing of demonstrations, the distribution of pamphlets, the presence of medics disguised as ordinary citizens, ready to treat any injured.

"And what of those who cannot run?" a soft voice asked from the corner. An elderly half-Talfen woman leaned heavily on a cane, her pointed ears prominently displayed despite the risk. "The old, the very young, those of us who would be immediately recognized?"

A sombre silence fell over the room. Not everyone could participate directly without extreme danger.

"You will be our eyes," Mira said after a moment. "Watching from windows, from doorways. Sending signals. And you will be our memory—recording what happens, ensuring the truth spreads no matter the outcome."

The old woman nodded, satisfied.

"There's something else," Darius said, his voice dropping lower.

"Something you should all know." He looked around the room, his face grim.

"The troops being brought in from the northern border—they're not just soldiers.

They're veterans of the Talfen campaigns, men who've been taught that half-bloods are abominations to be purged. "

The room grew still, the weight of his words settling like lead.

"Three weeks ago," he continued, "my unit was ordered to cross the border and 'secure' a Talfen settlement. It wasn't a military target—just families. Women, children." His voice grew ragged. "We were ordered to kill everyone. No prisoners, no witnesses."

"Did you?" Antonius asked, his voice like granite.

Darius met his gaze steadily. "I refused.

Was beaten and left for dead. But not before I saw what they did to that village.

Houses burned with people trapped inside.

Children cut down as they ran." His eyes swept the room.

"That's who's coming to the capital. Men who've been trained to see anyone with Talfen blood as less than human. "

A terrible silence followed his words. I stared at Darius, a chill spreading through me as I recognized the echoes of my own village's destruction in his account.

"It's happening again," Antonius whispered, his voice barely audible. "Just like my village."

"This changes everything," someone said.