the Venoans rattling their sabers,

Lord Gatahrin ti'Dailath had been enjoying a snifter of finest brandy and a book of poetry in his family's townhouse. He had held a seat on the Janilonas council for eighty two years and had kept it through diligence against attacks on it from all threats, be they the blades of assassins or the various political plays. Since seven in the morning he'd been hard at work in the council and at a dozen meetings with his various supporters, military leaders and other notables as well as two tours of manufactories and going through a pile of notes. In twenty minutes he'd meet with the head of House Desslian about their lighting proposals. Rebuilding after the defeat at Daagsgrad to new standards was a big task in of itself, especially since his state had lagged behind the other three states still in the fight. Doing so with a raw materials shortages looming Avesia being ransacked and The Eternal Foe going on the Hunt with Coldlander guns made things that much more hectic. Despite all that he was still determined to keep up the fight. There were avenues which had not been fully persued for getting raw materials, new weapons being tested, machines which might even the gap and ideas that the admiralty had to make better use of what they had while they still had plenty of warriors and ships. Conceding defeat so soon would only embolden their foes further, even if a growing number of misguided fools were electing for the route of cowardice. His family had fought and died for their race and their state with distinction for two millenia and he was not about to relent just because things looked a bit dicey now. Right now, however, he simply wanted a little bit of time to unwind without having to dwell on such matters. The fire, the patter of rain on the window, the delicate taste of the drink and Xemlis the Younger's mastery of prose gradually combined to create a pleasant private little world of tranquility where his cares could melt away.





As such it came as a most unwelcome intrusion when one of his personal servants came in with a message cylinder before quietly leaving. He noticed it, sighed, got to his feet and set aside glass and book as he came to deal with the unwanted missive. He'd made sure that his personal manservants knew that there were matters that warranted his attention even when he was relaxing and what they were. He opened the cylinder, extracted the paper and began to read. A few moments latter he Drew his scimitar and sliced the note in half as it drifted down.







He'd read reports on the political situation in Valnothron and some of the dealings that Lady Valcas made with some of the fence sitters , but it was still a shock that they elected to sue for peace with the Coldlanders. It was especially galling given that the sister city had the lead in manufacturing and had just launched her third Ironclad last week with at least two more under construction and another two being refit while his state's shipbuilders were just getting started on their first. Up until this point, he was certain that they could salvage matters. If they could not yet lay siege to the Black Ports again they could snatch up their merchant fleet. One of their metal hulled cargo ships had been brought into Janilonas' harbor two days ago and they'd been nabbing some of their smaller steamer refits as well. Maybe they could go after their convoys again or take out some of their warships one by one. If they planned to continue their campaigns against slave ports they could go for their supply lines and send troops to help defend them from attack. But to apply that pressure and keep it up they'd need a unified front that could take losses. Now that more than a quarter of their power had decided to quit, the political will to keep up that fight would falter, especially since it would inevitably be faltering in Galthirith and Hansoliath as well for the same reasons.





It was like a phalanx when the first man ran, the craven leaves a gap which compromises his comrades in arms and forcing them to run or die. Worse still he'd read enough reports that the Committee had more of their infernal contraptions planned and if left unchecked would proceed to make more of them. But for all of that he knew that seriously opposing the peace process would cost him and his family hard won political capital in a gesture which would most likely be futile.





His mood ruined, he sheathed his blade and sat back down to fume about this. And it had been such a nice little break.





Next: Infrastructure, part Two Hundred and Eight Three