B00BPJL400 EBOK by Taylor Anderson

different directions the People fled to escape the ancient Grik enemy so long ago that few could even guess at the time that had passed. The tree was believed to be a legacy of the fabled land of their ancestors, planted by the first arrivals on southeastern Borno to establish this land Home in the first place. There were other . . . almost-Galla trees around Baalkpan, but they’d been crossbred by local flora to some degree. The only pure Gallas were in the Fil-pin Lands, aboard some of the seagoing Homes, or on Great South Island.
    No longer elevated, the Hall had “grown” all the way to the ground. Expanding upward had been deemed structurally difficult, and it was impossible to build outward into the surrounding Parade Ground; that peaceful, shady expanse had become a cemetery for the growing number of war dead that preferred burial to cremation. Even if that number remained a minority, the Parade Ground would remain a memorial park to all those who’d given their lives, human and Lemurian. Building to the ground was contrary to custom and even the Sacred Scrolls, which strongly suggested structures be elevated to protect from predators and floods, but Baalkpan was so well fortified against both now as to virtually eliminate that concern. Besides, they needed more room.
    Adar sat on his favorite stiffly stuffed cushion in the noisy War Room and looked about at the animated blinking of Mi-Anaaka, and the still-more-animated human faces. Many present were good friends, but others he hardly knew. Some were new enough to their posts that he didn’t know them at all, and he felt a sudden longing for the old days, when Baalkpan was surrounded by Grik and faced extermination. Those were desperate times and he didn’t long for the situation, but he missed the . . . intimacy of the smaller cadre that successfully defended the city. He sighed. So many of those heroes were lost to this life forever, and others were scattered across the known world, in terrible danger he couldn’t share. Finally, when he could endure the time-wasting chatter no longer and was fairly sure all were present who needed to be, he touched the bronze gong for attention.
    “My friends,” he said in the sudden silence. “My friends,” he repeated, “we have much to discuss. I shall begin by saying that things go well in the East. The Enchanted Isles are firmly in Allied hands, and the colonial possessions and resources of the Empire of the New Britain Isles are secure. The buildup for an invasion of the mainland and the final destruction of the evil Dominion has begun.” This was already known, but there were cheers and stamping feet. “In addition, I am pleased to announce that our own dear Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald has consolidated her power under the guardianship of Mr. Sean Bates, whom most of you remember as ‘O’Casey,’ when he was among us.” The cheers were more enthusiastic now. “Princess Becky,” as she’d been known in Baalkpan, was much loved, and her parents’ murder had shaken the Alliance with fury. “Our ambassador and Minister of Science, Courtney Braad-furd, has performed heroically, and secured the firmest friendship between our people and the Empire that we could desire. He is returning to Baalkpan for a time, and a diplomatic contingent including Sister Audry is on its way to replace him. I understand Mr. Braad-furd will collect the Imperial Ambassador in Maa-ni-la, a Lord Forester, and bring him here.”
    Adar took a breath. “That is the good news. Now, this is the first general meeting we have convened since the initial shock of our . . . setback in the West. Most of you now realize our early fears of total disaster were unfounded, and, in fact, Gen-er-aal Aalden has stabilized his perimeter quite successfully.” Adar allowed his gaze to linger on Commander Simon Herring. Herring, a survivor of a Japanese prison ship that came through another evident “Squall” with the