Beyond the Bulwarks

by K. J. Coble

  Enu dismounted and handed his reins to a young conscript, gestured for the boy to take Anzo’s. With less ceremony than was probably called for, Anzo scooped his hands under Varya’s backside and handed her down to a waiting Enu before dismounting himself.

  “This way.” The Kharzulan strode across the courtyard, returning more salutes as he made his way to the fort’s northeastern-most tower.

  “Are you trying to ‘sell it’, now?” Varya rubbed her rump with a bitter scowl.

  “Apologies.” Anzo feigned a bow and offered her his arm. “If you’d honor me, my lady?”

  She snorted and started off after Enu without him. Anzo’s laughter boomed as he hastened to keep up with her measured strides.

  They followed Enu up a flight of stairs to the fort’s parapet and through a side door into the northwest tower. Gloom lit with sputtering candles and another flight of stairs awaited them. They labored upward in air chilled by surrounding stone, their breaths echoing in the dark space. An opened door and a lobby leading to several doors followed. A young man with locks curled and scented in Aurridian style sprang from a desk at their arrival. A pair of guards in full armor stiffened to attention, hands at their swords.

  “Tribune!” The lad offered the upraised palm.

  Enu returned the salute. “Any word from Maricius?”

  The orderly returned to his seat with a crisp headshake. “The last riders brought only these.” He picked up a bundle of smooth bone scroll tubes, bound together with silk thread and embossed with the crossed-snake crest of the Imperial city of Dynium.

  Enu grimaced. “More demands from the Comes Dynirium?” He waved off the documents. “Save them for the Legate’s return.” He gestured at Anzo and Varya. “I’ll be with guests. We are not to be disturbed.”

  “Sir!”

  Enu led Anzo and Varya into an office and locked the door at their backs. The chamber had a cot in one corner, a compact arrangement of personal affects under it, and a single window, unshuttered, permitting sunlight through to illuminate a desk littered with maps, wax tablets, a burnt-down candle, and styluses. From wood knobs on the wall dangled a pair of swords, an Imperial cavalry saber crossed with a scimitar that could have been twin to the one at Anzo’s hip.

  “Tribune?” Anzo appraised the Kharzulan with new respect.

  Enu slumped into his seat. “The Secundus is mine, yes. Five hundred or so of the Empire’s finest strung out guarding the Lydirian from the Vhurrs and villas from the locals. Legate Maricius has the Valley command, the Legio Saliensis—” he shook his head, a hint of bitterness in his never-slipping smile “—as they’re calling us now on paper. The Secundus, elements of the Hadron garrison, bits and pieces of the Fifth and Fifteenth out of Dynium, and the auxiliaries we’ve recruited up from the locals, many of them part-Vhurr and as untrustworthy as—” he met Anzo’s gaze and grimaced. “Sorry.”

  Anzo waved off the unintended slight. “Don’t think of it. The best part of me is Aurid.” A lie, but it would do to ease the other man. “So, is it as bad as they say in the capitol?”

  “Not yet.” The smile got brittle. He held out his hand. “I suppose I’d better see what it is I’m supposed to be doing, helping our friends in the Imperial Courier Service.”

  “Here.” Anzo reached into his tunic and tossed the wax tablet to the officer. “But I’ll spare you the aggravation of reading through a bureaucrat’s quillwork. The Initiate and I will be crossing into the Barbaricum as soon as practical. We’ll need whatever assistance you can offer. And we’ll need supplies, things that a pair of refugees might carry.”

  Halfway into opening the wood covers of the wax tablet, Enu looked up at him, brow crinkling to the top of his skull. “Cross the Lyrdirian? After what happened with the Marovians? I don’t suppose you can tell me more than that?”

  “It’d be better for you if you didn’t know,” Anzo replied. “We’ll be gone a long time and if—when—we return, we may come with trouble behind us.”

  Enu leaned back in his chair. “Now I wish the Legate was here.”

  “But you can help us?” Anzo asked. “Time is critical.”

  “Of course, I can, but—” Enu fingered the worn edges of the tablet cover. “Yes...yes, I can.”

  “Tonight would be ideal.”

  Enu nodded. “I can have you two ferried to the fortified landing on the east side.”

  “No. We can’t be observed leaving Imperial hands. We have to appear as refugees, wanderers. We’ll need to be inserted someplace less conspicuous.”

  The Kharzulan leaned forward, elbows on the desktop, fingers weaving together. “You need to understand that with the Marovians out of the way the east bank is no longer a known quantity. Our men have been driven in, holding only the fortified landings and a few outposts that are never without danger. Imperial sympathizers amongst the barbarians are being targeted and trade has all but ceased. Many of the rest are at best hostile, harassing river traffic, slipping across the river to raid farms, when we don’t catch them.”

  “But you can arrange it?”

  “I said I could.” A bit of tightness, some old frustration darkened his eyes. “It’ll require a diversion. But, yes, I think I know just the spot, a little inlet near one of the sandbars the heavier barges are always getting stuck on these days.”

  “Thank you.” Anzo stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Enu paused. He accepted the handshake, his smile returned, laugh lines replacing creases of worry. “You’re mad. You know that, I suppose?”

  Anzo returned the smile. “I hear that a lot.”

  “Tribune,” Varya spoke up, “is there an Initiate of Thoth at this post?”

  “There was.” Enu hesitated. “Kendu. Did you know him?”

  The woman nodded eagerly, a wisp of auburn hair shaking loose. “I am of his Circle. Might I speak with him?”

  The Kharzulan grimaced. “I wish you could but...I’m sorry. We buried what was left of him three weeks ago in his shrine outside the walls.”

  Varya stiffened. “What happened?”

  Enu’s dark features took on an ashen hue. “We heard screaming in the night. By the time the lads got to his quarters he was dead. He had...it was almost like something had burned him up from the inside out.” The man shivered. “We consecrated what was left. He left very specific instructions.”

  “I see.” Varya’s head dropped in her hood.

  Anzo stared at her. “What does that mean?”

  She turned away with a hand rising to cup her mouth.

  “Well?”

  “It means we have to hurry, Anzo Severnus,” she said with her back to him, her voice hoarse. “Something is already on this side of the river.”

  Chapter Three

  Across the Lydirian

  Anzo dropped his knapsack into a small canoe beached on the riverbank below the northwestern wall of Fort Terminus. The tiny craft and its crew of two Legionnaires—dressed in civilian cloaks for secrecy’s sake—jounced at the impact. Varya, waiting amidships, didn’t move, didn’t seem to notice him at all. A moonless night left her hooded form shrouded in silent darkness.

  She hadn’t spoken since Enu’s office.

  A dozen larger boats waited on the bank just upriver, Legionnaires crowding into them with clanks and curses. Loading without lanterns, with the expectation of a night landing couldn’t have improved the soldiers’ mood. Above, on the fort walls, Anzo thought he heard the groan of catapult lines tightening and terse orders passing along the battlements.

  Enu stood near the postern gate below the northeast wall, whispering to a knot of officers. He finished whatever he had to say and dismissed them to their commands with the boats. With the tight pace of a man resigned to an unpleasant task he strode down to Anzo, a bundle under one arm.

  “You asked for this.” The Kharzulan handed Anzo a sheathed cavalry saber wrapped in its belt.

  “Thanks.” Anzo exchanged his scimitar for the weapon. “Something that e
xotic might encourage unwanted questions.” He girded on the saber and drew it to test the weight. The leather grip was worn smooth with use and Anzo’s eyebrows rose at the familiar fabricae markings at the base of the blade. “This is yours?”

  Enu patted his shoulder. “You’re welcome. I prefer my native steel, anyway. But...ah...bring it back, all right?”

  Anzo sheathed the blade and reached for Enu’s hand, clasping it forearm-to-forearm in the way of a Legionnaire. “The Secundus is lucky to have such a Tribune.”

  “Well, here’s to hoping that luck is shared amongst us all.” Enu pulled away, gesturing to the beached transports. “The lads will make a show of coming ashore just south of the fortified landing to roust out barbarians encamped a little too close for comfort.” He nodded to the walls of Terminus. “There’ll be some artillery, too, something decidedly showy to draw attention.”

  Anzo shifted uncomfortably. “We’re sorry to have put you out so.”

  The Tribune waved a dismissive hand. “Pay it no thought. My men have been getting fat and careless. This will give them a little shake-out. And there are some auxiliaries in need of seasoning and this is a relatively low-risk way of doing that.”

  “Again, thanks.” Anzo offered the other man the upraised palm salute. “Aeydon be with you.”

  Enu returned the salute. “I never had much use for the Law Giver. But may Aya, Our Lady of Fortune, smile upon you.”

  “Agreed.”

  Enu turned in a whirl of cloak and strode away.

  Anzo watched his departure with a building sense of chill, the task, the mission becoming a very real thing before him. Tugging his own cloak about him, he stepped into the canoe and settled down beside Varya. Still, the Thothan Initiate showed no sign of noticing him. The boat shifted as the Legionnaire at the stern got out and stood ready to push them in the river. Varya gave her hood a tug to draw it closer about her face.

  Anzo couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “I’m sorry about your comrade. Were you very close?”

  Her shoulders rose with a sigh that broke the gloom about her. “Yes, we knew each other well. As I said, we were of the same Circle.”

  “Is that like...some kind of unit?”

  There might have been a hint of smile in the shadow of her hood. “A Circle is more like a level of knowledge. There are seven, with the center being Enlightenment.”

  “Is that where your Master Ossys is?”

  She shook her head. “No mortal has achieved the Center. Only Thoth resides there with his Tome of All Knowledge.” With her heavy cowl it was hard to say, but she seemed to look skyward.

  “What Circle are you?”

  “Kendu and I had achieved the third. We had passed beyond the Sight and the Elements to where we can begin to affect Matter.” She shivered. “That something overpowered him means that whatever is out there and is seeping into these lands may be beyond my skills, may be beyond the ken of Thoth altogether.”

  “I see.” Anzo didn’t and wanted to shiver, too.

  A catapult released with a crack. A firepot arched across the sky, its naptha contents beginning to spill free, igniting in the rushing air and trailing a streamer of flame behind it.

  “Here we go,” the Legionnaire at the stern said and began to push the boat.

  They slipped into the currents of the Lyrdirian, the Legionnaire splashing into the craft. The transports to the north were already trudging into the river, oars clapping the surface, orders growling. Another catapult loosed, fire streaking in a long curve mirrored in brilliance across the Lyrdirian’s sluggishly churning surface. On the opposite bank, the first shot had crashed amongst trees and was burning fitfully. Distant shouts echoed in the dark of forested peaks overlooking the river.

  The pair of soldiers plied their oars loosely, let the current take them downriver as Terminus and the landing parties faded into hazy distance. Mist boiled up around them, thickening as they went. A third and fourth fireball ripped the sky, their passage a sizzle that ended with crashes and more shouting from the eastern bank. Anzo thought he heard Vhurrian, though he couldn’t make out the words. Further in the distance Aurridian shouts joined with the clang of metal.

  Time dragged in the syrupy dark. Sound died in the mists, even the puffing breaths of the Legionnaires, now working their oars hard. Anzo put his hand to the grip of Enu’s saber, clenched till his knuckles creaked. He wished for a warm bed in the Golden Horn or wished he had forsaken it altogether and found his way out of the Empire. That he was about to do that very thing drew a terse chuckle. Varya glanced at him.

  Darkness thickened ahead and Anzo sensed more than saw the opposite bank. The Legionnaire at the bow drew in his oar and leapt from the boat with a splash.

  “Now!” The Legionnaire to stern urged. “Quickly! Go, damn you!”

  Anzo leapt the starboard gunwale and winced as the Lydirian surged up to his hips with an icy shock. He slopped forward in the froth, muck tugging at his feet. He reached the bank, breathing hard, and began to pause when a splatter and a high-pitched curse turned him.

  Varya had fallen in up to her neck and was trashing in a foamy pattern of white against the black of the river. The first Legionnaire had already re-boarded and was bringing their craft about sharply, leaving her to founder.

  Thanks a lot, lads.

  Anzo trudged back into the Lydirian with a curse. Varya lashed, kicking, an outstretched arm raking the side of his face. He recognized panic and gripped the back of her robes to drag her with him, teeth grinding in the chill. They reached the bank in a shivering tangle and she began to sink to the mud, coughing as though her very lungs would burst free.

  “Not yet.” Anzo wrenched her back to her feet savagely, pulled her into the waiting gloom of forest above the river. Darkness enveloped them, smelling of moisture on rock and foliage and the heavy green odor of undisturbed woodland. He gave her a shake—harder than he intended—as her sputtering continued. Night-shrouded trees seemed full of eyes, seemed an impenetrable quiet into which her racket was as disruptive as the din of the Imperial landing to the north.

  Sliding into a patch of dense overgrowth, Anzo released her and crouched, senses straining as he cautiously slid Enu’s saber from its sheath.

  “I’m...sorry...”

  “Quiet.” Anzo eyed the dark, thick to the point of blindness. The faint glimmer of a firepot’s trail over the river broke through the forest canopy, highlighted snatches of imagery. Saplings waving in a gentle breeze seemed to be the curve of barbarian swords. Outcroppings of rock took on the momentary semblance of crouched forms. Then darkness again.

  “...not the best swimmer...” Varya wheezed in an attempt at a whisper.

  “If you’ve got to talk, speak with your mouth down, into the ground.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop being sorry.”

  She took a rattling breath and stilled. “They...they just left us.”

  Anzo shrugged, though she could not see it. “We’re on our own.”

  ***

  Varya shivered as Anzo threw a fresh bundle of deadfall onto the fire. Her cloak dangled from a branch near the blaze, drying. She kept spindly arms about her frame, dark spots on the shoulders of her earthy green tunic where moisture from the thick waves of her auburn mane dried. “I’m fine, Anzo Severnus. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  Anzo straightened from the fire to take in their campsite. After recovering from the ordeal of their passage, they’d dragged themselves to high ground, a thinly-wooded spur off the higher mass of a foothill. The Lydirian glimmered in the distance under an early morning sun. Ascent to their hilltop spot could be made from any direction up gently sloping faces speckled with boulders and patches of thorny brush. They would be under observation from the surrounding heights. It was a lousy spot.

  It was perfect.

  “Do we have anything to eat?” Varya asked.

  Anzo went to his rucksack and fished out st
rips of salt pork wrapped in oily rags. He handed them to the Initiate. “It’s not much. I think we lost your pack in the river.”

  Varya accepted the food with a miserable chuckle. “Actually, I think I left it in the boat when...” She grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

  “What did I tell you about that?” He smiled to offset his unintentionally hard tone.

  She began spearing the meat strips on a branch. “Well, I can cook this. I can be of some sort of use to you.”

  “No need.” He plucked one of the strips free and began to chew on it, ignoring the rubbery texture. “They’re already smoked.”

  She gave him a tiny smile and put a piece into her mouth. “So, do we have anything like a plan at this point?”

  “We do.” He scanned their surroundings again before settling on his haunches at the fireside. “Find some Vhurrs.”

  She stopped chewing. “Go on.”

  “It can’t just be any Vhurrs, either.” He plucked up a fallen branch and prodded the fire, eyes stinging in the woody redolence. “To find out anything of importance in the Barbaricum we have to reach the higher levels of a canton—that is, a tribe. The commoners will know nothing. They simply try to get by, try to avoid the attention of the warlords beyond paying their tributes or getting out of the way. Out here, the warlords and the bands that gather to them are what amounts to political power.”

  “Again, I get the feeling you speak from experience.” Fastidiously, Varya finished eating and re-wrapped the remaining pork.

  Anzo gave the fire a savage poke. “For a time, I ran with one such warlord.” He held up his right hand, showed the tattoo. “My father was proscribed when Zorsen II took the Iron Throne. The situation left my mother and I little choice. We fled across the Lydirian, seeking her ancestors.” His prodding stirred up a whorl of sparks. “We didn’t find what she hoped.”

  Varya opened her mouth to say something, seemed to reconsider. “So, your plan...?”

  “Yes.” He hurried to continue. “As I said, to find out anything we have to get close to power. Power in the Barbaricum flows to those with a monopoly on violence, as you philosophizing types would call it.” He thought of Perrenius.