Iron and Flame

by Alex Morgenstern

  “Why did you have it? And don’t you see the current state of these two soldiers? Whether you use it for your formula or not, you have used it against these two men who are tasked with guarding your security.”

  Florianus frowned, looking at the woman from her feet up. He thought he could use a death like that to remind the Gadalians that no opposition would be tolerated. He could make an example out of her.

  “They were not poisoned by me, they might have eaten bad food. Sometimes it’s the ticks that bring this disease.”

  “You are lying,” Florianus said, approaching her, his gaze meeting her brown eyes unflinchingly. “These two soldiers trusted you. This is deserving of death.”

  “Ah, who are you to speak of trust?” the woman yelled hysterically. “Oh, how we trusted you and you killed the men of this tribe.”

  “Keep pretending you did not know about their plans to attack us,” Florianus said. “I know I cannot trust you, and yet, I have been patient with you long enough.”

  “Tell me, sire, is there any logic in me trying to poison these men? It’s impossible.”

  “You want to kill soldiers, don’t you?”

  “No, sire, I swear I have not done anything.”

  “Is it because of your daughter? She died of hunger in the forest.”

  The woman’s expression became sombre again, she tensed her fists.

  “Just wait and see, my daughter is not dead,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  “What did you say?” Florianus narrowed his eyes.

  “Irema is not dead.”

  “Oh, so have you talked to her?” Florianus scoffed.

  “I know one day she will return.”

  Florianus waved his hand back to slap her, and did, the woman turned her face, but her body did not move. She looked straight at him.

  Florianus continued, “Accused of attempts against the life of a soldier, seditious tendencies and threats. You, like every other woman here, hate this Empire. You, however, deserve to be punished, so no one else acts on their hate.”

  He turned his back on her and walked towards the marble eagle.

  It was time to show them, he knew it was burning in their souls.

  Then, he heard rushed steps on the front door. He turned and saw a man in a yellow tunic. The man was Itruschian, and he knew him very well, but the tunic he wore had been made by Gadalian hands, in their style, but adapted into an Itruschian garment. The short man stood defiant, his black curly hair towering over his head, his skin dark like the earth beneath, and his eyes wide and piercing.

  “What is going on in here?” Cladius Duodecimus stepped inside, panting, as if he had run to get there.

  “Cladius Duodecimus?” Florianus said, with his hands on the back and a frown on his face. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

  “Rumours of an arrest,” Cladius said, then, he turned towards the woman. “Mistress Zita, what is going on here?”

  “Senator Cladius, I’m so glad you came,” she said.

  “Mistress Zita?” Florianus asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Florianus, what are you doing here. What has this woman done?” Cladius asked.

  “She attempted to poison two soldiers. She was caught with this venomous sprout in her home,” she lifted the bag with two fingers.

  “Is it true, Zita?” Cladius asked.

  “Not at all, that spout is used for many reasons, and both of you know that.”

  “Convenient, huh?” Florianus said. “But we have proof, these two men are deathly sick, and yet you act like nothing happened. But these deeds shall not go unpunished.”

  “What punishment do you have in mind?” Cladius said.

  “Does it concern you, Cladius?” Florianus scoffed.

  “Yes, it does, as the Commercial Delegate—”

  “Cladius, this is a matter of provincial security, it has nothing to do with your post.”

  “But this woman is essential to this settlement, she works from dusk to dawn producing the clothes that we have managed to sell in the West, along with her few apprentices. You know how the demand is slowly increasing. I need her.”

  “Cladius,” Florianus advanced and breathed in his face. Cladius did not flinch, but he was nervous, Florianus could tell. “The law is the law.”

  “But what law, Florianus? You are creating it on the spot.”

  “Martial law!” Florianus bellowed. “Now do not argue against me, for it is my responsibility to ensure the security of this settlement.”

  “No, Florianus, that is neither proper nor fitting of Imperial officers.”

  “Who are you to tell me what is fitting? She is not even a citizen!”

  “She is a subject of the Empire and as such, she must be dealt with the law—with the actual law of the land, not just a whim. Besides, there is no proof.”

  “Fine,” Florianus said, then turned his back on him. “Soldiers, bring her down and interrogate her.”

  “Interrogate?” Cladius protested. He was aware, as anyone would be, by what he meant by interrogation.

  “Do not waste any time, soldiers. Get her to confess.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong!” Zita cried.

  “Get her away from me!” Florianus snapped. “Take her to the house and punish her.”

  “Florianus, why are you doing that?” Cladius asked. “Don’t you say you’re against torture?”

  “I shall punish the wicked. And you, defender of criminals?”

  “Listen, Florianus, the only reason we are still here is because we are still bringing profit. A wagon full of gold is not enough to sustain a colony. We need production.”

  “You deal with production, I deal with law and order. I had enough of this,” Florianus put on his coat.

  “That woman is innocent.”

  “We will soon see,” he said, and walked out into the night.

  ***

  Cladius returned to his newly built villa. Her Gadalian servants were waiting outside, hands up in their faces, expecting his words on what had just happened.

  “Master Cladius,” one of them, a young woman called Ydrina who used to be an apprentice of Zita asked. “Did they let Mistress Zita go?”

  Cladius had a wry expression. He stopped close to her and sighed. “She will not be executed yet, but they took her to be interrogated.”

  Ydrina covered her mouth.

  Cladius shook his head, he pushed the wooden doors that lead into his room, clenching his teeth. He had no word or vote into what happened. At least, it was only one person that had been taken to interrogation, but Zita was essential to his plans. She had been left to work and been provided with materials, and still had a few apprentices to work with. Now, she had to fill up production or else he would not have anything to sell.

  He lay down in his bed, but did not manage to sleep. He had to make his plan come true. At that moment, Zita was probably being flogged. He tensed his fists until blood came out. He could not allow that cruelty to go on.

  He had to get rid of Florianus. There was no space for both in that settlement. But for that, he had become Governor.

  If only he could win the favour of the Capital, of at least a handful of senators, he could have his way.

  If he made enough money through the province, he knew he could even be named Governor and could easily buy favour in the senate and remove Florianus from his post. Florianus, was all talk. He would ramble for hours about how the world would be better if Gadalians were annihilated, but he had not killed a single one of them since he arrived. On the other hand, if Florianus himself or any of his supporters gained the upper hand among the senate in the Capital, he knew he was lost. The people on top played harder than either of them, as elimination was their favourite card.

  Chapter VI - At the Edge of the World

  After a few hours of riding, still before sunrise, they set up their tents of fur and hides. They found a f
lock of strange beasts that Alana had never seen before. They had antlers the size of a human hand, long and only slightly curved, their fur was short and yellowish, and their snout was prominent and shaped like a vase.

  The clan stalked and hunted two and roasted them in an open fire. Their meat was soft and lean, a bit musky, their inner organs savoury, with a slight irony flavour.

  “What next?” Alana asked, leaning her head on Kassius’ chest, watched only by the makeshift tent’s walls of fur. They had little time to be alone, and they treasured every moment. “Have you seen anything, Kasha? In your visions, I mean?”

  “I don’t know. I can only hope the chieftains of the steppe tribes will agree to join us.”

  Alana sighed.

  “Kassara told me about the tribe that camps next to the river.” She turned around, and folded her arms above his bony chest, supporting her chin on her forearms. “She said their chieftain was a proud Gadalian, who hated the Itruschians with all his heart.”

  “No wonder he decided to live outside the borders.”

  “Many families were split after the war,” she said, with a whisper. “The ones who followed him out into the steppe were few. And Kassara says they are fewer now.”

  “Fewer?” Kassius said. He narrowed his eyes.

  “I heard they have been struck by a plague.”

  “Plague? We’ll see, maybe we can help them.”

  “We never had epidemics like the Empire has, Kassius, it’s not normal.”

  “Well, ticks are everywhere, it doesn’t matter what you eat or what your lifestyle is—ticks, rats, these things carry evil. Once they appear, things go downhill.”

  Alana shook her head.

  “We can help them,” Kassius continued. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s a branch of the Commercial Routes that pass through here, isn’t there? We could find some secondhand books on common plagues and how to treat them. And, there are some books that I’d like to buy, anyway.”

  “I don’t know,” Kassara muttered. “But our priests are the best when it comes to casting out those evils, we don’t need books to tell us what to do.”

  “Alana, I’m serious. There’s a lot of patricians from Itruschia who are buying Parthian treaties; they are interested in their doctrines and mysteries. It’s for a reason.”

  “I don’t know about that. And . . . what books are you planning to buy? And with what money?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this. Listen. My father told me last year about this strange cult that’s becoming popular among soldiers. In the Itruschian army, I mean.”

  “A cult?” Alana raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. A cult. A very different one. I don’t know much about it, but I heard it comes from the East, it’s some kind of solar worship mixed with dragonslayer myths and astrology.”

  “More dragonslayers,” she giggled. She could only think that the Itruschians were still scared and had recurring nightmares of her tribe kicking their butt fifteen years prior.

  “And there’s an elephant in the tent that we haven’t even talked about since it happened,” Kassius said.

  “Oh.” She understood immediately. “Yes, that.” She took a deep breath, intrigued and scared. They hadn’t heard anything about it, and if she had heard about it instead of seeing it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. No one else saw it, no one else but her and the dead soldiers whose limbs had been scattered like broken branches and whose blood had painted the snow that day. No one else had, but the footprints were there, and Kassius even crawled through them.

  But it was real, she had seen a giant, and it had run through the forest, tumbling down the trees and scaring the ravens away, and its curved stony back towered as tall as the evergreens.

  “We have been isolated for long,” Kassius said, then, he slowly lifted his torso and jumped to his feet. Alana rose and stood by his side. “If there’s a giant walking around, somebody must have noticed.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going to ask the slaves.”

  Kassius stepped out of the tent and went to see the two, who were sitting next to the fire. They looked up at him, Avlix had a bit of resentment in his glance, and the other one, Kavros had a neutral expression.

  “I have a question for you two,” Kassius said, crossing his arms.

  “What is it?” Kavros asked, as if there was something that could accuse them.

  “Have you heard stories of giants roaming about?”

  Avlix and Kavros exchanged a glance.

  “Like those two?” Kavros asked his friend. “Do you remember the one who hung himself?”

  “What happened?” Kassius insisted.

  “Those rumours came from soldiers who came from the North, on rotations. One of them told us a strange story, that a comrade of his heard from another comrade. The comrade of the comrade was said to have seen giants roaming about in the woods, that’s it. He went mad, and he hung himself from a tree.”

  “That’s it?”

  “There’s another one,” Avlix said, looking down. “There’s an old Suevian town many miles west of here, it was right in the middle of a thick forest of redwood and birch. They used to harvest apples. So the entire town got killed, massacred. Not even the dogs were left alive. They destroyed the whole thing. No one knows who did it; they blamed another tribe, but they pointed out that the trees around the area had been split. As if a ten feet tall lumberjack had cut all of them halfway and then given up. And the footprints, they said the footprints were huge.”

  “That was quite detailed for a rumour,” Kassius muttered.

  “It’s a thousand miles away, but it caused quite a stir,” Avlix muttered. “Why did you ask?”

  “Rumours as well.”

  “Well if the Titans are awake, there’s not much left to do.” Kavros sighed.

  “I wouldn’t believe it even if I saw it,” Avlix responded.

  “I would worry,” Kassius muttered, then turned around. Tor was seated next to the fire, the leather bound book in hand, Kassius approached.

  “How is it going.”

  Tor winked at him, then showed a piece of hemp paper from Kassius’ old dairy, a gift he had made to Tor as the young boy wanted to practice writing.

  “What have you been writing, comrade?”

  Tor extended the paper to him, and Kassius took a quick look.

  “Is this poetry?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, Tor nodded. “I didn’t know you had it in you. It’s really not that bad,” he turned around. “Hey, Ala, you’ve got to see this.”

  Alana peered out of the tent.

  “Tor wrote a poem.” Kassius turned and the boy was as red as an apple.

  “Oh, did he? What is it like,” Alana said from the distance, a sweet smile on her face and her luscious blonde hair reflecting the bright sun.

  “Should I read it?” Kassius asked, and Tor shook his head. “Come on, it’s great.”

  Oh fields, carriers of dreams,

  watchers of a long gone day,

  you have beheld our fathers ride

  in secret,

  you have beheld our kinsmen fight and slaughter.

  Tell of the days, when dragon flags arose and prospered . . .

  “That’s amazing!” Alana exclaimed.

  “You haven’t finished, have you?” Kassius asked the boy. “Who would’ve known? You really have it in you.”

  ***

  They rode through the steppe for weeks, hunting in the fields and singing war songs under the starlit heavens. Due to the lack of ink, Tor started carving the events that happened to them into the bones of the beasts Kassius hunted for them. Kassius had started to fast again, and meditated on the name of Ares, although he started to think the god was hiding the future from him. The veterans started questioning among themselves where the Varalkian camp would be.

  Kassius loved the closeness with Alana. His hea
rt felt warm, and he felt lucky for having her by his side, especially in those tough moments. They shared secrets the entire world would go crazy over, and he felt he would die if he was forced to lose her. He wished she did not have to fight, and that they could retreat back to his old villa and live a happy life together. But the world had changed, and he feared it would spiral out of control even further.

  After a few more days of riding, they saw a group of hunters on horseback, Alana turned her head, and spoke to Kassius.

  “It’s them.” The clothing of the hunters was traditionally Gadalian, and Kassius recognized it too, it was like seeing a long lost brother. As soon as they noticed Alana’s group they rode in their direction. Kassara and Raxana walked at the helm. The men approached with curiosity. One was a short man, his hair between grey and black, small, a bulky body and messy hair. The other was younger, probably his son, his hair was dark blond and sported a short dark beard. They braced their horses close to the group, and glanced at them in awe.

  The short man’s eyes opened wide.

  “Oh, by the Red Sun!” he said. “Am I seeing things?”

  Kassara reacted with a cocky smile.

  “You are not, Pharkus,” she said, leaning her fist on her hips.

  “What are you doing here? I heard your village was burned to the ground,” Pharkus said, shaking his head.

  “As you can imagine, it’s a long story.”

  “Who are all these?” the man asked.

  “Look at the blonde girl,” Kassara pointed at Alana. “She’s the daughter of Ileria and Alan, that tall scrawny kid is the grandson of Aranus.”

  “Oh,” Pharkus muttered. “I bid you welcome, your forebears were great men and women.” He immediately turned around and called the young man on the black horse. “Dervas, my son, go to the camp, tell them the men and women of Turnaz have come, so that they are welcome.”

  “Yes, father,” the boy said with a bowing of the head, he pulled his reins, turned back and spurred.

  “So, there are many things I’d like to know,” Pharkus said. His horse waved his ears and neighed.