Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5)

by Jay Allan

  “And this is Torba,” Vennius continued, gesturing toward the man, “one of Commander Mellus’s longest-serving retainers. Torba was the one who secured the children, and got them off Palatia before Calavius could get to them and punish them for their mother’s actions.”

  “Torba.” Barron nodded a greeting. The Pleb bowed respectfully in response, a somber look on his face.

  “Sir,” Barron said, after Vennius had sat silently for a moment.

  “Ah, yes, Tyler. You wanted to see me about something. You will have to excuse an old man’s wandering thoughts…and indulge his efforts to make right, in some small way, all the pain he has caused.”

  Barron had never seen Vennius like this. The Imperator was usually totally in control, barely giving a hint as to what he thought about any subject. But he was sad now, almost mournful.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but I must talk to you about Commander Tulus.”

  “Tulus has been stripped of his rank. He is no longer a commander, nor a warrior.”

  “Sir, Com…Vian Tulus is innocent. I am sure of it, more now than ever.”

  “You wish to believe the best in those you like, Tyler. We all do. But that does not change the evidence.”

  “I know why Tulus would not explain his communications. I know who he was contacting and why.”

  Vennius was silent for a few seconds. “Tyler, Tulus is facing execution. He might say anything to escape from the scaffold. Once, I would have said a Palatian Patrician would not lie, even to save his life. Now I see the naivety in that thought.”

  “Is that what you really think? That he would lie to save his life? You’ve known him longer than I have. And, if that’s the case, why didn’t he lie right away, when you were demanding an explanation? Do you really think a man of Tulus’s experience and intelligence wouldn’t have been ready to deal with accusations if he was truly guilty?”

  Vennius didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue further. Finally, he nodded. “What did he tell you?”

  Barron explained all Tulus had said.

  Vennius sighed softly. “That has the ring of truth to it. And I seem to remember rumors of some sort that Tulus had fathered a child with a Pleb woman. I always assumed they were rumors spread by his rivals to discredit him. If it were true, he would be spared the scaffold, but his career would be over.”

  “Sir…” Barron had settled on “sir” as a sufficiently respectful form of address for his interactions with Vennius. “…I mean no disrespect to your laws and customs, and as a foreigner, I am unfamiliar with your social structures…” He paused, thinking for a moment exactly how he wanted to phrase what he wanted to say, but Vennius interrupted.

  “Our customs are rigid…and sometimes foolish. We speak of the way, and yet often we fail to understand its true meaning, focusing instead on superficialities of no real importance.” He looked up at Barron. “We are a proud people, Tyler, but we are as capable as any of being fools, resisting change out of reflex instead of judgment.”

  Barron wasn’t sure exactly where Vennius was going, but he had a good feeling. “Things have changed, sir. This war is proof of that. Can you really spare a man of Tulus’s capabilities?”

  Vennius didn’t reply at first. He just sat, staring straight ahead, but obviously deep in thought. “No,” he finally said, “I cannot.” Another pause. “I will speak with him myself. If he can convince me that this story you have told me is true, I will drop all charges of treason, and I will pardon him for his…crime.” His face darkened. “But I fear I may lose his services anyway, Tyler. I cannot openly state my reasons for clearing Tulus. Our ways may be rigid, sometimes foolish, but our warriors are raised to follow them. Were it known that Tulus had fathered children with one so beneath his class, he would be ridiculed. The officers and spacers would not follow him. And if I do not give reason for his exoneration, doubts will persist, whispers of treason. It will undermine his ability to command.”

  Barron was silent now. He hadn’t fully considered the complexities of what he had proposed. Then he said, “Perhaps there is a solution. Exonerate Tulus without explanation. You are the Imperator, after all. Assign Tulus’s old ships, the ones he commanded before the war, as the Alliance contingent for the Palatia operation. I will publicly show confidence in him, and the crews of those ships are the ones least likely to believe the accusations of treason. If we are successful at Palatia, the glory of victory and Tulus’s role in it will extinguish suspicions.” Barron paused, looking down at the floor, a sudden grim look on his face. “And if we are not successful…will it even matter?”

  Vennius nodded. “You are an Alliance warrior my friend, deep in that raging heart of yours, that much is clear. I don’t know how you ended up misplaced in the Confederation, but as long as I am Imperator, you will always have a place with us, Tyler Barron. I name you now and always, a Palatian warrior.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is…extremely gratifying.” Barron had grown to like and respect Vennius more each time they’d met. Then: “So, you agree?”

  “Yes, absolutely. If Tulus can convince me this whole story is the truth.”

  Barron smiled. He had no doubt Vennius would believe what Tulus told him. As long as I can get Tulus to come clean. It was hard enough pulling it out of him the first time…

  “My thanks, sir.”

  “Tulus owes you his thanks.” Vennius paused, then he looked right back at Barron. “I have one request of my own, Tyler. Something I can ask of you but not command.”

  “Sir?”

  Vennius looked across the room at the two children, still sitting quietly along the far wall. “When you land your forces on Palatia…” There was pain in his voice now, and he paused, gathering himself. “When I was forced to flee, I was able to rescue the Imperatrix, but there was no time to…” His words failed again.

  Barron opened his mouth, but he closed it again, holding his tongue, waiting on Vennius.

  “Kat’s children, Tyler. They are on Palatia. There were on the Rigellus estate, not in Victorum. There was no way for me to get to them…” His words were heavy with self-condemnation.

  Barron’s impulse was to try and comfort his friend, but again, he decided silence was the right choice. He had to let Vennius get it all out.

  “I left them, Tyler, protected only by house guards.” Another pause. “They are as my own grandchildren…and they are on Palatia, at the mercy of Calavius and his pack of traitors.”

  “Katrine Rigellus is a hero of the Alliance, sir. Calavius wouldn’t dare harm them.”

  “No, perhaps not. But he would use them, lie to them, poison their minds. And if he is pushed to the last extent, if defeat is imminent…I am sure he would kill them, if only because he knows how dear they are to me.” Vennius took a deep breath. “When your forces land, Tyler, find them for me. Please. Secure their safety. I know your resources are too small for even what you must already do, but I cannot fail Kat again.”

  Barron stepped forward, reaching out and putting his hand on Vennius’s shoulders. It was a breach of protocol for sure, and if there’d been any guards present, they’d no doubt be on him already. But, for a moment, there were just two men, friends, one comforting the other during a moment when the facades dropped and an Imperator and warrior became just a man, burdened by a lifetime of pain.

  “Of course, Tarkus…I will do everything possible to rescue the Rigellus children.”

  Vennius looked up, and forced a small smile. “Thank you, my friend. My gratitude to you is eternal. If you need anything of me, ever, all you need do is ask.”

  Barron nodded and returned the smile. “I’d best be going now. There is much to prepare.”

  “Fortune go with you, Commodore Barron.”

  Barron turned and walked toward the door, and as he faced away from Vennius, the smile slipped from his face.

  How am I supposed to find two children on an entire planet plunged into war?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

&nb
sp; AFS Gladius

  Troyous System

  En Route to Sentinel-2

  Year 62 (311 AC)

  “I want six squadrons on scouting duty, deployed five hundred thousand kilometers in front of the fleet. Just because the enemy is pinned down at Sentinel-2, it doesn’t mean they don’t have scoutships out. I have no doubt they know we’re coming, but I do not intend to make a gift to them of our exact position and timing.” Kellus Battarus sat on Gladius’s bridge, snapping out orders. He treated most of his officers with the respect that was their due, but his voice was harsher, edgier when speaking to Jovi Grachus. The Imperator’s decree absolved her of her family’s prior shame, but it was still hard for Battarus to forget she was the grandchild of a traitor.

  “Yes, Commander-Magnus.” Grachus’s voice was crisp, proper. She even used his full rank designation, though “commander” would have sufficed. “I have implemented regular rotation, two replacement squadrons launching every hour, and two returning for refit.”

  “Very well, Commander. That is all for now.” He closed the line abruptly, though he had to admit, his dislike for Grachus was fading, washed partly away by the unmistakable competence she displayed.

  He looked out across the bridge. He was still shocked to be where he was, at the helm of the grand fleet’s flagship, commanding more than fifty battleships and a massive swarm of escorts. He’d rallied to Calavius reluctantly, mostly because of what he’d heard about Vennius’s attempted coup, of his abduction of the Imperatrix. Battarus had always respected the former Commander-Magnus, but attempting to seize power, moving against the Imperatrix…these were things he could never condone.

  “Fleet status, Commander?”

  “All ships report fully operational. All formations intact. Scouting forces and scanners report clear, sir. No contacts.”

  “Very well.” Battarus’s first action as Commander-Magnus had been to transfer Commander Perticas to act as his aide. Marcus Perticas was one of the top ship commanders in the fleet, and he’d hated to pull him from his crew, but there was no one more qualified…and no one he trusted more. The Red forces might very well be on the verge of victory, but even if that transpired, Battarus was uneasy. He was an Alliance warrior, and he would follow Calavius’s orders, but something about the Imperator troubled him. And instead of alleviating his concern, the unexpected elevation to Commander-Magnus only increased his worries. He couldn’t explain why, but he was on edge, and for reasons beyond the impending battle.

  “Time to Caprius transit point?”

  “Projected arrival in four hours, sixteen minutes.”

  “Very well…proceed on current course.” Battarus pushed aside the concerns. There was a battle to win before he could start worrying about Calavius and the new regime. And whatever Tarkus Vennius had become, he had no doubts—none at all—about his former friend’s tactical skill. Even with vast numerical superiority, he was sure he faced an epic struggle before the victory could be won.

  * * *

  “Is everything in motion?” Calavius sat on a large chair—more of a couch, really—leaning on one elbow as he looked out across the room. As always, he was flanked by his guards, four on each side.

  Lille stood facing the Imperator he’d created with the same confused sense of satisfaction and concern he always had about Calavius. The pompous fool had done well in many ways, exceeding expectations on a number of fronts. But he looks more ridiculous here, on this couch, than he did on that ludicrous throne he had built.

  His ego and hunger for power could still come back to bite us…

  “Yes. I drafted the plan myself, and reviewed it thoroughly. However, I must state that, despite our preparation, this is a difficult mission. Assassinating Battarus outright would be relatively simple. But you need it to appear he was killed in battle.” Lille looked to the side, at the row of absurdly uniformed warriors. He knew they were all lifetime retainers of Calavius—whose families would suffer horrors unimaginable if they ever betrayed their master—but he disliked speaking of such matters in front of anyone not vital to the operation. Leaks were poison to espionage and assassination. Secrecy wasn’t everything, but it was close.

  “Please continue, Minister.” Calavius flashed a glance toward the troops. “You may speak freely in front of these men. They are utterly trustworthy.”

  No one is utterly trustworthy, you damned fool…

  “It is simply that the Agency is in its infancy. We only have a very few operatives ready for action, and only one I felt capable of executing this mission.” Lille paused. “I do not like proceeding without a backup plan.”

  “Since we do not appear to have a backup plan, there is little choice but to move forward without one. I was compelled to appoint Battarus to quell the unrest among my officers…but I do not trust his allegiance. He is a troublemaker, and if we do not rid ourselves of him in the final stages of the battle, it will be extremely difficult afterward.”

  Lille was surprised again at the clarity of Calavius’s logic. Battarus would be a problem, Lille agreed completely. And his appointment had silenced the grumbling that had grown louder among the Red officers.

  “I will supervise the operation personally, every step of the way. When you give the word, I will see it done.” It was better to give Calavius unconditional assurances, but Lille knew better than to take anything as a certainty. Failure to kill Battarus would be bad enough, but what concerned him most was his operative getting caught. If the other officers found out Calavius was trying to kill his Commander-Magnus…

  “Very well, Minister. See it done.”

  Lille hesitated. “There is something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “The assassination will simulate battle damage. There are two potential problems with that. First, the order must be given while fighting is still in progress—and Gladius is still in the combat zone.”

  “That should not be too great of an issue. For all his faults, Vennius had many loyal followers. No doubt a large number of them will choose to fight to the death. That should allow us a time when the battle has been decided, but combat continues.”

  Lille nodded. “Yes, that is true.” A pause, then: “The other issue may pose more of a problem to you. To simulate damage in combat, we must detonate sizable charges, not only on the bridge, but in other compartments that would be damaged by incoming enemy fire. Many of your officers and crew will be killed, hundreds, perhaps. And Gladius will be very seriously damaged.”

  “Will the ship be salvageable?”

  “Yes. We were very careful in locating the charges. The ship will retain maneuvering capability and at least minimal power generation.”

  Calavius looked over at Lille, his face devoid of emotion. “Then I see no problem, Minister. None at all.”

  * * *

  “Get back on that comm and tell Teratus’s flight control that schedule is unacceptable. They will have two squadrons launched in thirty minutes or less, or I’ll be over there to find out why.” Grachus stood in the middle of Gladius’s flight control center, shouting out commands to the makeshift crew she’d managed to put together. She hadn’t had the time to build any kind of real staff, and that meant most of the work landed on her shoulders, even the routine items.

  She loathed this part of her new job; the administrative duties, the supervision of an entire fleet’s fighter squadrons. It was a position that hadn’t even existed before. Alliance squadrons had always been directed by the commanders of their mother ships, and in gross, by the fleet commander. A chaotic command structure, perhaps poorly thought out to begin with, had become downright insane with a fleet this large. Grachus had only led a large fighter force once before, and that had been two hundred forty ships. Grand fleet had one hundred twenty squadrons.

  Eighteen hundred fighters…every one of them my responsibility…

  She looked up at the large display, recently installed so she could keep track of her far flung fighter wings. She’d been tense, wai
ting for someone to suggest that she remain aboard Gladius, direct her squadrons from there. That would probably make sense…how much could one pilot do in a battle this size? But her cockpit was the place she felt most at home, and she dreaded the thought of being barred from it. She would lead from her fighter, unless the Imperator himself forbade her.

  She had to be out there with the attack. She had business to conclude. With Dauntless, and Tyler Barron, the man who killed Kat Rigellus.

  And with Jake Stockton. She knew the next time the two of them met, only one would leave the fight. It would be the most desperate battle she’d ever experienced, and one that chilled her to the bones. She almost felt as though she were matched against herself, facing another pilot born to the cockpit. She would bring all she had to that fight, every trick, every bit of strength she possessed.

  Hopefully that will be enough…

  Chapter Thirty

  Captain’s Log, Andromeda Lafarge, Free Trader Pegasus

  The device we found is largely intact, though it is now without a power source. I am hopeful Admiral Striker and his team can adapt something quickly and see if it is operational. It is worth a king’s ransom, of that I have no doubt. The trinkets and bits and pieces of ancient junk my people and I have traded on for so many years do not even compare. I fully intended to demand my price in advance, hiding the device and not agreeing to turn it over until we were paid. But how can I do that? How can I delay needlessly, knowing the contents of Pegasus’s cargo hold could be vital to the war effort?

  I don’t know what it is, at least not with any degree of certainty. It appears to be a generator of some kind, and Lex Righter has suggested it may produce an energy field that blocks scanners. If it is a stealth device of some kind, the tactical implications are extraordinary.

  I must rely on my negotiating ability to ensure my people are compensated for the risks and efforts they have endured. I find myself more drawn to patriotic endeavors than I would ever have imagined possible, but this small band of men and women, who have followed me through danger and hardship and strife…I owe them my first loyalty. Bringing the device with me to Grimaldi is poor bargaining, but Striker is an honorable man…and no doubt, I can use that against him in some way that puts well-earned coin in my crew’s pockets.