HOME (The Portal Series, Book 3)

by Bowker, Richard;

  But then Harmalo spotted something up ahead, in the woods on the right. A flame. Firelight. It was they who had stopped for the night. He halted and quietly dismounted. He tied the horse to a sapling by the side of the road and then walked slowly through the woods towards the firelight.

  When he saw movement, he stopped and took out his gant.

  The two of them sat by a small fire in a clearing. The man and the girl. The girl had long, flowing hair, and her face was pretty in the firelight. She was holding a stick with meat on it over the fire. It smelled delicious. Harmalo hadn’t eaten since morning.

  Would they understand the gant’s power? The man would, if he was a viator.

  Harmalo moved forward. They looked up.

  “Good evening,” he said in Latin. “I am sorry to bother you, but I seek information.”

  They stared at the gant. Yes, they understood.

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “My name is Harmalo, and I’m seeking a man named Affron. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

  “What is that thing in your hand?”

  “I think you know,” Harmalo responded.

  “We don’t know anyone named Affron,” the man said.

  “I think you do.”

  “You seem to be threatening us. Why?”

  “I simply want information. I mean no harm to anyone.”

  “Well, we have no information for you. I’m sorry.”

  Harmalo moved a step closer. “Perhaps I’m mistaken,” he said, “and you don’t really understand what this device can do to you. So I will tell you. With the slightest movement of my finger, it will destroy you and leave not a particle behind. I do not know if it causes any pain, but I expect it does—one instant of agony as you are obliterated. This need not happen. I do not ask much. I think you, too, came from Roma in search of Affron. Did you find him? If so, I want you to tell me where he is.”

  The man did not seem nervous. “We did seek Affron,” he replied. “But we did not find him. He has disappeared.”

  Harmalo considered. “I don’t believe you.”

  The man shrugged. “I cannot help what you believe,” he said.

  He was a viator, Harmalo suddenly decided. With a viator’s supercilious attitude—even when faced with a gant. “I mean no harm,” Harmalo repeated, “but I need to find Affron.”

  “We do not know where he is. I am telling the truth.”

  Harmalo felt himself becoming angry. The man showed no fear, no respect. “But you have already lied to me,” he pointed out. “First you said you didn’t know him, now you admit you were seeking him. Which is it?”

  The man seemed unfazed. “We came here to find him,” he said. “We did not find him. We wanted him to help us fight against the priests. This was months ago—before we found out that the Gallians had done our job for us. Kill us if you choose, but that is the truth.”

  Harmalo raised the gant. “I need to find Affron.”

  The man shook his head. “Then you are wasting your time talking to us. Actually, you are wasting your time in any case. Threats won’t help you.”

  “I think perhaps you are mistaken,” Harmalo said quietly.

  “I know where Affron is,” the girl said.

  He looked at her. This was the first time she had spoken. She had dropped the stick, and the meat sizzled in the fire. She seemed calm, like the man. Too young to be a viator, though.

  “And where is that?” he asked

  “There is a tiny village off the King’s Road, in the highlands about a day’s ride north of here. The villagers call it Glendolland, when they call it anything. He lives in a hut on the outskirts of Glendolland. I found him by chance. The people in the village told us nothing—that’s their way—but I spotted him outside his hut as I rode by in search of him, and we spoke. He told me he wants to be left alone. He is tired of struggling with the priests. He doesn’t care about the Gallians. He is happy living by himself, far away from everything.”

  The man sitting next to her looked startled. “You should have told me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Gratius,” she replied. “It didn’t seem to matter. The Gallians have already taken over. So what was the point? Just leave him alone.” She turned away. Was she crying? Who was she? Her Latin accent was slightly off; was she from another world?

  Harmalo looked at the man. Gratius. Did he know hom from the schola? He was staring intently at the girl, but he said nothing. Something wasn’t right here.

  “Why did you keep looking for him,” he asked Gratius, “once you found out the priests had been destroyed?”

  “The time may come,” Gratius replied, “when the Gallians will need to be defeated as well.”

  “You are a viator,” Harmalo noted.

  Gratius shrugged. “There is no such thing as a viator anymore. There are only rulers and the ruled. Right now, I am one of the ruled.”

  This made Harmalo smile.

  “What is your name?” Harmalo asked the girl.

  “Palta,” she said softly.

  “Palta, you will come with me.”

  She looked surprised. “But why? I have told you where you’ll find him.”

  “But it’s easy to lie. You are obviously smart enough to know this.”

  She considered this, and then nodded. “I understand. Do we leave now, in the dark? Or wait till morning?”

  “Now, I think. The sooner the better.”

  “And Gratius—he doesn’t have to come?”

  “He doesn’t know where Affron is. You do. I will take you.”

  “Very well.” Palta got to her feet, brushing the twigs from her robe. “I will miss you, Gratius,” she said to the man.

  He smiled at her. “Come visit me someday,” he replied.

  “I will.”

  She turned away. And then Harmalo aimed his gant and killed Gratius.

  Palta

  Palta didn’t have to turn to know what had happened; she could smell the bitter odor. Oh, she had smelled that odor before.

  But still she turned. Gratius was gone, as though he had never existed. The man was aiming the gant at her.

  She began to tremble. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  “This is a very powerful weapon,” the man noted.

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you have to do it?”

  “I didn’t trust him. He knows where we’re headed. He could try to get there first and warn Affron.”

  Palta fell to her knees, looking at the empty space where her friend had just been sitting. This had happened to her so often. Too much.

  “Come along, then,” the man said.

  “You know where to find him,” she replied. “You don’t need me.”

  “I don’t trust you, either. If you are lying to me—and I think you may be—I will kill you, too. I am actually quite fond of killing people.”

  “Then kill me now. I don’t care.”

  Her idea had been that her lie would free Gratius, and then she could take care of this man when she had a chance. He didn’t know she had her own gant. That was all the advantage she needed. A moment would come when he wasn’t paying attention, and that moment would be enough.

  Now, what did it matter?

  “No,” the man said, “you’re coming with me.”

  “Why? I was lying to you. Affron isn’t in that village. He isn’t anywhere. He built his own Via and disappeared from Terra. He’s never coming back. He wants nothing to do with us. So you don’t have to kill him. That’s why you were sent here, isn’t it? Someone is still worried that he’ll show up in Urbis and take over the empire. So they need to make sure he doesn’t. Tell them they don’t have to worry. And kill me.”

  The man was silent. Palta tensed, awaiting the moment of her disintegration. But it didn’t come. “No,” he finally repeated. “I will not kill you simply because you want me to. I will kill you because I want to. Once I’m sure what the truth is.”

  “You are a fool,” she whisp
ered.

  “You are mistaken,” he replied. “Now roast me some of your meat. I’m hungry. Then we ride north.”

  Palta did as she was told. It didn’t matter. The man sat by the fire and stared at her. Was he clever enough to search her? Would he spot the bulge in her pocket? His face was hard, and his eyes were intelligent. Intelligent enough? He ate most of the mutton she and Gratius had brought. Should she offer him wine, to make him sleepy? Or would that make him suspicious instead?

  She decided to offer him nothing. She would simply obey.

  “Let’s go,” the man said finally, rising.

  Palta stood up as well. “My horse is over there,” she said, gesturing into the woods.

  “All right. I will be behind you. Don’t try to run. I am faster than you, and stronger. And as you saw, I know how to use this weapon.”

  “Of course,” she said. “What will happen to Gratius’s horse?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Can I at least untie him? He’ll starve if I don’t.”

  “As you wish.”

  She untied Gratius’s poor horse, who simply stayed where he was, staring at her. Then she went up to Renni and put on his saddle, always aware of the man watching her, gant in hand. Did he really think this was a good idea? He would fall asleep before they reached the village—or at least nod off. Or his attention would wander. He would be vulnerable in countless ways. Why not just kill her and remove the risk?

  Because killing her would make her happy.

  Very well, then.

  Renni seemed puzzled by what she was doing, but as always he obeyed her. She walked him back to where the man’s horse was patiently waiting for him. They mounted their horses and started riding slowly north in the darkness. Palta led the way, with the man following close behind her. It was a clear night, and a half-moon had risen. They were silent.

  It was only a matter of time, she thought. Minutes, hours. It didn’t matter. It would happen.

  She remembered riding away from Urbis with Larry and Gratius in a cart the night after the raid that had handed the empire to the Gallians. Riding away as the city burned behind them. Riding through the night—they weren’t sure where—and into the dawn. Larry had decided not to use Via to go home, even though he could have, and she had been so relieved and grateful. She wouldn’t be alone; she would have a friend. And they would somehow find Affron, hiding in Barbarica, and all would be well.

  But here she was; Affron and Larry had disappeared, and Gratius was dead.

  Alone, she thought. Always alone.

  And then the moment came. “Halt!” the man said.

  Palta stopped.

  He dismounted. “I need to piss,” he muttered.

  She dismounted too.

  “Stay where you are,” he ordered. He walked over to the side of the road. He half-turned and fumbled with his robe; he still held the gant.

  The fool.

  She waited. The pee started to flow. She reached into her robe for her own gant.

  He turned to face her, still peeing. “Stay where you are!” he repeated.

  She didn’t bother to respond. She took out the gant.

  “What are you doing?” he cried.

  He raised his own gant, but he was too late. She aimed and shot.

  The man disappeared.

  The arc of his piss disappeared as well. That was strange. No matter.

  The man was dead.

  Palta stood there, by the man’s horse. She took off the horse’s saddle and threw it to the side of the road. “You can go too,” she murmured. But the horse didn’t move.

  She put the gant back into her pocket and took a deep breath. Renni stared at her.

  “What should I do now?” she asked the horse.

  But Renni didn’t respond. Palta was alone, and it was all up to her.

  Twenty-Three

  Gretyx

  “My lady, he is here,” Liber told her.

  “What is his mood?” Gretyx asked.

  “He is angry, of course.”

  “He is a fool. Send him in.”

  Gretyx waited while Liber fetched Decius from the anteroom. Decius was perhaps not a fool, but she had little time to waste on those who disagreed with her.

  The governor strode in with Liber following behind. Decius could scarcely bring himself to bow. He thrust a piece of paper towards her. She knew what was printed on it. She took it from him.

  “My lady, have you seen this decree?” he demanded. “It forbids all political meetings in Roma, on penalty of death. This is absurd!”

  “Why is it absurd?” Gretyx inquired.

  “It says three people or more constitute a meeting. So, three people complaining about the price of bread is a meeting. Will those people be put to death? And why was I not consulted? Roma is my province. I must approve all decrees.”

  “The empire is in crisis,” Liber observed. “We needed to take immediate action.”

  Decius turned to Liber. “Were you involved in this decision? Was everyone involved but me?”

  “We cannot allow the situation to get out of hand.”

  “These are my people!” Decius shouted. “I know them better than anyone. They will not stand for this!”

  “If enough of them are put to death, the remainder will stand for it,” Gretyx said.

  “You will start killing my people? I demand that you rescind this decree!”

  “Sit down,” she ordered.

  Decius looked as if he wanted to argue, but he obeyed her.

  “We are making changes,” she said.

  She gestured to Liber to continue.

  “You have been replaced, along with your generals,” Liber told Decius.

  “Replaced? You can’t do that! The Roman people elected me. There are laws! Sacred laws!”

  “The laws have been changed. Nothing is sacred.”

  Decius stared at him, and then turned to Gretyx. “My lady, you can’t do this. The people are hungry. They are worried. You must get them on your side.”

  “Fear will get them on our side. I think we are done here.” She gestured to Liber once again.

  He stood up. “Come then, Decius,” he said.

  Decius ignored him. He stared at Gretyx with hatred in his eyes. But he said nothing more. He merely stood and quickly left the room. He did not bow to her.

  It didn’t matter to Gretyx. Decius had lost his job. If he made any trouble, it wouldn’t be long before Decius lost his life.

  Decius

  “I take it that you have not been replaced?” Decius asked Liber as they left Gretyx’s residence.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” Liber replied. He looked uncomfortable.

  “Well? You are no longer chief minister?”

  “I am to be your replacement,” he said. “The queen herself will act as chief minister. In effect, she has already been doing that. I am very sorry, Decius.”

  Decius was too angry to respond. He tried to calm himself and finally said, “I cannot believe you are going to be part of this, Liber. It will end badly for everyone—for you, for the empire, for Terra.”

  “I wish you well, Decius, but you are mistaken. The Gallians are doing what they must do. We can work with them, or we can die.”

  Decius shook his head. “Do you think you will be spared, Liber? You are doomed whether you work with them or not. Your only choice is whether or not you go to your death believing you fought for what is right.”

  “When I first met you, you thought that helping the Gallians was the right thing to do.”

  “Clearly I was mistaken.”

  Liber did not respond. But in any case his response didn’t matter. Liber had his choices to make; Decius had his own. He assumed that he was in danger. It was only a matter of time before Gretyx decided he was too dangerous to live.

  She had set him free, in a way. And now it was time to take advantage of his freedom.

  Liber

  They parted at Decius’s carriage
, and Liber returned to his office in the palatium.

  First, chief minister, now governor of Roma…. soldiers saluted him; minor officials bowed deeply to him. It was absurd. But here he was.

  It couldn’t last. But he had survived till now. If Gretyx didn’t like him, at least she didn’t find him as objectionable as she had found Decius.

  “Any word?” he asked Cingulus.

  “None, my lord,” his secretary replied.

  Harmalo had disappeared. They had heard from his deputy: Harmalo had gone off on his own in search of Affron, and the deputy now wanted instructions. Should he and the others await Harmalo’s return or sail back to Roma without him?

  Liber didn’t know what to tell him.

  He wondered when Gretyx would remember to ask him about Affron. They still had not found any viators. This is the sort of thing that would anger her. Well, at least it wasn’t his responsibility anymore.

  He had a far more difficult responsibility now. He had to ensure the obedience of the people of Roma.

  And if they didn’t obey, he would have to put them to death.

  It was early afternoon, but Liber wanted a drink very badly. Being a poorly paid tutor to the doltish children of wealthy merchants hadn’t been so bad, he supposed. But that life was gone now, and he had to be successful in his new life. Or he, too, would be put to death.

  Twenty-Four

  Larry

  At last they left Kravok-Li, the world that had been their home for months, for years. The laughing people, the clanging music, the endless stream of pots and statues—all gone now. Larry supposed that he would never return.

  They stepped through Larry’s portal into a barren, rugged world, not unlike Scotia. The sun was low in the sky. A strong wind blew out of the east.

  “Are they here?” Larry asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Affron replied.

  “But…this is the place we need to be.”

  “I think so.”

  “And now we just have to…”