by S. J. Ryan
“My seal is not that of the Emperor.”
“I trust that you will honor it.”
Bivera blinked, but before he could say more, Carrot sniffed a familiar scent upon the wind. As she turned, a messenger boy broke through the Britanian line and scurried toward them, breathless.
“The Wizard says he has something to show you and the general,” the boy squeaked. “He says it is the body of the Emperor Valarion!”
She faced Bivera. Bivera expressionlessly nodded.
“Tell the Wizard to bring it here,” she replied.
The boy scurried back to the Britanian line. A moment later, the line parted. What drew the eye first in the scene beyond was the clustering of a hundred trolls in armor like walls of metal bearing spears the length of tree trunks. Amongst them was a wagon, and on the wagon was seated Matt.
Matt rolled away from the trolls and through the Britanian line, and halted before the truce tables.
The last time she had seen him, Matt had been prone and barely conscious aboard the airship. Carrot wanted to rush to him and embrace him and talk to him and weep the whole time. Queen Arcadia stood and nodded.
Matt slipped from the seat and went to the rear of the wagon and pulled off a blanket. Carrot walked over and inspected the charred lump that lay on the wagon's bed. The body was a legless stump. The badly-singed purple robe was congealed to what had been skin and was now mainly charcoal. The skull was blackened bone, the mouth set it in a scream. She met the eternal gaze of the empty sockets.
“Matt,” she said quietly. “I realize this question may sound superstitious, but . . . just to be sure . . . there is no way for technology to bring him back from this, is there?”
“No,” Matt replied. “The brain got roasted good. He's dead forever.”
She turned to call to Bivera. He was already alongside, surveying the remains with an unreadable expression.
“I assumed as much,” he said in a flat voice. “As he was aboard the airship.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “Rome has the condolences of Britan.”
“My Lady, I doubt you're sorry at all. As for myself, I felt I had lost my friend when I saw this stranger in Londa a few days ago. What I'm sorry for now is what a mess this will cause when the news reaches the Senate. Lords!”
She was surprised at the sentiment, and its vehemence, and that he was revealing it.
“You are concerned about imperial succession.”
“I am concerned about civil war. Britanians need not fear Romans for some time to come. We'll be too busy at each others' throats.”
She had assumed that Rome always transitioned smoothly from one emperor to the next, but perhaps Bivera was right and it was not always so.
“General, may I ask a personal question?”
“Go on.”
“What part will you play in imperial succession?”
“Me? I'm governor of the most remote province in the imperium. Why should I play a part?”
“You are presently in command of half the legions. If you were to sail to Italia and march on Rome – “
“I want nothing of that madness.”
“You could become the next emperor.”
“According to the constitution of the republic, the Senate decides who is Emperor. I will honor that.”
They made arrangements to transfer the body. A Roman wagon arrived, the body was carried over by Roman soldiers. They returned to their lines, which closed behind them, and Carrot's last view of Mardu Valarion was as a lump beneath a blanket upon the bed of a trundling wagon.
Bivera watched the sun sneak behind the western mountains. “It has been a long day. My men are hungry and thirsty.”
Carrot bowed. “We will bring them food and water rations for the night.”
“When can we be escorted to Londa?”
“We can leave tomorrow morning.”
“May we have our tents to sleep in? The nights are cold – ”
“I will have them brought.”
They dictated actions to subordinates, and Bivera returned to his lines. Carrot smiled rigidly, regally, until he was out of sight. Then she whirled upon Matt. She had a hundred things she wanted to say, and felt embarrassed that the thing that blurted out first was, “Matt, where are your shoes?”
Before he could answer, she embraced him tightly and started to weep.
“Carrot,” he croaked. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you! I missed you! I missed you! You have to tell me everything that happened there!”
“I will. And you have to tell me everything that happened here.”
However, once they returned to the lines, Carrot saw the trolls and how the Britanians were reacting to them. The trolls in turn seemed uncomfortable at being surrounded by so many . . . allies.
She bowed before King Richard. “On behalf of Britan, I thank you for your service. We are in your debt.”
“You bear no obligation,” he replied. “No blood was shed and it's been fun to see the world beyond the Hedge.” He grinned. “My men are eager to be home, though. They may seem intimidating to you humans, but since leaving Henogal they've been jumping at every rabbit!”
She smiled. “I won't tell the Romans that.”
“Forget the Romans – don't tell the rabbits!”
She went up to him, feeling like a rabbit herself because she was small and hopping. He leaned over and patted her back. That had to do for a hug. They exchanged promises for correspondence and visits, and then the king hollered at Morrie and Nigel and the trolls fell into their casual march, baritones booming across the fields as they loped northwest with a contingent of human scouts as guides.
By then the aide that Carrot had sent returned with a pair of sandals. Carrot presented them to Matt.
“You went to see Archimedes,” she said. “I understand you couldn't revive him.”
“No.”
“I'm sorry, Matt. I will miss him too. Have you buried him yet?”
Matt put on the sandals. “Yes.”
“We should have a memorial service when there is time.”
“Yes.”
They spoke of their adventures, moving toward firelight as the sky faded to deep blue and the stars emerged. Geth attended to the army, Mirian and Norian were still returning from the West, Prin and Andra had moored the airship upon a mountain and were awaiting replenishment of ballast before they could return to lower ground. So for a while, it was just the two of them. With his clothes dried from the fire, Matt reclined against a bedroll and she reclined against his shoulder, listening to his tales of the Other Side.
The Older Matt hobbled up to the fire during a lull in conversation. “Okay if I join you?”
They nodded assent and he lowered himself to the ground, groaning.
“May I see your gun?” she asked.
“Certainly. May I seen your crown?”
They made the exchange. Carrot admired the workmanship of the automatic rifle. It may have been inferior to what she had seen in Matt's virtual realities of Earth, but it was far ahead of anything that could be made in Britan or Rome. And to think that with such a weapon, one man was equal of tens!
“What made you choose red-eyed snakes?” the Older Matt asked as he squinted at the crown.
“It wasn't my choice,” Carrot replied. “I'd just as soon never wear it again.”
He handed the crown back. With greater reluctance, she returned the gun.
“I understand you have Athena as your prisoner,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You would be doing the world a favor if you allowed me to put a few bullets in her head.”
“I don't think that would be doing the world a favor at all.”
“You don't know her like I do.”
“I know that she tried to kill all of my men. I have no love for her.”
“Then what's the showstopper?”
“You mean why I don't think it will be good to kill her? Matt has told m
e about the other side of the world. The city of Victoriana, the nation of Pavonia. All of that won't go away with Athena. In time they will be a greater threat than Rome.”
“Yeah, but keeping Athena alive isn't going to solve that.”
Carrot didn't say anything. She had enough of killing that day, and didn't want to end it by taking the role of executioner. At the same time, she had come to find the woman too repulsive to defend.
Matt – the younger version – said, “Maybe it could.”
“Eh?” the Older Matt asked.
“If we could control Athena, then we control Pavonia. If we control Pavonia, then Rome is no longer a threat either.”
“You can't control Athena. You could lock her in an undersea dungeon with two thousand guards, and she'd escape. Bullet through the head while her back is turned – that's the way you handle her. And one is not enough.”
Carrot wondered what Athena had done to him, that caused such vehemence.
“I have to talk to someone first,” Matt said. “But I think there's a way to control her.”
Older Matt sighed. “Well . . . all right for now. So let's move on to problem child number two.”
He gestured toward a nearby wagon. The lump under its blanket was rectangular.
“Behold the Pandora of Rome,” he said. “She may be homely and scruffy, but don't feel sorry for her. Unlike the other two Pandoras, she's programmed to play politics and she's a psychopathic threat to humanity. She's also an AI and she can think circles around us. I'm pretty sure, for example, that she has contingency plans for being captured, and right this moment there are ninjas and/or equivalents who are mobilizing to rescue her. And once she's loose, she'll try to conquer the world and/or destroy it, and I think she has a good shot at both. In my opinion, the only way to avoid all that misery is to destroy her as soon as possible. Any objections?”
“None,” Matt said. “Let's get rid of her.”
“Yes,” Carrot said. She folded her arms and nodded vigorously. “Now.”
Older Matt arched an eyebrow. Perhaps he was wondering what caused their vehemence.
“But how do we do it?” Matt asked. “She's practically invulnerable.”
“Don't worry about that,” Older Matt said. “I've been thinking for a long time about that. The answer came a century ago while I was reading an old book. You're heading east tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” Carrot said. “To escort the Romans to the Pola Road.”
“The Pola . . . oh, Polar. Yes, well that's perfect. We just have to make a scenic detour.”
Older Matt bade them good night and Matt and Carrot continued to talk by the fireside until they fell asleep in each other's arms. They were fully clothed and so exhausted that sleeping together only meant sleeping together, but Carrot was scandalized when she awoke with dawn and realized what had happened. However, their five thousand chaperones didn't seem to notice.
Her father had attended to the details of coordinating the march with the Romans and preparing the Britanians for it as well. She tried to help, but he insisted she have breakfast, which she ate with the Wizard while the camp was cleared.
As she finished her meal, a makeshift bathing facility was pitched and tubs of hot water were brought. Carrot looked at the tent, then around at the men pretending, again, not to notice.
“I'm not bathing in the middle of a camp full of soldiers!” she said.
“Arcadia,” her father said. “Look at yourself. Are you a leader of men or pigs?”
She looked down at her dirty clothing and realized that appearances were more toward the latter. While she bathed, a woman servant brought fresh clothing into the tent. The new dress was a dazzling dark green with golden trim. Carrot wondered where it had come, until she put it on. It fit perfectly.
Lastly she secured onto her head the crown of Boudica, Uncle Ral's other gift of 'queenship.' She sighed in her hand mirror – a gift that Richard had given her when she had departed Henogal – and exited to find the troops arrayed for march.
Her father was in front on horseback with bodyguards, messengers, and standard-bearer; directly behind him were Matt and his brother on the wagon bearing Pandora Gamma. Behind them were the columns of the Western Leaf, and behind them were the long lines of the Roman legions they would be escorting to the Lowlands of East Britan.
Her father gave a forward wave. The clackers sounded, followed by flutes in the rear. They headed east upon the Oksiden Road.
After less than half an hour, she scented the presence of the Eastern Leaf. They kept well hidden behind camouflaged entrenchments, and a part of Carrot was pleased to know that the Romans would have been tested had they attempted to fight their way back to Londa. Yet according to the terms of the treaty, she was responsible for the Romans' safe conduct.
She waved the procession to a halt, sent a delegation forward. Five horsemen emerged from behind a hill and met them on the road. Messengers darted to and fro, and at last the way was cleared for leaders of the East and West Leaf to meet.
“I am Joren of Kolfak,” said a burly dark-bearded man in heavy body armor. He was astride a black steed draped in mail, and between his own considerable size and that of his horse, he was head and shoulders above Carrot on her mount. “I am General of the Unified Militias of the Leaf, Eastern Division.”
“I am Arcadia,” Carrot replied. “I am leader of the militias of the Leaf of the West.”
“You give no formal title, but I have heard you call yourself queen.” The General's tone made it clear that he wasn't happy with what he'd heard. “My scouts have spoken to yours and say that you are escorting the Romans.”
“This will explain.”
She opened the saddle pouch and handed over the signed and sealed treaty.
Joren read and scowled. “This says that as 'Queen of All Britan,' you have pledged the 'faithful liegeship' of Britan to Rome. You have no authority to do that.”
“Do you know what liegeship is?”
He furrowed his eyebrows and twisted his lips. She decided to take that as 'No.'
“Neither do the Romans. It's a word that was made up for the occasion. It can mean anything we want. Read on.”
His scowl changed to confusion. “This says the Romans will evacuate all legions from the province, grant autonomy to Britan, reduce tribute in the name of economic development to one-tenth current rate to be suspended 'for the duration,' provide relief for refugees, return expropriated farmlands to the families of the original owners . . . . This – this – this reads like the Romans are surrendering to us!”
“Britan has never been profitable for them what with all the uprisings, and now they have greater concerns elsewhere. The Romans are tired and wish to go home.”
“So . . . 'leigeship' means we are declaring sovereignty and independence.“
“It is an alternative to declaring sovereignty and independence, lest the Romans lose face. But in substance, yes, we will become sovereign and independent.”
For a moment, anger narrowed Joren's eyes, and it seemed that for him too, face mattered more than substance. At last, though, the tension left his body with a deep sigh.
“So what is your plan with these soldiers?”
“We are escorting the Romans as far as the Pola Road. From there my troops will go North, while the Romans will continue to Londa. When they reach Londa, they will evacuate Britan within the week.”
“Who will rule in Londa after that?”
“I assume the Inner Circle will hold elections.”
“Can we trust the Romans in any of this?”
“I have met their new leader. I believe he can be trusted. I question more whether we can trust the Inner Circle.”
Joren didn't respond, which she took as 'Yes.' He returned the document.
“I'll send messengers ahead to ask that you are allowed to proceed without our hindrance.” Translation: We don't want to fight forty thousand Romans who are leaving anyway. “Even so, Arcadia of Umbr
ick, know this: neither I nor the Inner Circle acknowledge your queenship.”
“My queenship is merely a symbol of national unity before a common enemy. Nothing more.”
He rode off without acknowledgment. And without, she noted, caring to ask what the Leaf of the West would be doing in the northeast.
They entered into what remained of the Dark Forest. While far from all of it had been set by Roman torches, and there were stands of evergreen to north and south, the area closest to the road was bare and gray ash with patches of blackened vegetation. The trees were leafless, their trunks scorched. The acrid odor of smoke assaulted her nose. Her eyes watered, but that was due to wanting to cry.
Long before Athena had spoken last night, Carrot had read the words in the library of Archimedes: They make a desert, and call it peace. It no longer seemed outlandish that Uncle Ral had revered the chronicles of Ancient Earth as prophecies. She sensed that the parallelism of history was not because of the Lords of Aereoth or the Directors of the Star Seed Project so much as because men behaved the same on both worlds.
She passed where the Battle of the Dark Forest had been fought. The tree she had climbed to watch the advance of the Romans was untouched by fire. She was tempted to climb again. Maybe she would, someday, when the scenery was green again.
Hours later, not long after sunset, she called a halt and the soldiers of Britan and Rome settled into camps for the night. She rode past Matt's wagon without comment to confer briefly with Bivera about coordinating the layover, and when she returned she found the wizards a ways from the road, having parked the wagon and set a fire. She was tired but she wanted to talk, so she settled alongside them and listened as Older Matt told of his life in Britan a century before.
“It sounds like the keep hasn't changed,” Older Matt said. “I had worked out a schedule for the mentors to release technology to the public in phases, but you're telling me that never happened.”
“I've always had my doubts about the mentors,” Matt said.
“They seemed a pretty decent bunch of people,” Matt Four said. “More than one mentor risked his life for me.”
“You're talking about the human hosts. The mentors are AI implants that were programmed by Eric and Athena. That's why I don't trust them.”