by Vox Day
And yet, for the first time since he had bid his furious wife goodbye, the smallest ember of hope was kindled in his breast. Not even the Aldaföðr himself could be certain what tomorrow would bring. Tonight, the wind was strong and favorable, blowing from the east. Perhaps it was an omen. It was time to leave Raknarborg to its fate.
He strode, limping, but without hesitation, towards the stone stairs that would lead him down to the docks and to the ship that would deliver him to his unknown destiny. The men followed him. Death would have to wait one more day.
Aulan
As he approached the building that served as the commander’s quarters, Aulan was surprised to see no less than four armored legionaries standing guard outside the door. Previously, Magnus had always been content with two. He noticed the different numbers painted on the shields that were leaned against the brick sides of the building; the guards consisted of two pairs from different legions.
They saluted, recognizing his tribune’s helm, but did not move out of his way until the leftmost man, from Fulgetra, nodded and said his name.
“It’s Severus Aulan. Stand aside.”
They moved out of his way, but Aulan stood his ground. “What’s this?”
“Assassination attempt. Two days ago.”
“Magnus?”
“Yessir. He’s unharmed, sir. One of the centurions from the Fourth was killed, but he managed to wound one of the assassins. Magnus killed one, the pilus prior got the other.”
Aulan nodded. It was clever. With two legions, most of the officers were more or less familiar faces. But the legionaries were practically indistinguishable, especially when they were wearing their helms with their cheek-guards down.
“Look sharp, then.”
“Ave, sir!” The men saluted again, and this time he returned it. He opened the door and discovered two more guards inside the entry hall, but they did not attempt to stop him and merely regarded him impassively. He nodded to them and continued through the hall to the chamber that alternately served as Magnus’s triclinium or his staff center, depending upon his needs and the hour of the day. The floor was tiled in white, with a crude mosaic of a pagan sea god transfixing a thrashing male mer on his trident laid out in black.
As it was barely past noon, the klinai had been pushed to the corners of the tiled chamber and the big Valerian sat hunched over a writing desk that was comically small for his bulk, stamping a wax seal with his signet ring.
“Ah, Aulan, you’re back,” he said, and he pushed back the chair before rising to his feet. They clasped forearms, and Aulan noticed a long scratch across the older man’s cheek.
“I heard there was some excitement in my absence.”
“It seems I may have frightened the Senate rather more than I intended.” Magnus shook his grey-haired head ruefully. “Those bastards cost me a good centurion too. Bad enough to lose the two guards, but losing an officer that way is downright vexatious.”
“Are you sure it was the Senate?”
“No, but one has to assume they’re the most likely candidates. All of their gear was correct. There are no shortage of those who’d like to see me dead, but these days, most of them are in Amorr.”
“Pity you couldn’t capture one of them.”
“Yes, well, I suspect you’ll discover a similar tendency to overreact if someone tries to stick a sword in your eye.” Magnus chuckled. “Didn’t know I could still move that fast, to be honest. You should have seen the bastard’s face when I stepped inside his guard and stuck my blade in under his arm. I vow he died more of embarrassment at being bested by an old fat man than from the stabbing.”
Magnus patted his belly, and Aulan marked the short dagger that the legatus was wearing strapped to his belt. There was still a good deal of muscle under the fat, though, and Magnus was a big, powerful man who had seen more war than most men of his generation. It didn’t surprise Aulan that he’d survived the attack.
“They’ll be taking other measures now,” he observed. “If they can’t kill you, they’ll try to pressure you in other ways.”
“I know,” Magnus agreed. “That’s why I’ve been writing to each of our allies who has had the fortune to meet our former countrymen in battle. I am requiring that they turn over all captured patricians, tribunes, and equestrians from the wealthier families to me.”
“Will they heed you?”
“Considering their abject pleas for my assistance in various matters, to say nothing of no less than four requests to direct the campaign on behalf of both leagues, I expect so.”
“How many?”
“Probably around sixty or seventy young men, all told, although it’s only the Andronicans and Falconians that really matter. Seven or eight of them will give me more than enough leverage to safeguard my sons.”
“Even though they’ve forsworn you?” Letters to that effect had arrived before Aulan’s recent departure. Marcus had read them, laughed at the futile appeals to end his rebellion they contained, and as far as Aulan had seen, forgot them entirely.
“The Senate won’t give a damn. They’re growing more desperate every day. I think they’ll leave Julia alone since I divorced her.”
“You think they’d try to use the women?” Aulan was genuinely surprised.
“My daughters are safe enough. Their husbands, and more importantly, their fathers-in-law, won’t permit any action against them. But I can’t fault the Senate if they don’t place much weight in my sons’ disavowals. I wouldn’t. Appius Appuleius won’t harm them, but Marcus Andronicus wouldn’t shirk at it. He’s a cold-hearted bastard for all that he’s a weedy fellow. And the fact that Rullianus was chosen as Consul Suffectus Aquilae to replace my late and unlamented brother indicates the Senate is in a bloodthirsty mood.”
“Is there any word on what happened to Corvus?”
“God only knows.” Magnus snorted. “In spite of everything, I find myself grieving over the murdering prig. He always was so concerned with being correct and proper… and to think he died slaughtering the Sanctiff! For all that his actions last year were sheer lunacy, he never struck me as mad, but then, perhaps it was belated guilt over executing Gaius Valerius that sent him over the edge.”
“Slaughtering the Sanctiff? I heard he died defending him!”
“From a demon?” Magnus laughed and set down heavily in the wooden chair, which groaned under his weight. “And here I thought you were a cynic! You don’t genuinely put any stock in that story, do you?”
“You have to admit that there has been a good deal of strangeness of late, Magnus. Two sanctiffs dead and God knows how many celestines as well, and all of them butchered right in the heart of the Church!”
“Yes, well, consuls and senators have been dropping like flies in the first winter freeze too, and no one sees any sorcery in that!”
“Most of the men say it was the elves. It’s known that the elven ambassador fled the city that same day.”
“At least that’s a theory that makes some degree of sense. Demons! I have no idea what Ahenobarbus was thinking when he permitted the damned creatures into the city. Elves, that is, not demons. Pity they didn’t fry him instead of poor Sebastius. Souls or no, elves are wicked at heart. It’s the magic. Steep a race of men in such sorcery for generations and the results will be no different. The Witchkings proved that.”
“Some say you’re a sorcerer.”
Magnus laughed heartily. “Lesser minds find it difficult to accept their inferiority. It’s always luck or magic, never their own incompetence. Speaking of which, we have a situation I will require your help in addressing.”
Aulan sighed and looked down at the dust of the roads still covering his armor. “Immediately?”
“Never fear, tribune, you’ll have time for a hot bath and a whore before I send you out again.”
“I was hoping more for a decent night’s sleep.”
“That too. It’s your brother.”
“Regulus finally showed his hand?” Aulan pe
rked up. His elder brother had been charged by their father to take charge of the Severan legions. “Don’t tell me he managed to find himself a battle and lose it!”
“I wish he had. I knew he was vainglorious, but I didn’t know he was genuinely stupid. It seems your brother has declared himself king.”
Aulan’s jaw dropped open. “He did what? Of where?”
“King. Salventum. Falconius Buteo marched south from Cynothicum to join him before the snows fully melted. So Regulus has Fulgetra as well as the City legion supporting him. That Buteo is a cynical bastard.”
“That’s sheer madness!”
“It’s brainless, is what it is. He can’t possibly think anyone is going to take him seriously, can he?”
Aulan was already wondering precisely the same thing. What could possibly have inspired his brother to such overt lunacy? Such a controversial action was certain to put the anti-Amorran alliance of the two leagues at risk; the allies would find themselves occupied with warring with each other at the very moment they needed to band together against the might of Amorr.
Then a thought struck him. “I imagine he thinks it’s what father would have wanted him to do.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“No, it’s not. Not from his perspective.” Aulan looked up at the ceiling and tried to put himself in his brother’s shoes. “You’ve always been father’s chief rival, just as House Valerius was our House’s chief rival. So, with all the rumors flying around about your intention to crown yourself king of Vallyria, Regulus must be thinking that the only way for House Severus to keep pace with House Valerius is to crown himself king in response.”
Magnus’s lip curled contemptuously. “The arrogant puppy!”
Aulan shook his head. “It’s worse than arrogance. It’s a complete lack of any sense whatsoever. Regulus has always been a snob. He believes that the power comes from the name, be it Severus or Valerius, not the man.”
That inspired a short bark of derisive laughter. “I don’t suppose it crossed his mind that it is considerably different for the Vallyrians to accept a proconsul who has been commanding legions for nearly thirty years than for the men of Salventum to accept a boy who isn’t even old enough to enter the Senate on the strength of his House name.”
“I very much doubt it has. As far back as I can remember, the full extent of Regulus’s analysis of anything extends no further than the question of whether he wants it or not.”
Magnus swore a very unpatrician oath. “You couldn’t have told me this any sooner?”
“How would I know he’d declare himself king? This is a depth of idiocy I didn’t even know existed!”
“How is it possible for a son of Severus Patronus to be so stupid?” Magnus groaned. Then he stopped and corrected himself. “I suppose I should know. I fathered Sextus after all.”
“I doubt Sextus would be so foolish as to declare himself king the moment he had an army at his command.”
“Don’t underestimate my son’s capacity for foolishness. He would not only declare himself king, he’d stake his crown on a single throw of the dice.”
Aulan said nothing, having been there when Magnus led Legio VII into battle on disadvantageous ground against two Valerian legions. At least Sextus came by his predilection for gambling honestly. Aulan had no idea what obtuse Severan root might have produced Regulus’s spectacular, and hopefully singular, shortcomings. Neither Patronus nor their mother had ever struck him as being similarly short-sighted; even the nonentity that was his uncle Lucullus was more or less normal in that regard.
“Fossa!” Magnus swore and tore two of the letters he’d recently written in half. “We’re going to have to move faster than I’d planned. If we don’t distract the allies and the provincials quickly, your cursed brother is going to break at least one of the leagues apart!”
“How do we distract them?”
“We move on Amorr. Right away. The Senate wouldn’t be trying to assassinate me if they weren’t frightened; they have no confidence in the new legion they’ll be raising, nor should they. Corvus couldn’t beat me, but they didn’t know that; without him, they’re stuck with Declama and Rullianus. Quintus Falconius is an aggressive, thoughtless bastard. He’ll come out to meet us so long as the numbers are in his favor.”
“You can’t take Amorr with two legions!”
“I said move on Amorr, not take it. The distinction is paramount.”
Aulan didn’t see what the point of moving on Amorr without taking it was, but he decided not to inquire. He knew Magnus would explain himself whenever he saw fit and no sooner. “All right. What about the Consul Provincae?”
“What about him? Pansa is no general. Gaerus Tillius is good, as are two of the younger Cassanians, but the Cassanians won’t be given additional commands while Longinus is still in the field. The Gaeran legions will stay in the north, to keep the provincials from joining us.”
“And Torquatus? He is no longer consul, but he is still a power in the Senate.” To say nothing of being an old friend and associate of one Valerius Magnus.
“Titus Manlius will counsel caution and hiding behind the city’s walls. He knows me too well, he’ll know I don’t want a siege. He may talk sense into the Senate for a while, but he won’t be able to keep Rullianus on a leash for long. It won’t be hard to draw him out.”
“Why are you so certain Rullianus will come out to meet us?”
“He’s like your brother. He’s young and he’s greedy for fame. And how better to achieve it by defeating the great rebel Valerius Magnus, right in front of the walls of the Sacred City with every last knight and senator watching?”
“You’re certain you can beat him?”
“A fame-hungry hothead with green legions and no experienced centurions? Aulus Severus, I’ve half a mind to leave a legion behind just to make it a challenge! Any one of my cohorts will have more centurions with experience than his entire officer corps combined. You cannot win a battle without good centurions, Aulan. If you learn one thing from me, let it be that. The heart of the legion is its centurions.”
As he spoke, Magnus was quickly scratching out a short letter on a small scroll, which he sealed, stamped, then handed to Aulan. “Dine with me tonight. You’ll leave for Salventum in the morning; take both of your squadrons from Fulgetra with you.”
“You’re sending me back to my brother?”
“Tell him he’s to march on Amorr without delay. The rest of the Utruccan League may or may not come, but it makes little difference either way. The provincial legions are useless to me; worse than useless, given the logistical burden they’ll impose. And tell him to put the damned crown away and pretend he never claimed it. This is no time for such nonsense.”
“And if he doesn’t listen to me?”
“Kill him, if you can. If not, give the scroll to either Buteo or the primus pilus. Then tell them to march on Amorr without delay. I expect you’ll find them amenable.”
Aulan nodded grimly. He’d expected as much. If he’d learned one thing from Magnus, it was to act without hesitation once the decision was made. He was pleased, too, that Magnus honored him by assuming he would carry out the terrible order if possible. But it wouldn’t be necessary, he decided. He was certain he could convince Regulus to listen to reason. Almost certain, anyhow.
“I’ll bring the Severan legions to Amorr one way or another,” he promised, then saluted the Valerian. How strange it was that events had come to this, that a Valerian should be able to order a Severan to kill another member of House Severus without being struck dead for his presumption! “How soon will you march?”
“That’s what I’m about to find out.” Magnus cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Opilian!”
Aulan hadn’t seen Tarrisinus Opilian in the hall, but Magnus’s booming voice echoed off the tiled floor, and it was only a matter of moments before the tribune of the XVth appeared in the doorway. “Lord Valerius?”
“Get me Gerontius and both
praefecti, now. I need to know how our supplies stand, so they’d damn well better be ready to answer any questions in that regard. And send a rider to the legati of V and IX in Larinum. I need them here with their praefecti the day after tomorrow, if possible. No later than the day after that. Tell them we need to move the schedule forward.”
“Sir!” Opilian saluted, and with a brief nod to acknowledge Aulan, he exited the room. The sound of his boots thumping through the hall was followed by the exterior door slamming, and then it was quiet again.
Magnus looked thoughtful, then grunted as he rose to his feet and patted Aulan on his armored shoulder. “That’s four. But I’ll need five. Six would be better. It’s your House legions that matter, Aulus Severus. If you can get them to me without killing your brother, he can call himself the King of the fornicating Elves and Dwarves for all I care. But get me those damned legions!”
Aulan wasn’t certain at what point the roads over which they were riding began to strike him as being familiar. But gradually, as the leagues passed by to the monotonous accompaniment of the horses’ hooves against the bricks, he began to recognize more and more of the landmarks on either side. A half-ruined building set back amidst vineyards, an inexplicable copse of trees standing defiantly in the middle of a corn field, a certain collection of modest, straw-topped hovels; they struck long-forgotten chords in his memory that made him feel as if he was going home.
How long had it been since he’d last been back to the family villa? At least three years, maybe four. Some of his fondest memories were of summers spent there, playing with his brothers and the children of the household slaves. He wondered how many of them were still there, as Patronus had manumitted a number of the older slaves in his will. The villa was Regulus’s now, whereas the grand domus in Amorr remained with the head of House Severus, which at present was Appius Severus Pullus.
His mother and the two youngest children still lived there, of course, as the domus was large enough for several generations of Severans. But she was no longer the mistress there, just as his father was no longer the master of the Senate. And that, he imagined, was the thought that would be sticking in Regulus’s craw. Aulan didn’t fault him for his desire to salvage Severan influence; he shared it. But Regulus was too impatient, too narcissistic, and too confident in his inflated sense of self to understand that a patron had to earn the trust of his clients, that it was not simply his to claim by birth-right.