Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones

by Vox Day

  There had been some grumbling amongst the centurion corps concerning his promotion. Being well aware of it, Didius was anticipating the chance to prove himself to his new subordinates.

  “Gentlemen, relax,” Marcus said, shaking his head. He could feel the strange weight of the yellow general’s plume bobbing as he did so. “That’s an order. I have no intention of engaging with the Cynothii today if they don’t force me to it.”

  The three officers near him looked at each other as they attempted to digest his statement.

  Trebonius cleared his throat, then pointed toward the onager, which had found its range and was killing one or two helpless provincials with almost every missile it threw. “Sir, with all due respect, you have not forgotten the squadrons you sent to ambush their column in the forest, have you?”

  “I wasn’t referring to the cavalry, Tribune. The ambush was merely to ensure they were not able to withdraw easily once they discovered we were here in force.” He pointed to the Cynothii lines, which were now stretching nearly far enough to reach cohort II on the right side and cohort X on the left. “The context was in reference to the Cynothii who happen to be right in front of us at the moment.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Didius asked, almost wailing in his distress. “We can smash them right now!”

  “Of course we can. And we can smash them almost as easily once all of them have arrived, dismounted, and taken their positions. But unless I am very much mistaken, their commander will have sufficient wit to surrender to us once he sees his position is untenable. We’ve already bloodied their noses, and that should be enough to demand his attention.”

  “I wish we could have at least caught those damned Severans that got past us.” Trebonius said, looking in the direction the enemy cavalry had escaped. “We were so close too. Just a little sooner, and we would have had them.”

  “And done what?” Marcus shook his head. “Killed our fellow citizens? I have no interest in the Severan horse today. They can do us no harm.”

  “Then why did you order Julianus to pursue them?” Trebonius asked.

  “Because I know him. He was going to chase after them whether I ordered him to do so or not. Magnus always told me to never give an order you know will be broken, or fail to give an order you know will be followed. So, I told him to do what he was going to to anyhow.”

  “You’re not always going to be able to anticipate insubordination,” Trebonius said.

  Marcus smiled coldly. “I’m not always going to be as tolerant of it either. Julianus has earned my trust to an extent that very, very few of my officers ever will. If Hosidos is foolish enough to attack, I’ll have him flogged.”

  By Valerian standards, that just about qualified as being soft, Marcus thought wryly. He was a little disappointed in Trebonius, but he wasn’t surprised that the others didn’t understand why they needed Cynothii captives more than they needed Cynothii corpses.

  “Is that their commander over there?” the primus pilus asked, pointing to a new arrival, who was riding a grey horse. He appeared to be a man of some importance, as various dismounted men, presumably the equivalent of whatever the provincials called their centurions, approached him. Judging by their gestures and widely swinging arms, they were either informing him that the large mass of armored men poised to overcome them were not friendly or complaining about their abandonment by the Severan cavalry.

  “Gaius Trebonius, will you send someone to tell the onager to stand down? I imagine the spotter already has his eyes on that one.”

  “At once, sir,” the tribune said, and he turned his horse toward the six message riders who were waiting at the ready about twenty paces behind them.

  “You don’t want him dead?” Didius was aggrieved, but Marcus, understanding the centurion’s frustration, decided to overlook it.

  “Yes, it would be difficult for him to surrender in that case, would it not?”

  Marcus nodded with satisfaction as, after some additional deliberation on the part of the Cynothii, even more exaggerated arm-waving, and some activity on the ground that couldn’t be seen behind the two lines of enemy infantry, a young Cynothi on horseback was handed a spear shaft. When the lad held it up, it could be seen there was a large piece of white fabric attached to it.

  “Mirabile dictu, it appears as if someone over there can count,” Trebonius commented, having sent off a rider as instructed. “What are the terms? Unconditional?”

  “I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Marcus said. “I think it would be more useful to talk to the man. Take Dardanus with you under a herald’s flag and offer him safe passage to a parley. Didius, since you were so eager to get at them before, why don’t you accompany them and act as his surety while we’re hosting him? Take Hosidos too. They have to know we’re not going to sacrifice two of our senior centurions.”

  Didius raised a skeptical eyebrow in his direction, causing Trebonius to burst out laughing. “Never fear, primus pilus. If the tribune already finds you tiresome, he’s hardly likely to murder the Cynothi. After all, he only has to wait until Fulgetra arrives to deprive himself of the pleasure of your company.”

  The centurion smiled sourly and thumped his chest. “God and Amorr, sir. Hosidos and I will see if those damned provincials have anything worth dicing for.”

  “There are worse ways to spend an afternoon, Centurion.” Marcus saluted back then nodded to Trebonius and Dardanus. “He can bring his sword and four men, if he wishes.”

  But the Cynothi commander came alone, Marcus was pleased to see, riding alongside Gaius Trebonius and exchanging pleasantries with him as if they were out for a summer evening’s ride, not riding past three thousand legionaries who were still poised to wipe out him and his entire force. If the man was concerned for his safety of the lives of his men, he certainly hid it well. Marcus had seen more defeat on the faces of men who had lost bets on the legion’s fist-fighting champion.

  “Trebonius, I’m going to want notes,” he said without taking his eyes off the man.

  The Cynothi dismounted with the easy grace of a man born to life in the saddle. He was short and fair, with long light brown hair and a shaggy beard that covered most of a rather nondescript face. Like most Cynothii men, his legs bowed outward at the knees. But even in what could reasonably be considered desperate circumstances, his demeanor appeared to be lighthearted. An enemy, to be sure, but a likable one perhaps. He bowed to Marcus, who nodded his head in polite response as Trebonius and Dardanus both dismounted and took up positions behind Marcus.

  “I thank you for the invitation, General,” the Cynothi said. “I imagine it has not escaped your attention that you appear to have us at a distinct disadvantage. I am called Vestremer, son of Nervutachs, Captain of the Royal Infantry, in service to King Ladismas the First.”

  “I noticed something of the sort,” Marcus said. “I am Valerius Clericus, son of Valerius Corvus, Tribune of the People and the commander of Legio XVII. And while it may surprise you, the Senate and People of Amorr have long made a practice of requiring that its legionary officers are able to count without using their hands and feet.”

  Vestremer grinned. “And here I thought that’s why you Amorrans wear those open-toed sandals. So you’re the Crow’s son, are you? I suppose that takes away a bit of the sting of being outfoxed by a mere stripling. No offense intended, Tribune of the People and commander of Legio XVII.”

  “None taken, Captain of the Royal Infantry.” He glanced at the decurion, who had taken an aggressive stance with his hand on his sword hilt. “Stand down, Dardanus. I will be the judge of what I find offensive. Now, Captain, you would appear to have a large quantity of horses for an infantry unit.”

  “Walking gets tiresome.”

  “And I must confess to be a little curious concerning this king in whose service you claim to be. Is Cynothicus no longer a province of the Amorran Empire?”

  “Not since Ladismas beat your consul and was acclaimed king by the nobles and commoners
alike. The Cynothii were a free people for centuries before your Empire, and we’re the first to free ourselves from it. But we won’t be the last.”

  “A noble dream. You understand that the Senate and People tend to see it a little differently, of course. And they not only object to rebellions, they particularly object to rebels killing our consuls.” Marcus smiled. “Of course, in this one instance, I may be able to find it in my heart to forgive your people the latter, seeing as the Senate saw fit to replace the late Lucius Andronicus Caudinus as consul of the legions with one Sextus Valerius Corvus.”

  Vestremer smiled back, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

  Marcus almost laughed at the consternation that the man almost managed to hide. You were hoping for an incompetent or a lazy, vainglorious fool, weren’t you, my provincial friend! I’ll bet you don’t like the idea of the Crow coming after your infant kingdom with eighteen thousand swords as soon as the snows melt.

  The Cynothi bowed. “I am pleased my people could serve your father in this manner. In fact, I believe my king would wish for you to convey his congratulations to the new consul aquilae and to express his wish that if he can ever be of future service to him, or any of his House, he would be pleased to do so.”

  Marcus affected surprise and pleasure. “How very kind of him! And do you know, it occurs to me that there may in fact be a way in which he could be of service to House Valerius in the future—in the very near future, as it happens.”

  “I’m sure that would be his fondest wish.”

  “You see, Captain, although we have lamentably found ourselves facing each other with swords drawn in anger, we both appear to have problems for which the other party might be able to offer a solution. For example, I am given to understand that my men and I may be soon facing a winter siege due to what appears to be an inexplicable alliance between your new king and a rogue legion belonging to House Severus. You happen to have a great quantity of horses in your possession, upon which I could feed my men for most of the winter.”

  “You want my horses?” Vestremer was clearly puzzled. “If that’s all you want, why not simply kill us all and take them?”

  “For one thing, battle can be very hard on horses. Who knows how many would be killed, only to lie there rotting, of no use to anyone? And for another, who said that was all I wanted? I am merely pointing out one area of potential cooperation. Perhaps not even the ideal one, since I imagine your king would be very loathe to lose so many horses. How many do you have, six hundred?”

  “Five hundred.”

  “That’s more than four Amorran legions’ worth. Horses are expensive, and it wouldn’t surprise me if those five hundred horses amount to half the king’s horses.”

  “More like a quarter.”

  “Let’s say a third, then. Even if he has another thousand, losing one-third of his cavalry, or whatever you call it, isn’t going to advance his rebellion, is it?”

  “More horses can always be acquired. But yes, he’d rather not lose them.”

  Marcus nodded and gestured to Trebonius. “Captain, this is Gaius Trebonius, tribunus laticlavius of the legion and my second in command. Gaius Trebonius, it occurs to me that we have been lamentably inhospitable. While we are speaking, would you be so kind as to secure the three of us a wineskin or two? I believe you have already met our primus pilus, who is being hosted by your men for the duration of this conversation.”

  “Enchanted, Tribune,” Vestremer said with a smile. “Yes, Tribune Valerius, I did indeed have the opportunity to meet the centurion—Claudios Didios, or something to that effect, I believe—and I hope he is being as well-received as I am. I have to say, I am somewhat amazed by the youth of your legion’s executive staff.”

  “Does a star shine any less bright for its youth?” Marcus asked. “We are young, Captain, but does not our very youth testify to our accomplishment?”

  “Or potential,” the Cynothi shot back. “And what a true loss to Amorr it would be should that potential be snuffed out unrealized.”

  “I could not agree more,” Marcus replied calmly. “Have you any ideas how we might arrange to avoid such a tragedy? You see, Captain, I have no wish to harm you or your men. I will not hesitate to do so, of course, if it becomes necessary in the course of my duties. I am my father’s son. But I fail to see how involving yourself and your self-declared kingdom in the internal affairs of the Senate and People could be of any benefit to the Cynothii.”

  “Defeating an invading legion sent to suppress us and keep us under the heel of the empire can hardly be described as interfering in the internal affairs of Amorr, Tribune.”

  “I concur. But we are not discussing the defeat of Lucius Andronicus and his legion. That is a tangential matter that will surely merit consideration one day. But today, I am simply attempting to understand why a band of provincial rebels should be moving to attack one Amorran legion in the company of another Amorran legion. I fail to see how I am supposed to interpret that as anything but aggressive interference in Amorran affairs.”

  The Cynothi was silent for a long moment as he gathered his thoughts. But before he could speak, Trebonius returned, followed by three legionaries carrying a standing table, several crude silver goblets, and two flagons of wine.

  Marcus took the opportunity to sit on the ground, and he indicated that the other two officers should do likewise. Trebonius poured the wine and offered the first goblet to Vestremer. When all three goblets had been poured, Marcus raised his to the Cynothi.

  “To your health, Captain.”

  “Likewise, Tribune,” Vestremer responded. “And yours, Laticlavius.”

  Marcus took a moderate sip of the wine. This far north, the wines were barely drinkable, but it wasn’t quite as bad as he expected. Though it was close. “I hope you will understand we are not actually attempting to poison you, Captain. We merely happen to find ourselves reduced to these desperate straits.”

  “I’ve had worse,” the Cynothian admitted. “There is a reason we tend to prefer beer in these parts. Now, am I understanding you correctly if I infer that House Valerius might be willing to recognize King Ladismas if he breaks his alliance with Buteo?”

  “Buteo…Falconius Buteo?” Trebonius asked.

  “Secundus Falconius is commanding Fulgetra,” Marcus told him, pretending that he had known this already. But there was only one Buteo among the generals of Amorr. “However, it is not Buteo who is our primary concern, Captain. He is merely the puppet in command. His strings are pulled by House Severus.”

  The Cynothian nodded. “Aulan did appear to have an unusual amount of leeway with his cavalry. That would explain it. You understand that my grasp of Amorran politics is quite limited.”

  “All the more reason to keep your king’s nose well out of it,” Marcus commented agreeably. “And by Aulan, you are referring to the younger Aulus Severus?”

  “He’s the only Aulus Severus I know. He was the tribune in command of the legionary cavalry. He is here. Or rather, he was with those knights that made it past your infantry before they cut us off. I was riding next to him just this morning.”

  Marcus and Trebonius looked at each other. Marcus had to restrain the urge to curse or otherwise betray his frustration. Any Severan prisoner would be useful to him, but Patronus’s own son and namesake would have been a prize indeed. And here he had ordered his men to let the Amorran riders pass safely before his trap slammed shut!

  “I think we may have seen him, sir,” Trebonius said. “There was a tribune who was among the first to ride out of the forest, who then waited with the Cynothii for a while as his men rode out. I saw his helm. I didn’t see what happened to him, but he must have fallen in with the mass of them, because he wasn’t there when Dardanus and I arrived.”

  “That was Aulan,” Vestremer confirmed. “Buteo only sent one tribune with the joint force. There was some question as to who was in command, but we reached an understanding. Aulan commanded the Amorrans, and he l
eft my men in my hands.”

  “And subsequently in mine, it would appear,” Marcus noted.

  As he spoke, the Cynothi met his eyes, and for a moment, Marcus felt they understood each other very well. Neither of them could reasonably doubt that House Severus would not hesitate to treat the Cynothii and their new king in much the same manner that Aulan had treated Vestremer’s infantry.

  “Captain,” Marcus said, “I neither want, nor need, your horses. Nor am I asking for your assistance, much less an alliance with your king, which I very much doubt you could deliver in any event. And as I have already said, I have no interest in your lives either.”

  “Then what do you want, Tribune?” Vestremer asked it casually, but his hand on the stem of his goblet was shaking, almost imperceptibly.

  “I want straightforward answers to a few specific questions. And then I want you to go home. Not only you and your men, but your king and his army as well. Go back to Cynothicum. Go back to your farms and your families. You king should enjoy his reign while it lasts. Let the evils of the day suffice, and leave Amorr to sort out her own affairs, however they might turn out. And most of all, I would very much like to know what House Severus is up to that involves a legion marching through the provinces in the company of a rebel army.”

  The Cynothi smiled ruefully. “Would that I could answer the last one for you, but I am a mere captain of infantry, and the king does not invite me to attend his councils. As for me and my men, I will gladly swear that we will return to our homes as soon as you give us leave to do so. And we will swear as well to never draw our swords against House Valerius—against Amorr, rather—again, so long as our borders remain inviolate.”

  Marcus raised his glass to his adversary. “A good start, but not enough, I fear. I will need assurances, of course. I assume you have some nobles or young men from influential families in your command?”

  “Of course. You shall have your hostages. How many do you require, and when will they be returned?”