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

by Vox Day

  “You can’t blame yourself,” the Falconian replied. “I was his closest ally, and I didn’t take his concerns about the provinces seriously, much less the allied cities. If I had, do you think I would have permitted Legio I to retire? And the Senate rejected the Lex Ferrata on its own, without your help.”

  “Thanks to my thrice-damned brother,” growled Magnus. “But that’s my own concern. What matters now is that our three houses reach an agreement that we can take to the Senate. This isn’t a matter of auctares and clausores anymore—it’s about the survival of the empire, if not the city herself. And that brings us to my question for you four Severans: Are you willing to set aside your desire for vengeance in the interest of Amorr?”

  “Longinus unleashed forces he didn’t understand when he slew your father,” Metius hastened to explain before Severa or any of her brothers could respond angrily to Magnus’s shocking suggestion. “Whatever the danger to Amorr he hoped to prevent by killing Patronus, and I will say that I don’t believe that Severus Patronus ever had any intention of making himself a king. He brought about a force that is not only more dangerous but considerably more immediate.”

  “What does that matter?” Regulus’s incredulous voice was very near to shouting. Severa didn’t blame him. She wanted to shriek at Magnus herself. “He murdered a senator. He murdered the princeps senatus!”

  “Yes, no one denies it, least of all Cassianus Longinus himself,” Metius admitted. “He submitted to arrest at his home, just as he said he would. He’s entirely willing to stand trial before the Senate. But as the head of House Cassianus, he has a pair of legions under his command, and until we learn which of the allies are going to remain loyal and which are not, we can’t afford to spurn the use of any of the Cassianus legions.”

  “How do you know their legions will remain loyal?” Aulan asked. “Is there any news out of Aeternum? Most of the Cassian legionaries are Aeternii, aren’t they?”

  “We don’t know anything yet,” Magnus said. “We can’t trust any legion or officer who isn’t Amorran blood and Amorran bred until we find out who is going to take our side and who will side with the rebels. As much as it pains me to say it, I can’t even be sure of my own House legions, since we draw from Vallyria just as your house draws from Malventum and the Cassians from Aeternum. Although Legio XVII and the City legion should be reliable.”

  “They were both raised in Amorr,” Metius agreed. “The problem is that they were raised there only last year. Any of the veteran legions that turn will chew them up and spit out their bones without breaking a sweat.”

  Magnus nodded. “Tomorrow, I intend to ride north, to Vallyria. Legios VII and XV are both encamped there for the winter, and I expect they’ll be much less likely to revolt if they have to revolt against their old general. Aulus Severus, if you’re willing, I’d like you to come with me. I understand you’ve done well with the cavalry. I’ll give you command of the combined horse since I expect the legions will be operating in unison for the initial campaign, regardless of where we’re fighting.”

  “I’d be honored, of course,” Aulan answered. Severa could see he was surprised and a little flattered at Magnus’s unexpected offer. “But Falconius Buteo is expecting me to return to Fulgetra in the spring.”

  “Then we shall have to be certain that the new head of House Severus grants you permission to accept a commission with Legio XV. Have you given any thought to whom the four of you will support? I expect the opinion of Patronus’s sons will be of some import, especially if that opinion is endorsed by House Falconius.”

  “It can’t hurt if House Valerius also offers an alliance as well,” Magnus said, “in keeping with the recent betrothal between our two houses.”

  Regulus and Aulan looked at each other, then at Tertius, who nodded. Severa had the uneasy feeling that it had not escaped either Magnus or Metius to whom the other two brothers had looked for approval.

  “We thought to support Severus Pullus,” Regulus said.

  “The younger,” Aulan added.

  “He’s the wise choice,” Falconius said, nodding slowly. “But it would be a mistake to throw your initial support to him. If you’d take my advice, offer your collective endorsement to his father instead. He’ll decline it, of course, because he’s far too old to take the field, but he’ll appreciate the gesture. Endorse him, and you endorse the son. You surprise me, though. I assumed you would back Severus Lucullus. He is your uncle, after all.”

  “He is,” Aulan said. “Unfortunately, he’s also a malleable fool, and Regulus prefers for House Severus to maintain some semblance of influence in the Senate by the time he comes of age.”

  Magnus chuckled. “Wise, very wise.”

  “So that’s it?” Severa said, barely controlling her outrage. “We’re just going to forget that House Cassianus murdered our father?” Sextus placed a hand on her arm, but she angrily shook it off. “I understand you don’t want to lose their legions, but what’s going to happen to Longinus? Isn’t the Senate even going to try him?”

  Metius looked at her pityingly. “It will…if anyone is willing to prosecute him. And as his most prominent ally, I am in a position to determine whether that will happen or not. The clausores won’t prosecute. Their best advocates are lining up to defend him, and they have some excellent demagogues. It will take a Ferratus or a Caecilius to defeat them, especially given how highly charged the Senate is these days. Everyone is afraid of what is going to happen, so it’s a bad time for a treason trial. There are many who would say that it is Patronus who should be on trial instead.”

  “Treason? What does treason have to do with anything?” Severa protested. “He was murdered!”

  “The clausores will make it about treason,” Magnus said. “That is the defense, and attempting to argue otherwise serves no purpose, my dear. Longinus knows how to play the game, and he set out the ground rules. This is straightforward politics, and there is nothing clean or sensible about it. Justice doesn’t enter into the equation, for all that we all appeal to it.”

  “It’s no good, Severa,” Tertius told her. “By now, hundreds have already died, maybe thousands. If we have to fight our own legions, tens of thousands will die. No one will care about the death of one man, no matter how important he was. What is the fate of one man when the empire itself may be in danger?”

  Magnus stepped forward and placed his large, meaty hands on her shoulders. He smiled at her, a little sadly. “My dear daughter-to-be, I know very well what it is like to have a loved one slain unjustly, and by one who stands outside the law’s ability to reach him. Rest assured, such crimes are not forgotten. There will be a reckoning one day.”

  “What is it you’re asking us, my lord Falconius?” Regulus’s voice lacked its usual stridency. He was a little intimidated by the two ex-consuls, Severa thought. “You want our blessing in letting Longinus walk free?”

  “Think of it as a mere delay,” Metius urged. “I promise you this: If Gaius Longinus Cassianus survives the war, I will personally prosecute him for the murder of Severus Patronus. Will that satisfy you?”

  “You’re that certain he’s necessary if there is war?” Aulan asked.

  “Do you think a fat old man like me would be riding north at this time of year if it wasn’t?” Magnus snorted. “Aulan, if Quintus Falconius tells Longinus no one will prosecute tomorrow, he’ll be off for Aeternum the next day. He’s a murderer, but he’s loyal to the city, and he’s the best hope for keeping the Aeternii from joining with the Maruvii. If he can’t stop Aeternum from rebelling, you may have your revenge sooner from them than you would from the Senate.”

  “I don’t care how the bastard dies,” Regulus announced. “Father trusted you both, and we’ll do the same. As far as I’m concerned, you can tell the Cassian what you like so long as he stays away from the city and someone prosecutes him when this is all over.”

  “What about you, Aulan?” Metius asked.

  Aulan shrugged. “I’ll be in the
north with Magnus. But I agree. Amorr’s interest has to come first. We can sort this out after the war, assuming all of us survive it.”

  All eyes turned to Tertius, who was doing his best to look even younger than his years.

  “Why are you looking at me, my lords? I’m not even old enough for the cursus honorum!”

  The Falconian’s eyes narrowed, although Severa thought she saw the side of his mouth twitch a little. “It’s a little late to play the innocent now, Marcius Severus. Valerius Magnus and I may be doddering old men, but we are neither inobservant nor stupid. Do grant us the respect we are owed and refrain from insulting our intelligence by playing down your own.”

  “We ought to strangle the puppy now,” Magnus grumbled. “No doubt we’d save our heirs a sight of trouble.”

  “No doubt. Well, Marcius Severus?” Metius asked Tertius. “Do you wish to maintain this charade, or will you swear, on the honor of House Severus, that you will not seek Longinus’s death until I give you leave?”

  Tertius glared at Metius. There was nothing insolent in it. Were it not for the forty-year age difference between them, one would have thought it was a contest of equals. Finally, he acceded.

  “Very well. I swear, on the honor of House Severus, that I will not raise a hand against Cassianus Longinus until you give me leave, Falconius Metius. Unless, of course, events render you unable to do so.”

  Metius raised a hairy eyebrow at what could have been taken as an implied threat to him.

  But Magnus only laughed and ruffled Tertius’s hair. “You needn’t show your teeth, puppy. Like it or not, we’re all on the same side now.”

  Severa held her breath, hoping the two men would not turn their attention to her. She had no intention of swearing any such vow. Fortunately, feeling their mission accomplished, the ex-consuls instead began to make their farewells. Magnus bestowed a warm, fatherly kiss upon her before giving instructions to Aulan concerning their departure tomorrow, while a simple nod sufficed for Metius.

  Then a terrible thought struck her and she turned to her betrothed.

  “You’re not going north with your father, are you?”

  Sextus Valerius looked surprised at her question and shook his head. “I can’t. With the elections in two weeks, I have to be here in order to stand for tribune. I’ll probably spend most of that time canvassing. Metius says he’ll help me since neither of our fathers are able to do it. But with my uncle standing for consul too, I don’t think I’ll be in much need of him to lean on anyone.”

  Severa didn’t say anything, she just hugged him tightly in relief. It was bad enough that Aulan was riding headlong into danger, but he was a soldier and he was never happier than when he was off with the legions. But losing Sextus so soon after her father might have been more than she could bear.

  “I’ll come and see you tomorrow after they leave.” He bent over and kissed her on the lips, sending a delicious shudder she could feel from her shoulders to her knees. “Don’t worry about Aulan: He can take care of himself. They won’t be alone. They’ll have a mounted squadron of House knights with them. Even if one of the legions has gone over the rebels, they won’t be caught off-guard.”

  He kissed her again then turned away from her.

  She stood under the lemon tree and watched his tall, lean figure follow the other two men up the stairs, accompanied by Regulus and Aulan. Tertius did not go with them, but stood next to her, still cradling his tablet with the Severan names inscribed on it, his face an indecipherable mask.

  LODI

  The river was still moving quickly, as proved by the occasional branch that floated under the bridge at an alarming rate. But its dark surface was still unbroken as the first red-gold rays of the morning touched upon it. A few of the orcs were beginning to stir. Six of them were sleeping upon the bridge itself, and the rest were scattered haphazardly around the flickering remnants of a fire that had burned through the night. Fishbones and some larger bones that looked as if they had once belonged to a four-legged creature littered the vicinity, along with the other inevitable signs of orcish habitation. After three days, the stench was nearly strong enough to bring tears to Lodi’s eyes, and he was hiding in the underbrush of the forest some thirty paces away.

  There were still eighteen of them. Unfortunately, the plenitude of fish in the river prevented them from feeling any need to resort to cannibalism, which would have had the very useful consequence of reducing their numbers.

  Lodi shifted his position uncomfortably, as the weight of the crossbow was starting to put his left forearm to sleep. He figured he and Thorald could both fire two bolts before the orcs would have any idea where they were, at which point the two dwarves would have to sprint for the bridge and cut their way through the survivors. The mer, assuming they showed up, might take down a few if they were so inclined, but it would be unwise to count on the watermen being able to do much more than provide a useful distraction, given their inability to fight on land.

  One of the bigger orcs rose, emitted a thunderous fart, then looked around as it scratched itself. It kicked a nearby orc awake and pointed to the river. Grumbling, the smaller orc picked up one of the rude fishing rods that was lying near the bridge and staggered over to a pile of detritus that included several fishheads. After picking some flesh from one of the heads and impaling it on the hook, it trudged over to the riverbank and cast the line into the water. The bigger orc growled something at it, to which it appeared to take some offense. It turned its head and opened its mouth to reply.

  Without even a ripple of warning, a mer rose up from the water and swept both its legs out from under the orc with a thin wooden rod of some sort.

  The orc shrieked, and the camp stirred to life.

  With all eyes on the river, Lodi took advantage of the confusion to trigger the crossbow. The bolt smashed directly into the back of the bigger orc. It dropped instantly, but not a single one of the seventeen remaining orcs noticed, because the mer had raised its rod, which turned out to be a spear with a wickedly barbed head on it, and plunged it into the screaming orc’s chest.

  The orcs on the bridge and riverbank shouted and reached for their weapons, but the mer pulled its impaled and flailing victim into the rushing water, where it vanished, never to be seen again.

  “Should I loose?” whispered Thorald as Lodi slipped another bolt into place and began cranking the windlass that drew the whipcord.

  “No, just wait,” he replied in a low voice. “But when you do, take the one with the bow on the north side of the bridge. Do you see him?”

  “Yeah, I got him.”

  The orcs were distracted by the attack, but they weren’t in complete disarray yet. Now they were all peering out over the water, with clubs and swords in hand. Four of them had bows, and it was those that most concerned Lodi now. The watery ambush had been effective, but he sincerely hoped it wasn’t the mer’s best—or only—shot.

  It wasn’t. Again without warning, the mer leaped from the water, but this time on the other side of the bridge. The orcs pointed and shouted, and three of those with bows loosed their arrows, but the mer was safely submerged again before they even struck the water.

  The orcs were clearly frightened now, gabbling and shrieking at each other.

  Three different mer surfaced on the south side of the bridge, and each hurled a spear at an orc on the riverbank. All two of the three went down screaming and wounded, the third simply collapsed, stone dead, with a spear jutting out both sides of its head. The orcs’ fright turned into panic.

  “Now!” hissed Lodi, and he loosed a bolt at one of the orcs on the bridge. It struck a little lower than he’d intended but pierced the orc through the neck, causing it to drop its bow and fall to its knees, scrabbling at the bolt. Thorald’s shot was cleaner, as his bolt hit his target right in the heart and felled it where it stood.

  Seven down, with four orcs already dead and a fifth that appeared to be mortally wounded. That was too much for the orcs. They began
to flee away from the river in the direction of the forest.

  One of them, a big naked brute with a broken lower tusk, came rushing directly toward them in its panic while Lodi and Thorald were still reloading their crossbows. Fortunately, it didn’t see them or it would have caught them off-guard and helpless. Lodi smashed it across its flat-nosed face with the heavy crossbow, knocking it to the ground, then pounced on it and drove the bolt in his left hand into the monster’s right eye socket.

  The orc roared and threw him off before Lodi could pound it deeply enough to penetrate its feeble brain and kill it. But it had no stomach for continuing the battle, and it fled, bleeding, blinded, and shrieking, deeper into the trees.

  “Faenikh elvete!” Lodi cursed, glaring at the crossbow’s prod. He’d broken it on the orc’s thick skull. He tossed the ruined weapon to the ground and pointed to the bridge. “Let’s go, lad!”

  He slipped his battleaxe from his shoulder and burst from the ground with a war cry that was answered by the high-pitched shrieks of the mer as they gleefully slapped their arms and tails against the surface of the water.

  There were still two orcs on the bridge. One was cringing below the wooden sides in an attempt to hide from the screeching mer, and the other was attending to the one Lodi had shot through the throat. Although bows were within reach, neither of the orcs tried to reach them. Indeed, only the second one even rose to its feet and tried to defend itself.

  But its crude wooden club was no match for mountain-forged dwarven steel. Two sweeps of Lodi’s axe was enough to send the orc flying from the bridge, bleeding, to the waiting mer below.

  The water fairly boiled as they swarmed upon it, tearing at the struggling orc with their thick, wicked teeth. Their murderous enthusiasm was truly frightening to see. Lodi almost felt sorry for the remaining gront on the bridge, which screamed pitifully at him and bared its fangs despite the tears of terror running down its terrified green face.

  Almost, but not quite. Unmoved by its unintelligible threats or pleas, Lodi lifted it up by its throat, then hurled it over the side and into the river where death waited below. Remembering his earlier promise, he flipped a gold coin in after it.