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

by Vox Day

  Fjotra thought of resisting the gentle pressure on her back, and she looked to the duc for help. But he seemed to have forgotten her and was staring at the creature that called himself Saint-Aglie with narrowed eyes full of hate.

  Better the devils you know, she thought. The comte and comtesse had only ever sought to help her, whereas the Duc de Chenevin had ordered her kidnapping and would have imposed himself on her had Saint-Aglie not interceded.

  And yet, she could not help herself. As the comte’s man, Arnaud, led her out of the library, she looked back again at the fierce young man standing under the painting, his anger an almost visible aura radiating outward from his body. Surely so handsome a man could not be either monstrous or mad, she told herself.

  And then a rebellious thought belatedly occurred to her: Who were Saint-Aglie and Domdidier to tell a princess of reavers whom she could and could not marry?

  MARCUS

  The meeting of the senior officers that took place in Marcus’s tent, after the first watch was underway, was unsurprisingly contentious. Marcus sat at his desk, upon which a map of Larinum was displayed, while the others paced about the command tent—with the exception of the exhausted Praefectus Ballistarius, who was slumped in a wooden chair. The dispute was centered around whether the affront to the legion, as well as the Senate and People, warranted the delay that would be required to sack Solacte. The two decurions, in company with Trebonius, were the most adamant about the need to mete out punishment to those who had slain their fellow knights, while the centurions were considerably more philosophical about their fallen comrades-in-arms.

  “We cannot let these murders go unrevenged,” argued Senarius Arvandus, first decurion of the First Cavalry. “Not only would it be a dereliction of our duty and an insult to their memories, but it would only encourage other cities in their mutiny. Consider how the Cynothii defeat of Andronicus Caudinus set the stage for rebellion to sweep across the provinces. Once word gets out that a city can thumb their noses in the face of an entire Amorran legion without consequence, whatever remaining allies we have will desert too.”

  “These aren’t just legionaries, but knights,” Trebonius pointed out. “Men from equestrian families, who are going to demand answers concerning the deaths of their sons. Clericus, do you seriously believe you can go to them in clean conscience and tell them that we didn’t recover their bodies for decent burial, and worse, we didn’t even attempt to call their murderers to justice?”

  “It’s war,” Proculus growled. “It ain’t just the infantry that dies. Knights die. Mules die. Children die. I got no disrespect for Gavrus or any of the other riders. Even the young lad, what was his name, Dardanus, he pulled his weight. But we lost more than twelve men just marching here. We’ll be damn lucky if them twelve is all we lose afore we get to Montmila or wherever we’re wintering.”

  “So you’re advocating that we simply march on without so much as throwing another rock at their gates?” Arvandus was aghast. “Losing men to sickness is one thing. Disease and accidents happen, but enduring them doesn’t lead to more of it. That’s not the case here. We have to teach these murderous bastards a lesson no other city will forget!”

  Proculus glared at the decurion. “I didn’t say nothing about us not doing nothing! I just said that losing twelve men ain’t so big a notion. Unless Cassabus can knock down those walls, storming them with ladders will cost us a sight more than twelve, I’ll promise you that.”

  Marcus glanced at the praefact. Cassabus was leaning back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. “What do you think?” Marcus asked the artillery officer.

  “I think there is no way to be certain of taking the place in less than a month, unless you want to spend two or three centuries storming those walls. They’re too high to climb easily and too thick to knock down in a reasonable time. It can be done, but it can’t be done quickly.”

  “We don’t have the time,” Marcus said. “They will have sent riders to Falera and Fescennium, perhaps even to some of the Vallyrii and Caelignii cities as well. If the Larinii have been gathering their forces since the spring, we could find ourselves with an allied legion or two in between us and Montmila as soon as tomorrow. That would explain their insolence.”

  “So we should run again?” Trebonius spat. “Only this time, we’re running from legions that may be entirely imaginary?”

  “I didn’t see you volunteering to stay behind,” Marcus retorted. That made the other officers laugh and Trebonius raised his hand in rueful submission. “Arvandus,” Marcus said, “what sort of lesson did you have in mind?”

  “Blood for blood. We decimate them in reverse, ten for each of our murdered men!”

  “Be a bit hard, I’d say, seeing how they’s all on the other side o’ those walls,” drawled Marcellianus, centurion of the second cohort. “You got a plan to get them out?”

  “We don’t got to sack the damn city to teach every Utruccan who hears about it a good hard lesson,” Proculus objected. “I’ll wager Julianus seen plenty of folks about when he was out catching those cattle earlier. How many’d you get? I heard something like eight hundred head.”

  “Seven-sixty-two,” Julianus said. “And one hundred seventy-eight sheep. Hope you got some lads who know how to drive them beasts, because most of my riders don’t ever want to see a cow again unless it’s butchered and served up as steak.”

  Marcellianus whistled. “Seven hundred? That should keep us in beef for a spell.”

  “Sixth cohort has two centuries designated pecuarii,” Marcus said. “That doesn’t mean the men can necessarily tell what end of the beast is which, though, so let the other centurions know that Nebridius can have any of their men who is experienced with cattle at his sole discretion, so long as he gives them one of his own as a replacement. Temporary transfers, of course, to return to their original units once we reach Amorr and the men transferred out can be trained properly.”

  “Let’s get back to the lesson we intend to teach the good people of Solacte,” Trebonius said impatiently. Marcus saw his fellow tribune was taking the death of Dardanus very hard. “Proculus, unless I failed to understand you correctly, you were suggesting that Julianus could round up the requisite one hundred twenty locals to slaughter tomorrow. Can you do it, decurion?”

  Julianus shrugged. “If that’s what the tribune decides he wants. You want men, women, or sweet innocent little babies for your blood offering, Clericus?”

  “It don’t really matter,” Proculus said indifferently. “The more important question is if you want to impale them, behead them, cut their throats, or crucify them.”

  “Forget crucifixion,” Cassabus declared. “It’s too much work, and they’d take too long to die. But if we’re not going to use those fake onagers, we can just build a pyre and burn them all on it.”

  “There ain’t no need for theatrics,” Marcellianus said. “Just kill ‘em where you find ‘em and leave them lay. The Solactae’ll figure it who did it and why soon enough.

  “Now just hold on here, gentlemen!” Marcus broke into the macabre discussion. “We’re not crucifying or burning anyone. I haven’t even said we’re going to kill anyone. But even if it’s only to keep our options open and let them know we are serious, let’s round up the hundred twenty, boys and young men between the ages of ten and twenty, assuming you can find enough of them. A lot of them may have already flocked to their standards now that the revolt is open. If not, girls of the same age will do. My thought is that we probably can trade them for the remains of our men and an amount of supplies.”

  Trebonus looked betrayed. “How is that teaching them or anyone else a lesson?” The other officers looked at each other, not so much in mutiny as in disbelief. “Attack our soldiers with impunity and we very well might…demand lunch and an apology?”

  “The demonstration of power need not necessarily involve its actual exercise,” Marcus said, feeling even as the words left his mouth that this was an argument that left much to be desired
.

  “It’s not about power, Valerius—it’s about revenge and retribution!” Trebonius nearly shouted. “You’re not bloody Corvus, you know. Killing a few enemies of the Senate and People for their acknowledged crimes isn’t at all like executing your nephew. You didn’t hesitate to kill goblins in battle, so why would you hesitate now?”

  “Thinking before one acts is not hesitation, Trebonius!” Marcus quelled his instinctive rage at the unfair mention of his father. “Shall I throw caution to the winds and order the storming of the walls? No, Cassabus knows better and can advise otherwise. But who is there to tell me of all the possible long-term consequences of slaughtering more than one hundred innocent young Larinii and making a public spectacle of it in the process? Can you? Can anyone?”

  “There are no innocent Larinii,” Julianus said. “They broke the alliance, they chose war. Even the youngest child among them is guilty of war against the Senate and People.”

  “You’re not trained as a sophist, Julianus, so don’t try to play philosopher with me,” Marcus replied scornfully. “I think we have discussed the matter sufficiently for tonight. Round up the young men, ten dozen of them, and leave it to me to decide what will be done. We will meet here again at sunrise, and I’ll give everyone their orders then. In the meantime, unless anyone has any further questions, you are all dismissed.”

  Each officer saluted crisply enough, although the praefect equitatus was visibly angry and the two centurions seemed less than entirely pleased with the lack of definite resolution. But it couldn’t be helped. No doubt his father would have ordered the deaths of everyone in Solacte, figured out a way to infiltrate the city’s walls, then avenged the legion upon their bodies to the admiration and applause of his senior officers. But, as Trebonius had pointed out, he wasn’t Corvus.

  The centurions and decurions left the tent, but Gaius Trebonius turned back and approached him. “Permission to speak, General?” he asked with mock propriety.

  “Shut up, Trebonius. I know you think I’m flirting with disaster. What’s on your mind?”

  “I want to know what is holding you back from doing what needs to be done. Because whatever it is, it had better be pretty damned important if you’re willing to risk losing the men over it.”

  “I know, I know. They think I’m a coward because we’ve been doing nothing but run instead of standing and fighting.”

  “They don’t think you’re a coward. They know better. The decurions haven’t forgotten how you led the charge down the hill to rescue Fortex and break the wolfriders.”

  “I didn’t lead it,” Marcus corrected him.

  “Led it, ordered it—it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. The point is that they don’t think you’re a coward. They think you’re soft. They think you’re afraid to make the hard calls because you’re too young and inexperienced. Too romantic.”

  Marcus shook his head. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s that I’m truly not sure what the right thing to do here. Trebonius, I’ve read all sorts of philosophers and theologians. I’ve read Oxonus. I’ve read Tullius. I’ve read the Testaments and the Apostalics. And you know, none of them directly address the sort of situation I’m facing here.

  “Do you truly think I’m afraid to tell Proculus to butcher all those Larinii? Nothing would be easier. I could give the order tonight, ride for Amorr tomorrow, and they’d celebrate me in the city for it without me having to watch a moment of it. And even if I were to ignore the moral aspects, who is to say that slaughtering our own allies won’t inflame what is already a dangerous situation?”

  “You need to forget Oxonus and the Testamenti and turn to your Frontinus,” Trebonius said. “I think it’s to your credit that the moral aspects matter to you, it truly is. But there is a reason most of our generals haven’t been scholars for over four hundred years of empire, Marcus Valerius. Your primary concern has to be the morale and well-being of the men, not the morality of your orders. You’re their general, not their priest. And if you don’t permit them to avenge their comrades, you’re going to risk losing them.”

  Marcus nodded. “You may well be right. I’ll think on it. Tell Father Gennadius I’d like to see him, if he is amenable.”

  Trebonius saluted and left.

  Marcus folded his hands and rested his chin on them. In all the lessons he’d learned, in all the lectures he’d heard, in all the books and scrolls he’d read, nothing had prepared him for this. He knew his duty to his men. If he could not save their comrades, he must avenge them and demand ten lives for every Amorran soldier slain.

  But did he not also have a duty to the Immaculate Son of God? Was it not to glorify Him by his every thought, word, and deed? How could the murder—he chose the word deliberately, so that he might not give himself the excuse of evading what he was contemplating—how could the murder of young men and women who had never raised their fists, let alone their swords, against Amorr be to the glory of God? How could hands stained red with blood be Immaculate?

  He rose from his chair and went in search of the scroll Trebonius had recommended. Perhaps the answer would be found in Frontinus. Where are you, Sextus Gaerus? Then he spotted the scroll that had once belonged to Marcus Saturnius. There you are. He ran his finger over the sections that seemed as if they might be relevant. On Distracting The Attention Of The Enemy. On Quelling A Mutiny Of Soldiers. He hoped he wouldn’t ever need that one. On Creating Panic In The Enemy’s Ranks. On Ambushes. On Letting The Enemy Escape Lest He Renew The Battle In Desperation. On Restoring Morale By Firmness. On Bringing The War To A Close After A Successful Engagement.

  On Creating Panic seemed potentially relevant. He moved to the place and read. The Faliscans and Tarquinians disguised a number of men as priests and had them hold torches and snakes in front of them, like Furies. Thus they threw the army of the Amorrans into panic.

  Perhaps not. That was useless, as was the rest of the section. It seemed hard to imagine such a childish tactic working, although perhaps by “priests” Frontinus actually meant “mages.” He wondered if it was really the crude tactic described or if, like the good son of the Church that he was, Sextus Gaerus had shown delicacy in the portrayal of an enemy’s use of magic. He spread out more of the scroll, and his eye fell upon On Bringing The War To A Close.

  I. Cassanius Inregillensis, having met the elves on their way from Kir Donas to Glaeslael under the command of Prince Seabringer, defeated them and threw the Seabringer’s head into the elven king’s camp. As a result, the king was overwhelmed with grief and the army gave up hope of receiving reinforcements.

  II. When Lucius Comminus was besieging Thursia, he fastened on spears the heads of Thursian generals who had been slain in battle, and exhibited them to the besieged inhabitants, thus breaking their stubborn resistance.

  III. Arminghast Fourfinger, leader of the mountain orcs, likewise fastened on spears the heads of those he had slain, and ordered them to be brought up to the fortifications of the enemy.

  IV. When Domitius Corbulus was besieging Burgruneaux and the Tarcondii seemed likely to make an obstinate defense, Corbulo executed Vadandus, one of the nobles he had captured, shot his head out of a balista, and sent it flying within the fortifications of the enemy. It happened to fall in the midst of a council which the barbarians were holding at that very moment, and the sight of it (as though it were some portent) so filled them with consternation that they made haste to surrender.

  It appeared someone in Solacte has been reading Frontinus, he murmured to himself. Only he couldn’t see that exhibiting poor Dardanus’s head had filled him or anyone else with the desire to surrender. But answering terror with considerably more terror would appear to be the tactic in order here. He rolled the scroll up again as a small man with a shaven head wearing a simple black robe pushed aside the tent flap.

  “By your leave, my lord Tribune?”

  “Please, Father Gennadius, do come in.”

>   The little priest had been with the legion since its formation and was a favorite with the men and officers alike. He took the chair that Marcus indicated. He was popular with the soldiery because his weekly sermons were short and pithy. The men said that the priest who had been travelling with Legio VII for more than twenty years could go two bells without ever once appearing to pause for breath, and regularly did so. But Father Gennadius was also popular with the officers because he handed out relatively light penances for sexual peccadilloes, which kept the men coming back for confession. If he wasn’t the fine scholar that Marcus’s longtime tutor, Father Aurelius, was, Gennadius was a font of calm and sensible wisdom, and Marcus always enjoyed talking with him.

  “Gaius Trebonius seemed less than pleased with you, Clericus. There was a disagreement? The deaths of Lucius Dardanus, Quintus Gavrus, and the other knights trouble you?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Marcus admitted. “Father, can one repent and confess a sin prior to committing it?”

  “I should not think so. To repent is to abjure the sin, to cast its impurity forth from the soul it stains and henceforth resist its temptation. If one commits the sin after its confession, then one has not truly repented and therefore merits no forgiveness from that false repentance, either before or after the act.”

  Surprised, Marcus raised his eyebrows at the priest’s answer. “You’re saying the act then becomes unforgivable? That seems excessive.”