by Morgan Rice
Sartes wet his lips, lifting his horn ready to blow when the time came.
“Not far now,” Anka whispered beside him. “Wait for it.”
Sartes waited, although that was hard, when the column of soldiers was walking past so close. At any moment, one of the soldiers could have looked round and spotted them, even though they were well hidden amongst the monuments of the burial ground. Any one of them could have seen what was coming and shouted a warning. Then the rebellion would have to withdraw, or risk a much more dangerous battle.
But they didn’t look round. They kept going. The soldiers kept marching, the conscripts kept being pushed forward, and Sartes held his breath as the horsemen continued to lead the way.
“Now,” Anka whispered, and it almost took Sartes by surprise when she did.
He had to lick his lips again before he could blow his horn, but he managed it. A single high note rang out around the burial ground, and for a moment, everything was still. Then rebels burst from their hiding places ahead of the column, readying bows and firing stones from slings. Sartes saw one hit a horse, so that it reared, throwing its rider from the saddle.
The others drew their blades in response, spurring their horses forward. Sartes swallowed at the sight of the charging war horses and the thundering sound of their hooves. It seemed obvious that they would ride down their attackers, who suddenly seemed too few, and too ill prepared.
Then the horses hit tripwires that Sartes and the others had prepared earlier, and the riders screamed as they fell.
Their horses tumbled, sending riders careening over their backs as they crunched into the ground. Some tried to ride around, only to hit pits lined with spikes. Soon, the riders were trying to leap over their own comrades, and the rebels were shooting at them as they did it. Behind them, Sartes could see the soldiers standing as if they didn’t know what to do next.
“Again,” Anka said.
Sartes nodded and blew his horn once more.
Now, the burial ground burst into motion. Rebels who had been hiding behind the walls of the ruins pushed at them together using long spars of wood, shoving against spots they had weakened in the night. Stones came tumbling down onto the heads of the soldiers at the edges of the lines, forcing the others to crowd together.
The rebels flung fire pots into the middle of their lines, and they scattered again. Without a solid shield wall, they weren’t able to defend against the arrows and stones that rained down on them.
“Now,” Anka said, and Sartes blew his horn a final time.
He saw rebels rush from their hiding places. Some rose up from covered pits that looked like freshly dug graves until they struck from them. Others came out of the entrances to the burial ground’s catacombs, charging into the sunlight. He saw his father among them, wearing a mail shirt and wielding a hammer large enough to crush through any shield.
All the while, those already in place continued to fire stones and arrows down into the mass of the Empire’s soldiers.
Now it was time for Sartes to do his part.
He stepped out in front of them, not knowing if any of them would recognize him. They didn’t have to, so long as they listened. He raised his voice over the sounds of the battle.
“Conscripts! My name is Sartes. I escaped from the army to join the rebellion. We are here to rescue you. Join us to fight, or run to safety. You will not be harmed!”
An arrow came toward him, and Sartes dodged to the side, repeating his message. Some of the conscripts looked confused, but at least they weren’t joining in the fight while the rebels attacked the main body of soldiers. He saw some break and run, while others threw down their weapons. A few even plunged into the fray, striking at one of the slavers there and dragging him to the ground.
Sartes hung back. Both Anka and his father had been clear on that, but he’d already done his part. Without the conscripts, the Empire’s force was far smaller, already crumbling under the assault by the rebels. Taken by surprise, they had no chance to mount a real defense, or reorganize from the long lines of their column into something that could protect their flanks. He saw his father hammering at the shield of an officer, buckling it under the weight of his blows.
Sartes saw a soldier running at him from the battle. For a moment, he thought that maybe one of the conscripts was running to him to get clear of the violence, but the man’s sword was out, and he wore the armor of an officer.
“I might die, but at least I’ll kill you, traitor!” the officer yelled.
He swung his blade at Sartes, and it was probably ironic that if it hadn’t been for his training in the army, Sartes would probably have died right then. As it was, he brought his own sword up, parrying and backing away into the rows of statues.
“You can’t run forever, runt,” the officer said.
“He doesn’t have to,” Anka said, stepping in from the side. She thrust a long dagger in past the officer’s guard, catching him in the throat. The officer tried to turn to stab her, but Sartes grabbed his arm, holding on until the man fell between them.
“Thank you,” Sartes said.
“You’re one of us, Sartes,” Anka replied. “We look out for one another.”
Sartes looked around for another place to help. He saw one of the conscripts who’d joined their side in trouble, frantically defending himself against a pair of slavers armed with clubs. Sartes charged forward.
“This is for my brother!” he yelled, and stabbed the first slaver as he turned. The second swung a set of shackles at his head, then jabbed with his club as Sartes ducked. Sartes cut across the man’s leg, then thrust into his chest as he fell.
The rest of the battle didn’t take long. With an ambush like that, it was never going to be drawn out, because the rebellion didn’t give the Empire’s soldiers a chance to fight back the way they were used to. In a matter of minutes, the only soldiers Sartes could see who weren’t dead were either freed conscripts or running away.
He looked around at the aftermath of it. He hadn’t seen a battle with the army, so he hadn’t known what to expect. The reality was hard to look at. There were so many dead bodies there on the ground, piled together so that it was hard to believe that minutes ago they had all been people, walking and breathing. There were dead and injured horses there, brought down by the tripwires, or fallen into pits.
There were members of the rebellion dead too, although there were very few of them, thanks to Anka’s plans. Sartes could see injured men and women there, being helped to their feet by their colleagues, and stretchers being brought out of hiding places. Anka had obviously planned for this part too.
It was sickening to see so much death and destruction there. Already, the smell of it was awful, and Sartes knew it would only get worse. It was hard to comprehend the idea of so many people being killed in such a short space of time. Only the thought that if they hadn’t done this, these same soldiers would have marauded through a rebel area made it any easier to bear.
“We have to go,” Anka said. “Tell the conscripts that they can either scatter or come with us, but they have to decide now. They’ll listen better if it comes from you.”
Sartes nodded, and stepped out in front of the remaining conscripts to deliver the message. A few more ran off, but the majority stayed. He couldn’t decide if that was because they genuinely wanted to join the rebellion, or if they simply didn’t have anywhere else to go.
They stood there at the heart of the burial ground, and once more Anka addressed them.
“My friends, today we have won a victory. It has cost us. There is no such thing as a pretty, painless fight. But we must remember what that victory means. It means that young men captured by the Empire now walk free! It means that people who would have been tortured, enslaved, and murdered are safe. Above all, it means that the Empire is one step closer to falling. We have won a victory today, but it won’t be our last!”
Sartes was the one who started the chant. It seemed like the obvious thing to do.
>
“Anka! Anka!”
At first, he was the only one shouting it. Then he heard other voices join his. His father’s, Oreth’s. The conscripts’. Eventually, the chant reverberated around the burial ground, filling it completely.
They’d found a true leader.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Thanos was armored for war, and more than ready to kill.
He had his full armor from the Stade in place, his sword at his side, and a shield on his arm. He had a throwing spear strapped to his back and a dagger in his boot. Even his horse was armored, the barding that would protect it from an errant sword stroke shining in the castle courtyard’s sun as he tightened the straps on its saddle.
A second horse held his supplies, although the truth was that Thanos doubted this would last long. He would go out, do what was necessary, and return. Or not. Perhaps he would die doing it. Perhaps he would go and join the rebels on Haylon again. It would be hard to come back here after he had killed a prince of the Empire.
“You’re going after Lucious, aren’t you?” Stephania said. Thanos looked across as she hurried out into the courtyard. Thanos had been hoping to avoid her, if only because he’d known that this would happen, and because she was the one person there it would be hard to leave.
“What are you doing here?” Thanos asked. “You shouldn’t be a part of this.”
“Did you think you could slip off without me noticing?” Stephania countered. “The servants do occasionally tell me things, you know.”
She looked as beautiful as ever, perfectly poised even with a look of worry that seemed out of place with the rest of her. Was she worried about him?
“I’m doing what I need to do,” Thanos said.
“Because he tried to kill you,” Stephania said. She reached out to put a hand over his as he cinched his saddle tight.
“Not just that,” Thanos said. “He’s responsible for Ceres’s death. He killed that stable hand. Even now, he’s out ravaging the countryside, and King Claudius won’t do anything about him.”
“You can’t expect him to execute Lucious,” Stephania said. “It’s too much to ask.”
“He won’t even lock him away,” Thanos replied. “If you have a mad dog biting people, even if you used to love it, you put it down.”
“And you’re going to do that, are you?” Stephania shot back. “What if he kills you?”
Thanos had been hoping that Stephania wouldn’t ask that question, because there were no easy answers.
Thanos forced a smile. “I can outfight Lucious. He’s never come close to beating me in a practice match.”
“And what if he gets lucky?” Stephania asked. “What about all the men he’ll have with him? What if he shoots you with a hunting bow from a nice, safe distance, and claims the rebels did it? He gets to be rid of you and have another excuse to go after them.”
“I’ll be okay,” Thanos insisted.
Stephania stepped between him and his horse. “No you won’t. Even if you do this, you won’t be able to come back. And I want you to come back.”
That was enough to make Thanos pause. The sheer closeness of Stephania to him had a lot to do with it, but so did the passion he could hear there in her voice. He could hear how much she cared, and the truth was, he felt the same way. If he could have, he would have stayed there with her.
But wanting something and it being possible weren’t the same thing.
“I have to do this,” Thanos said. “Lucious has to be stopped. He has to die.”
“Then we’ll make sure that happens,” Stephania said. “But there are better ways to do it. Smarter ways.”
“What do you mean?” Thanos asked.
He felt the brush of Stephania’s hand as she reached out to touch his face, then she did something he’d been dreaming about her doing ever since that moment in his rooms. She kissed him. Her lips touched his, and there was something so sweet about her there that he couldn’t help kissing her back.
It was a gentle kiss, a delicate one, there and gone too soon, but it was still amazing. It left Thanos breathing quickly as they parted, and he could see the slight parting of Stephania’s lips as she looked at him.
“I need you to trust me,” she said. “You do trust me, Thanos?”
He nodded. There was no one in the castle he trusted more. There was no one there he cared about more.
“Then trust me to do this,” Stephania said, putting a hand on Thanos’s chest and gently pushing him back from his horse. “I will find a way. A way that doesn’t put you in danger, that means that you can still be here. With me.”
That part was hard to ignore.
“I’d like that,” Thanos said. He looked at Stephania again. It was so hard for him to take his eyes off her. Every small movement she made seemed to draw his gaze, so that it felt as though the whole world consisted of her. “I was so wrong about you before.”
“You were,” Stephania said with a smile, “but I’m hoping that you’ll have plenty of time to learn everything there is to know about me.”
There was something about the way she said it that made Thanos tilt his head to one side. “What do you mean?”
Stephania paused, taking a step back. “I thought… oh, I’ve got it wrong, haven’t I? No, it’s a stupid idea. I should have known—”
“What, Stephania?” Thanos said.
She seemed to collect herself. “I thought maybe, with the way you were talking, that you might want to go through with the wedding they planned for us both.”
That caught Thanos a little by surprise. He hadn’t thought that Stephania might still feel that way after everything that had happened with Ceres. He hadn’t dared to.
Thoughts of Ceres made Thanos pause. If she’d still been alive, he wouldn’t be thinking like this at all. He would have been trying to save her and be with her. But since her death, he had started to realize how much Stephania really meant to him. Stephania had been the one who was there for him since her death. She’d been the one he’d felt his feelings blossoming for.
“But I know,” Stephania went on, “it’s too soon, and you have a lot to think about, and—”
Thanos caught her by the arms. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Stephania.”
She shook her head. “You’re just saying that. You don’t have to do this just because you think you ought to, Thanos. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do,” Thanos insisted. On impulse, he took one of Stephania’s hands in both of his, dropping down to one knee. He wanted her to see just how serious he was about this. Yes, Ceres’s death still hurt. He suspected that it would never stop hurting. But Stephania made it feel better, and he wanted this.
“Oh, Thanos, stand up,” Stephania said with a laugh.
“Not until I’ve done this,” Thanos said. “Stephania, you’ve been so good to me, and I’ve started to realize just how much you mean to me. Maybe if all this hadn’t happened, we would have already been married, and right now, I can’t think of anything else I want. Will you marry me?”
Stephania paused as if she couldn’t quite believe that he’d actually said it. Perhaps she couldn’t think what to say. Perhaps she was already having second thoughts.
“Yes,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
Thanos stood, lifting her up, and Stephania laughed. Right then, Thanos felt like doing the same. Everything else in his life was so complicated, so difficult, but this one thing felt so bright and wonderful.
Stephania was like a point of light in the dark, leading him onward.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Stephania spent the next few hours in preparations, both for the wedding and… otherwise.
She spent most of it considering the joy of marrying Thanos, the dress that she would wear, the feast that would take place, and what it would be like appearing at court on his arm. She worked on how they would announce it to the other nobles, and of course on all the things
that would happen afterwards. Her maids and the ladies of the court bustled about her, seemingly delighting in the news even more than she did. In the midst of it all, she sent one with a quiet message.
“Enough of this for now,” she said with a carefully exasperated smile. “I think I’m going to walk the gardens. If I’d known that marrying would involve so much, I wouldn’t have gotten Thanos to ask me.”
They all laughed along with her, of course. Partly, Stephania knew, that was because they’d learned that it was better to laugh at her jokes. Partly, it was because there wasn’t a single one of them who could imagine not wanting to marry someone as handsome and powerful as Thanos. Probably a few laughed at her joke that she could make a prince of the Empire do anything.
She had though. The right touches and looks, being there at the right moments… Her show of timidity in the courtyard had been perfectly judged so that he asked her. Stephania wanted Thanos to remember it as his idea, as much as hers.
Now for other business. She walked gracefully along the corridors of the castle, attended by no more than the bare minimum of ladies-in-waiting and noble friends. She smiled and listened to their gossip as she walked, mentally parsing it into the useful and the unlikely easily enough that she barely had to pay attention to it at all.
The talk of Thanos asking her to marry him brought talk of other proposals: the noble girl who was marrying one brother of a family out on the borders while secretly in love with the other, a union between two merchant houses sealed by an arrangement between two nobles still little more than children, a high-born wife who had deserted her husband as he went to war. Stephania made all the appropriate sympathetic noises as they made their way toward the gardens. She carried a wine bottle with her, along with two glasses.