The Burning Isle

by Will Panzo

  “That was the nature of their relationship.”

  Quintus sighed. “You are a strange one, Cassius.”

  A pair of sentries passed. They were talking amongst themselves and did not recognize the general in the light of the moon and did not salute him.

  “Why are you wearing your gauntlets tonight?” Cassius asked.

  “For protection.”

  “I thought you didn’t need protection.”

  “Then because I like the way it feels to be near them.”

  “When was the last time you put them on?”

  “Maybe last year, briefly.” The general stared off. “Maybe before then.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Don’t be sentimental. Should we stand here all night and talk of things we miss and things we don’t miss?”

  “I’d miss them.”

  “You say that now. Live to be my age, and you might feel different.”

  Cassius did not respond. They stood in silence but for the sounds of the jungle.

  “I was too hard on Vorenicus today,” Quintus said after a time. “Did he mention it to you?”

  “He didn’t say he was upset by your words.”

  “He’s a good soldier. I should trust his instincts more.”

  “Do you believe his view has merit?” Cassius asked.

  “Not on this occasion. I know the bosses more than he does. I made them. He’s wrong on this, but he’s usually right.” Quintus paused. And then, “I love him very much.”

  “I know he feels the same.” Cassius’s voice was low.

  “I hope one day he has kinder words to say about me at my grave.”

  “Now who’s being sentimental?”

  “Forgive me,” Quintus said. “I’m drunk.”

  “So am I.”

  “Trouble sleeping?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can make you some tea if you’d like.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What were you thinking about?” Quintus asked. “What was keeping you awake?”

  “How do you know I was thinking about anything? I could be awake because I’m drunk.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or because my heart is racing. And that I don’t like sleeping in unfamiliar places.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “I’m thinking about people I’ve killed,” Cassius said.

  “That passes.”

  Cassius looked to the stars. “And people who died because of me. Not by my hand, but because I failed them.”

  “I see,” Quintus said. “No sleep for you, then.”

  “Have you lost people that way?”

  “Many.”

  “Does that pass?”

  “Mostly.”

  “But some stay?”

  “Some do stay,” Quintus said.

  “And what do you tell yourself to put them from your mind?”

  “I tell myself that I am an agent of forces beyond the scope of man. And that I am not bound by the morality of man.”

  “Do you believe it?” Cassius asked.

  “With all my heart.”

  “And in the face of that, death is nothing?”

  “Death is like me. An agent of great forces. And when he comes for me, we will meet as equals and as old acquaintances.”

  “A nice thought,” Cassius said.

  “There are men who die with clean hands and spend every day from their first to their last in fear of death. They sleep unwell, too.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “I want to,” Cassius said.

  18

  The sun crested the jungle tree line, its light stabbing down through a scattered cloud cover to beat on Cassius’s brow. He wiped sweat from his eyes, averted his gaze like some sinner unable to look upon the face of a disapproving god. He had been summoned from the barracks by Vorenicus. The runner said it was an urgent summons, said this twice, then told Cassius to leave the fort by the front gate and to walk. He did not say when to stop walking.

  Now Cassius was on the slope leading down from the fort, the overgrowth here cleared by slash fires so that intruders would have no coverage from spearmen and from ballistae when approaching the walls. It had rained in the morning, and the puddles underfoot trapped the shimmering sunlight. In each small pool, Cassius could see insects and small vermin, worms, toads, the ever-present mosquitoes. The raw life of the jungle seemed to manifest everywhere, as oppressive as the heat itself.

  He was ten leagues past the fort when he spotted Vorenicus near the side of the road. At a glance, he could pass for a common officer. He was garbed in the legion uniform but wore light mail instead of his muscle cuirass, which had been abandoned in the Market. He wore a new helm dressed with new eagle feathers, each as tall and straight as the original pair.

  “What are you doing out here?” Cassius asked.

  “Sometimes the fort, like the city, has too many listening ears. Hard to find a place to have a word in private.”

  “Meaning you don’t want your father to hear.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “He’s the only man in the fort whose judgment you’d have to fear.”

  “I fear more for your sake than for mine.”

  “Me?”

  “It came this morning.” Vorenicus held a scroll in one hand and shook it in the air. “Word from the city.”

  He had been drilling when the letter arrived, testing his strength in the shield line, measuring his sword arm against veteran centurions. He looked tired and pale, sagging under the weight of his armor.

  “Addressed to you?” Cassius asked.

  “My father. For all I know, the bosses think me dead.”

  Vorenicus made his way toward the jungle, his boots loud on the pavement. Cassius fell in behind him. Overhead, a large bird wheeled against the sky, curling left.

  “From Piso or Cinna?” Cassius asked.

  “Cinna, although he said Piso would agree with the points he raised.”

  “And what were those?”

  Ahead of them in the overgrowth, a squad of scouts-in-training consulted a map. Six men in legion garb and light leather armor, some kneeling, some standing. All wore jungle charms, snake teeth, tusks, dabs of paint, feathers.

  “That hostilities are high,” Vorenicus said, “but he’s confident all parties can reach an accord.”

  “He’s calling for a truce?”

  “With conditions.”

  “What conditions?”

  “Your head.”

  The scouts rose and walked off and as Cassius watched them move, in the full light of the sun, they vanished. Not a spell. They were there, then they were gone, swallowed it seemed, and a breeze picked up and the jungle shook, like a great intake of breath.

  “Guess I left an impression on the man,” Cassius said.

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Cassius shrugged. “I quit him for Piso. He’s still sore.”

  “In the letter, he mentioned that Piso would want your head, too. That killing you, or turning you over to them, would cement the peace.”

  “I left Piso, too. To come here. To save you.”

  Vorenicus removed his wide-brimmed helmet. He drew his arm across his sweating brow.

  “He says you caused all this recent trouble.”

  “Where is his proof?”

  “This is Scipio, Cassius. No courts. No need for proof.”

  A distant howl carried through the jungle. It was answered by low grunts, a crash of branches, then silence.

  “What are you saying, Vorenicus?”

  “You have to appreciate the position I’m in.”

  “Will you hand me over to them, kn
owing they’ll kill me? And for what? The trouble in the city? How could one man cause all that? They’d have me play their scapegoat.”

  “The night before the fight in the Market, I had convinced Piso and Cinna to lay down their arms. Nothing was finalized yet, but we were nearly there. And then that fight broke out.”

  Vorenicus clutched his head, as though the act of remembering pained him.

  “What does the general want to do?” Cassius asked.

  “Ignore the letter. He has no interest in peace.”

  “And you?”

  Vorenicus set his hand on Cassius’s shoulder. “You saved my life. I won’t sanction your death by turning you over to the bosses.”

  “And yet?”

  “And yet they would talk peace. I must hear them.”

  “As sure as I’m standing here, I know how that talk ends.”

  Vorenicus clenched his hand into a fist and held it over his heart.

  “I give you my word, as a legionnaire and as a friend, that I will not buy this peace with your life.”

  Cassius was silent. They stood on the edge of road, straddling the pavement and the jungle both.

  “Do you believe me?” Vorenicus asked.

  “I believe you’re the last honest man in Scipio,” Cassius said. “If anyone can get to the truth, it’s you.”

  • • •

  The bandages on Cassius’s forearms tore as he crept through overgrowth. Thorns scratched his legs. He stayed alert for whipping branches but he was without a torch and could see little in the dark. Twice he scraped his face on low-hanging tree limbs and thorned vines, the second scrape deep enough to draw blood.

  “Can we trust these men to be there?” he called into the dark ahead.

  Vorenicus’s back was a black shape moving against a drab canopy. “They’ll be there.”

  “And they won’t spread word of this when they return to fort? Regardless of how it ends? Your father might not take kindly to news that you’re negotiating peace behind his back.”

  “These men are friends,” Vorenicus said. “I trust them with my life. And I’m not here to negotiate peace. I’m simply starting a dialogue. Talking is better than killing.”

  “Depends on who’s doing the talking and who’s doing the killing.”

  “Hammer,” came a call from the dark.

  Cassius froze.

  “Anvil,” Vorenicus replied.

  Cassius heard branches parting, delicate steps as feet padded through the tangle.

  “Are you well, Commander, sir?”

  Cassius was surprised by the closeness of their voices. He still could see no figure in the dark apart from Vorenicus.

  “I’m fine.” Vorenicus said. “Are you prepared to leave?”

  Cassius felt a thrumming in his chest and reached for his gauntlets reflexively. A dull pop sounded, and a small spire of shaky green light, as tall as a wine bottle appeared in midair, balanced on the gauntleted hand of a grim legionnaire. There were four men to either side of him, all dressed in segmented steel armor, with shields and spears strapped to their backs.

  “Will we be keeping to the jungle for the entire trip?” the lead scout asked.

  “Only until we’re out of sight of the fort,” Vorenicus said.

  “And then?”

  “And then we’ll take the road. We’re to be met at the city gates.”

  “Begging your pardon, Commander. But wouldn’t it be wise to bring more men?”

  “The number of guards was set before the meeting was agreed upon.”

  “Let’s hope the other parties are as upright as you, sir.”

  • • •

  The pavilion stood in a clearing near the city walls. A massive table was set under the tent, fixed with food and drink, and men milled about, most dressed in armor but a few of the bosses’ advisors and hangers-on dressed more civilly, in the kind of gauche clothing that could only exist in Scipio, where trade was plentiful but culture nonexistent. Gold-stitched tunics, cloaks of ermine, jeweled mantles, sealskin boots. The entire scene had a solemn air, like a religious ceremony in which a necessary but unpleasant ritual was to take place, a sacrifice or a letting.

  It smelled of ash near the tent. A slow breeze carried northward from the city. It was too dark to see smoke against the sky, but at his approach, Cassius had noticed a strange glow past the walls, deep in the sprawl of the city, most likely a fire.

  Cinna sat at one end of the table. He had a plate of food before him, slices of mutton and green apples, which he picked at with his fingers. A bearded man was seated to his right, and behind him were five more men, all with weapons on display, long, curved knives, greatswords, even a man with gauntlets hanging from his belt.

  He greeted Vorenicus distractedly.

  “Welcome.” Cinna rose from his chair. “Help yourself to anything you like.”

  “I’m not hungry. Thank you, though.”

  They shook hands, Cinna’s fat, limp hand enveloping Vorenicus’s small strong one, then Cinna took his seat again. He looked to Cassius and sucked his teeth, his doughy face an exaggerated sneer.

  Piso stood talking in a circle of his guards. He seemed not to notice Vorenicus’s presence until someone announced him, then Piso detached himself from the group, greeted Vorenicus with a hug. In the light of the torches, his scars were the color of ham. He approached the table with an arm around Vorenicus’s waist and took his seat, all without glancing to Cassius. Five armed men were clustered behind him, and seated at his elbow, serving as his second, was a spellcaster Cassius had never met before, a pale, gray-eyed Murondian with long dark hair. He acknowledged Cassius with a nod.

  There were two chairs set on one side of the table, midway between both bosses, and Vorenicus sat in one of these chairs and motioned for Cassius to join him.

  “I didn’t think he’d have the balls to show,” Cinna said.

  “Is that a problem?” Vorenicus asked.

  “That man is devious. And his sitting at your right hand, instead of chained at your feet, doesn’t speak well of your intentions.”

  Vorenicus raised his hands. “Let’s not start the proceedings with insults.”

  “You insult us by letting him sit at our table.” Piso pounded his fist on the ashwood board.

  “I think we have more important matters to discuss than my choice of seconds.”

  “Just get on with it, then,” Cinna said.

  “This most recent bout of violence has reached the attention of the general.”

  “Only because that pig can’t keep his goddamned cutthroats in line,” Piso said.

  Cinna gestured obscenely. “I wouldn’t trade one of mine for ten of yours.”

  “Ten solid men for one child toucher, is that the going rate now?”

  A groan went up from the knot of men standing behind Cinna.

  “Savages,” Cinna shouted. “The whole lot of you. Raping and stealing and killing without a thought for the consequences.”

  “Lies, lies, lies. The only thing that ever comes out of your mouth. What goes in your mouth, that’s a much longer list. But the commander here has only so much time—”

  “You’re drooling again, Piso. Wipe that excuse for a face before you make me sick.”

  “Gentleman, please,” Vorenicus leapt up shouting. “Acting like children gets us nowhere. Our city is falling apart.”

  All grew quiet.

  “Now if you want to force the general’s hand to action, then continue operating the way you have. But if you want to see this resolved, then let’s discuss terms.”

  “Terms?” Cinna said. “Terms start with your friend there.” He pointed to Cassius.

  “We’ll discuss his role in this in due time,” Vorenicus said. “For now, I want to make sure both sides are willing to set aside their arms
.”

  “Are his men going to help me rebuild the docks now that half of them have burned? And the huge crater in Scab Row from the spellfight last night? Who pays for that?”

  “You started this fight,” Cinna said. “You should pay.”

  “Me?” Piso waved a hand dismissively. “I didn’t start a thing.”

  “You killed Nicola,” Cinna yelled, bits of mutton spraying from his lips. “And tried to steal my money.”

  “You attacked my safe house.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “I have bodies as evidence, burned to a crisp. Corpses don’t just fall out of the sky.”

  “Well, it wasn’t on orders from me.” Cinna snatched up a mug of wine, downed its contents.

  “Your man already confessed to me,” Piso said. “There’s no use denying the truth.”

  “Who told you such things?”

  “That maniac.” Piso nodded across the table. “Cassius.”

  “He’s a lying dog.” Cinna jumped up, slapped his plate from the table. The men behind him tensed. A few reached for their weapons. From the other side of the tent, Piso’s men shouted for hands to stay in the air.

  “Cinna,” Vorenicus said calmly. “Take your seat please.”

  “I won’t have lies thrown in my face.” Cinna stabbed a plump finger onto the tabletop.

  “I understand that,” Vorenicus said.

  “I’ll cut the other half of his face off before I let him lie to me.”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  Cinna sat. He shouted over his shoulder, and one of his guards fetched him a fresh mug. He drank, then belched. The guard leaned forward and whispered in Cinna’s ear. They conferred briefly and squinted across the table.

  Vorenicus looked to Cassius, and Cassius stared back, trying to appear calm. He thought about the old woman from the bath, about his goals, then pushed this thought from his mind. He was aware of every twitch in his face now, the pace of his breathing, the set of his mouth. He wanted a mask.

  “Last time you had me lay down my arms,” Piso said. “He attacked me, the sneaky pig.”

  “I attacked you?” Cinna snorted. “What a sense of history you have. Everyone knows you sent this madman across the Market at me, even after Vorenicus had us both agree to keep our forces out of there. Lunatic picked a fight with forty men.”