by Will Panzo
“Is that why your men attacked our good commander here?”
“Those men were tricked.”
“Is that true?” Vorenicus whispered to Cassius.
“What?” Cassius could not match Vorenicus’s gaze.
“Were you in the Market before the fighting started?”
“Vorenicus, you have to listen—”
“Tricked into attacking a phalanx? Do you really expect us to believe that?” Piso threw up his hands.
“Do you deny that you sent Cassius after me?” Cinna shouted.
“Yes, I deny it. And point that sausage finger at me again, and I’ll bite it the hell off.”
“Did it happen that way?” Vorenicus asked.
“What do you mean?” Cassius said.
The tent fell silent, tense. Everyone seemed to wait for Cassius’s answer.
“Were you in the Market despite the injunction?”
“Explain yourself, you bastard,” Cinna shouted.
“Shut up.”
The Murondian leaned close to Piso, and Piso nodded and whispered in his ear.
“These cowards are trying to pin this on me.” Cassius’s tone was measured, but he could feel his heart racing. He tried to focus, to find the calm that allowed him to walk through fire. But he was too tired now, too beaten down, his mind clouded. And although he felt his control steadily ebb, his rage only grew.
“Answer the question,” Vorenicus said. “Were you in the Market?”
“You think one man could do all that?” Cassius asked. He could not look to Vorenicus. It was no great feat to lie to Piso or Cinna, both expert liars themselves. He was only using their own weapons against them. But Vorenicus was different. “Open your eyes. They want you to mistrust me so that you won’t believe what I know about them.”
The men standing just outside the light of the tent grumbled. He heard the legionnaires whispering behind him.
“Why can’t you answer me?” Vorenicus asked.
“Tell him, whoreson,” Cinna shouted.
“Watch your pig mouth.”
“Cassius?”
“I should have known about you.” Cinna grinned. “Any man who won’t screw a whore is no man to trust.”
Piso slapped the tabletop, roared with laughter.
“Would you trust their word over mine, Vorenicus?”
“Piss on his word. I have witnesses,” Cinna said. “Citizens. Not my own men. People who saw that he attacked the guards at the Hightown barricades. That was the spark that triggered the entire fight. Was there bad blood beforehand? Were our men on edge? Of course. But that doesn’t change the fact that he started this. Do you agree, Piso?”
“My men responded to the violence already taking place in the Market. If you say he attacked you, I believe it. But he wasn’t acting on orders from me. I never even gave the boy my brand. I knew he wasn’t to be trusted.”
“See,” Cinna said. “When have you ever known us two to agree on anything? You have a snake underfoot, Vorenicus. Step on it before it bites you, too.”
“Your men attacked me,” Cassius shouted.
“My men were ordered to stand down,” Cinna said. “As our good commander here knows.”
“Vorenicus, you were there,” Piso said. “What did you see?”
“I was injured. My memory is fuzzy.”
“Injured by who?” Piso asked.
Vorenicus considered the question. “A spellcaster.”
“Like our friend here?”
“No,” Cassius said. “That’s not what happened. I saved you.”
“And what of your men, Vorenicus?” Cinna asked.
“They all died.”
“Convenient.”
“They’re twisting this,” Cassius said. “They’re lying.”
“First he burns the piglet,” Piso said, counting off Cassius’s crimes on his fingers. “Then he starts the fight in the Market. Then he escapes with you before having to stand my wrath. Now that’s one devious cunt.”
“Cassius?” Vorenicus said.
Cassius stared into the middle distance, warm torchlight playing across half his face, the other hidden in shadow.
“We’d laid down our arms already,” Piso said. “Why would we start a fight one day after agreeing to do that unless provoked?”
“Explain yourself, Cassius.”
Cassius stood from the table. “I don’t have to explain myself to any of you.”
“Sit down,” Vorenicus said. “That’s an order.”
“Liars.” Cassius was yelling now. “Thieves and murderers. You would take their word over mine?”
“If you don’t sit down, I’ll have you shackled.” Vorenicus leveled his gaze on Cassius.
Cassius closed his eyes. The sound of his heartbeat in his ears was a drum, strong and fast.
“Shackle me, Vorenicus?” He opened his eyes. “Like a criminal? The only criminal in a land with no laws. Who would be my judge? Piso? Cinna?” He spat the names.
“Those weren’t my words,” Vorenicus said. “I never called you a criminal.”
“Who else wears shackles? Only criminals,” Cassius said. “And slaves.”
Vorenicus started at the word, as though struck a blow. “Slaves?”
“You heard me,” Cassius shouted. “It wouldn’t be the first time these bastards clapped irons onto their enemies, sold them off in the dead of night.”
Vorenicus looked away, then looked back to Cassius, as though seeing him for the first time.
“These are peace talks,” Vorenicus said. “And you’re under my banner of truce. My father’s banner of truce. Act accordingly.”
“Control your man, Vorenicus,” Cinna said. “He’s making me nervous.”
“I should, you fat-faced murderer.”
The Murondian roared and leapt to his feet. Cassius felt a thrumming in his chest. He ducked and reached for his gauntlets, his fingers barely inside as he drew the fire-ward rune in his mind’s eye. A sound like a great rip rent the air, and a tongue of white flame flashed before him.
His gauntlets were on his hands as he hit the ground. He smelled smoke, heard a terrible scream. He rolled and hopped to his feet, circling wide to gain some distance from the tent. A legionnaire was afire. The man lay turtled on his shield while Vorenicus beat the flames with bare hands.
Cassius glimpsed a flash of light in midair, a hand ax. It sailed inches to the side of the Murondian and stuck in the chest of one of Piso’s guards. The man coughed blood and fell on his ass, bouncing comically, then loosed a strangled cry. The legionnaire who had hurled the ax charged Piso.
Piso toppled in his chair and rolled into the dark. His men drew their weapons and advanced. A cone of fire spiraled across the table, hurled by a legionnaire. The Murondian stepped into the flame, and it died on his chest, but not before the tent had caught fire.
Cassius raised his hands to cast but was struck with a counterspell. Sparks shot from his fingertips.
Cinna backed into the dark as his men leapt across the table.
Cassius felt again the stirring in his chest. The Murondian jutted the heel of his palm at Cassius, and a jet of steam rose from the ground. The steam smelled sharp, like lye, and seconds later a crocodile emerged from the cloud and crawled forward on all fours. It was six feet long, with a thick tail that hung stiff above the ground. It licked its muzzle with a thin gray tongue and hissed deep in its throat.
Cassius clapped twice at the lizard, and a sand eddy dusted the road and cascaded to the floor, and where the sand fell, a fearsome dire wolf now stood. The wolf nosed the air and growled.
The crocodile crawled forward and, at its approach, the wolf angled downward and snapped at its front paw. The crocodile bent double, and its long tail whipped over its body and caught the wolf a blow on
the shoulder. The wolf’s shoulder broke, and the wolf dropped to its face and lay whining. The crocodile ambled forward.
Cassius took a few measured steps backward, drawing on the rune energy.
The Murondian conjured next a funnel of cold wind, flecked with snow. When it collapsed, a large white bear lurched into the light of the flaming tent. It reared, gazing around at the chaos. The Murondian raised his hands to his temples, and the bear hoisted itself onto two legs and swatted at a legionnaire.
The Murondian cursed, and the bear settled onto all fours. It paused as though lost in thought, then trotted in a slow circle and wheeled on Cassius.
Cassius dropped to his knees and placed a hand on the ground. He splayed his fingers and slapped the floor and from the dark above the bear came a sound like a wave breaking. A stream of what looked like incandescent honey poured from the sky, enveloping the bear and splashing nearby fighters.
The bear released a tortured scream. The lava had already melted huge sections of its body as it toppled to the ground. Its flesh spilled along the pavement, under a cloud of hissing steam.
One of the pavilion’s poles snapped and a sheet of sparks drifted out into the jungle and, by the light of these embers, Cassius could see men hacking at each other in the tangle.
The Murondian, limned in firelight, moved toward him.
Cassius cupped his hands and raised them and tufts of yellow smoke rose from the ground. In the smoke, a mass took shape.
A misdirection spell burst near his face, a harmless display of pyrotechnics. There was a shower of sparks and a loud report, but he was undeterred, and the yellow smoke rose and grew thinner. From inside the smoke, two dawn-red eyes formed and took sight of the world.
Cassius felt weak. A light-headed sensation overcame him. He kneeled, and although his eyes were closed, he could see the world through a new set of eyes.
A breeze cleared the smoke. The Murondian gasped.
The scorpion was eight feet long and stood as tall as a rhinoceros. Its shell was smooth, colored sand brown and rust orange and marked with streaks of jet along its legs and its back and up the length of its tail.
Cassius urged it forward, but it did not move. Images of the Murondian, broken and bloodied, flashed from his mind to the mind of the creature, a wordless command to kill. But still it stood motionless.
Cassius felt his nose dripping blood. He screamed, eyes wet with tears.
The beast stirred. It stepped sideways, each spindly leg striking earth with a sound like a pick biting into stone.
The lizard halted at the sight of this new beast and hissed.
Startled, the scorpion hunched down and shot its tail forward and stung the lizard, which stiffened, then lay still. The scorpion withdrew its stinger with a sound like sucking mud. It edged closer to the Murondian, the jaw parts beneath its head shell twitching. Its pincers opened slowly, with a wet noise like the peeling of an eggshell.
The Murondian held his hand out, palm open, and a circle of fire appeared on the floor. It spread quickly, ringed the scorpion. The creature reared in the flame, its tail dragging through fire. It arched upward, and the flames rose.
The scorpion bucked, pincers snapping air. Its tail shot upward and hooked the cloth of the flaming pavilion. It lurched and yanked its tail free, and another section of the tent collapsed. A pole ripped from the ground, spinning end over end, and struck the Murondian in the back.
He staggered. The flames encircling the scorpion died and, as they did, the scorpion sprang forward and speared its stinger through the Murondian’s chest. The sting jutted from his back and he twisted, swatted awkwardly at it. He cast a weak flare that imploded with an audible pop, and the scorpion retreated, dragged its stinger out of his body, and the Murondian collapsed forward with a long exhale.
In the dark, Cassius could see no one and could hear only the sounds of the fire and the wind. He felt no thrumming in his chest. He dismissed the scorpion with a wave, the creature vanishing in a puff of yellow smoke.
He reeled, clutched his head. The breeze carried a scent like a snuffed candle. His scalp was hot, itchy. He walked to the Murondian, and beneath the sound of his footsteps, he heard a faint voice calling him by name.
He kneeled to retrieve the Murondian’s gauntlets, and the blow struck him at the base of his skull. He felt a heavy, numb pressure in his head. And then he was falling into darkness.
• • •
He woke in the jungle, to the sound of his own crying. The pain in his head was so strong, he wondered if his skull had not split open. His cheeks were filmed with dry tears, and the world around him was black and smelled of rich mud.
He tried to sit up, but the world spun. He pressed his forehead to the damp earth and groaned and heaved. Footsteps approached.
“—ie down. Lie facedown righ—”
The voice came from faraway, like a scream heard underwater. It drifted in and out of focus while, in the distance, the sound of heavy drums rose.
He felt a boot on his back. He collapsed, his mouth filling with wet loose dirt.
“—ve and I’m going to kill you. Do you hear wha—” The point of a blade pressed against the base of his skull.
Something struck his spine. The boot again, he thought. The blade lifted off his neck. He closed his eyes.
He felt hands grip his shoulders, small hands but strong. They worked down his arms. One gauntlet, then the other slid from his hands, the warm pinpricks fading. He knew he was unarmed now, knew he should be afraid, but he was not afraid. There was an air of the inevitable about this, he thought. Or maybe he was just glad to see it finished.
Arms wrapped his waist and lifted him and laid him with his back against a tree. He sat for a time before opening his eyes. When finally he did, he saw a blackness so complete, he thought himself blinded. Then he glimpsed light in the jungle, a fire in the middle distance, and by this light he saw the legionnaire take shape.
He saw the silhouette of the long tunic, the silvery mail glinting with firelight, like a sunrise moving over the surface of the ocean. He saw the shape of the short, stabbing blades, one in each hand, and saw also the wide-brimmed helmet.
How many times had this figure appeared in his dreams, chasing him through jungles.
He thought the fear would return then, the child’s blind panic that he had trained for years to subdue. But when he saw the white of the eagle feathers, he knew this was not the monster from his dreams come to claim its prey after long years of pursuit.
“Are you hurt?” Vorenicus stood staring down at him, his face obscured by darkness.
“I don’t think so,” Cassius said. His voice did not sound his own, did not seem to come from him at all, although he was aware of his mouth moving.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Is this a court of law? Must I enter a plea?”
“What they said back there, the way things have played out these last few days, it’s all true, isn’t it?”
“Are we here to talk of truth?”
“Yes, goddamn it,” Vorenicus said. “The truth for once. Or so help me, I will bury this blade in your chest.”
Cassius dug his hands into the warm earth, worked the loose rich soil between his fingers. It seemed charged, electric, like the heaviness in the air before a lightning strike. To be sure, there were magic users who pulled their power from the earth, stormcallers and firedancers and shamans who spoke the language of the Primal Ones. But he was no such mage, and the charge he felt in the jungle was not a magical one. It was unlike anything he had felt before, and he knew from that first touch he had no way to control it.
“There’s no need for threats,” he said. “They cheapen us. You for speaking them and me for responding. And besides, I would not think you the type to threaten a man who saved your life.”
“Saved my life
? You instigated that entire fight in the Market. You got my men killed. And nearly got me killed as well.”
“I did those things, and I also saved your life. You were on the brink of death, with the ferryman’s coin in your hand. And I could have left you there, but I didn’t.”
Vorenicus rubbed his palm as though he could still feel the coin. “Why?”
“Why didn’t I leave you?”
“Why any of it?”
Cassius looked up. “You’re not the only one who worships justice.”
“Justice.” Vorenicus exhaled the word. “You think this is just?”
“Is it just to let the guilty walk free?” Cassius rubbed his temples. A dull pain throbbed deep in his skull, pressing against the backs of his eyes. “Men with blood on their hands? Men who committed unspeakable crimes?”
“Unspeakable? Is that why you kept your intentions hidden?”
“I am one man, and my enemies are legion,” Cassius said. “The only way to see my work completed was to gain their trust, turn them against one another.”
“You lied to me,” Vorenicus said.
The disappointment in his voice was plain and the sound of it shamed Cassius and Cassius looked away.
“I was as honest with you as I could be,” he said. “I had to be careful with my words or risk exposing myself to my enemies.”
“And who are your enemies?”
Cassius gritted his teeth as the throbbing in his head grew stronger. The pain spread down his neck, into his shoulders.
“Don’t play the fool, Vorenicus.”
“I would hear you say it.”
“What do you remember of the Uprising?”
Vorenicus did not answer. The sound of the fire was distant, and the word seemed to hang in the jungle air, humming, like the ring of steel on steel.
“Not much,” Vorenicus said. “I was just a boy.”
“I was just a boy as well. And I remember much.”
Vorenicus sheathed his blades, the swords hissing as he drove them home, as though wary of the man sitting against the tree. He kneeled until he was eye level with Cassius although in the dark, neither man could see the other’s face.