The Burning Isle

by Will Panzo

  The giant vanished in a flash of gold.

  A cheer went up from the remaining legionnaires. The centurions urged them to tighten their lines, and the men regrouped and started forward, advancing with renewed strength. The Purse guards faltered.

  Cinna appeared on the balcony. He was dressed in ill-fitting armor, a cuirass too small to fit over his gut, leather greaves bulging from the girth of his legs, an unbuckled helmet. He looked like a pudgy boy playing war.

  He held a wine bottle in one hand and he took a long pull of this and surveyed the skirmish. He cursed his men, shouted for them to defend their flank.

  He looked up the lane and spotted Cassius. Their eyes met.

  “You filthy traitor,” he yelled. He spat toward Cassius, hurled the wine bottle.

  In the lane below, the legionnaires had outflanked the Purse guards, broken their lines, and Cinna’s men fled while soldiers ran them down, speared them in their backs.

  “Cinna,” Galerius shouted. “It’s not too late to surrender.”

  Cinna gestured obscenely and retreated into his chambers. He was inside for a few minutes. When he reappeared, he climbed up onto the balustrade, climbing nimbly, like some fat, spry monkey. A rope dangled from his neck, knotted at the back of his head and leading up into the other room.

  “Be sure to give the old man a message for me,” he shouted. “I’ll be waiting for him beyond the veil.”

  He leapt and, to Cassius’s surprise, the rope held.

  • • •

  The Market was an inferno. Great pools of flame covered most of the square and storefronts burned uncontrollably. Standing on the northern side and facing south, Cassius scanned for movement. He could see no figures amidst the ravaged stalls, nor any standards. Strange beasts bayed in agony, and occasionally, a spell lit the sky.

  A burning building on the edge of the Market collapsed and spilled flame across the pavement. For a brief moment, Cassius glimpsed a massive rider charging through this fire. He wore a cloak the color of poppies. His face was bloodstained, and he had long red hair pulled back in a braid. He wielded a forward-curving blade, twirling it above his head, and from his saddle, severed heads dangled from straps.

  “More,” he cried. “More.”

  The rider turned his head and locked eyes with Cassius. He smiled. His teeth flashed gold in the light of the fires.

  And then, as suddenly as he appeared, he vanished, like an apparition in the flames.

  Cassius turned back to the command tent. It had been assembled hastily, and for all the slaughter of the night, a table could not be recovered in the ruins. Galerius and a lieutenant kneeled on the pavement, maps spread between them, and a circle of legionnaires stood guard over this makeshift war council. Cassius squatted and listened.

  “We’ve pushed the mob back to these three choke points.” The officer tapped the map three times, smudging it with soot. He wore his helmet pushed back on his head, his thin face smeared with grime and blood.

  “I don’t care about the mob,” Galerius said. “I care about Cinna’s forces. Are they still fighting now that he’s dead?”

  “There’s no difference between the mob and Cinna’s men at this point, sir. We’re fighting all sides.”

  “Can you finish them in these places?” Galerius asked.

  “It’ll take time.”

  “We don’t have time, soldier. I need to cross this Market and get to Lowtown before Piso can fortify his defenses.”

  “The Market can’t be crossed, sir.”

  “I don’t want to hear that.”

  “What I mean, sir, is we can’t march across it,” the legionnaire said. “There are spellcasters hidden around the perimeter. Dozens of them.”

  “Piso’s?”

  “Most of them, I’d assume. But probably some of Cinna’s leftovers as well. They’re waiting in ambush for anyone who steps into the Market. There’s not enough cover to protect the men in there. They’d be caught in a cross fire.”

  “Where are our killers to run interference?” Galerius shouted.

  An explosion sounded in the distance.

  “We tried that with Third Company, sir. With nearly twenty of our killers backing their play. It was a massacre.”

  “We’ll go around the Market then.”

  “That’ll take time. The wide avenues let us use size and numbers to our advantage, sir. Lanes and alleys won’t. It’ll be slow work.”

  “Listen to the words I am speaking: We don’t have time.”

  “The advanced guard has already reached the docks, sir,” another legionnaire reported. “A half dozen spellcasters. They’ve burned nearly all of it. There’s no retreat for the Lowtown forces.”

  “Some good news for once.” A drab pouch lay by Galerius’s side, and he patted this reflexively. “I want a total sweep tonight. Execute anyone even suspected of belonging to Piso or Cinna. Tell the men to accept no surrender.”

  “That’s a bit ambitious, sir. Our hands are full containing the Hightown mob.”

  Galerius fixed the legionnaire with a cold stare. “Is that how they taught you to speak to a commanding officer, legionnaire?”

  The legionnaire tapped his heart with a fist, bowed his head. “Forgive me, sir. I spoke too freely.”

  “You spoke like a coward. Do you mean to tell me we can’t put down this rabble?” Galerius swept out a hand, indicting the entire city.

  The bold legionnaire did not respond.

  “Speak, damn you,” Galerius shouted.

  “We’re fighting well, sir. But the mob won’t quit. It’s proving hard to break them. We’re reporting casualties of nearly one-fifth our forces. And we’re already outnumbered as it is. Extending our lines into Lowtown would stretch us thin.”

  “What if we pushed them into the Market?” Cassius asked.

  The legionnaire stared silently, unsure if he should acknowledge the comment.

  “What do you mean?” Galerius asked.

  “Why not funnel the mob down into the Market?” Cassius said. “Concentrate our forces in one place. That way, we wouldn’t spread ourselves too thin. And we’d have enough people to survive the crossing.”

  “We’d still lose a lot of men,” the legionnaire said.

  “Would we make it to the other side with a force capable of fighting Piso?” Galerius asked.

  “Sir, the losses would be—”

  “Answer the question.”

  “We would, sir.”

  “We could march down the main avenue,” Cassius said. “We’d be at Piso’s front door in an hour.”

  “Do we need to feed our men into a meat grinder when there are other options available to us?” The legionnaire glared at Cassius. He would not be so bold with a ranking officer, but he felt no need to hold his tongue when addressing a mercenary.

  “Mind your tone, legionnaire,” Galerius said. “This plan seems to be the only one that takes account of time. Can you assure me Piso’s reinforcements won’t arrive by ship in the morning? Or that the general won’t call us back to fort? Can you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then all this would be for nothing. And Piso would still be standing.”

  “Even with most of our spellcasters in one place,” the legionnaire said, “the opportunities for ambush are tremendous. And what about the mob?”

  “The mob will get caught in the Market cross fire as well,” Galerius said. “But without the protection of our spells. They’ll help shield our men, and we’ll finally break them. Two birds with one stone, as they say.”

  “Sir, this will end in a massacre.”

  “It won’t be the first massacre this Market has seen.”

  • • •

  White sheets hung from the windows of Piso’s hall and from the windows of the barracks. The horde of fighters they
had expected to find in the plaza were absent. The streets were mostly empty, and only a handful of men stood guard outside the entrance to the hall. These men were unarmored, and their weapons lay at their feet.

  “This might be a trap,” Cassius said.

  “I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.” Galerius motioned for two legionnaires to follow him inside. A heavy drab pouch dangled from his belt. “But he has to know that if something goes wrong, the legion will burn this place to the ground.”

  They found Piso seated at the long table in the center of the room, a feast set before him, a single guard at his side. The guard was young, probably sixteen or so, and unarmed, like the men out front. He made a show of raising his bare hands as the legionnaires entered.

  “Forgive us.” Galerius bowed mockingly. “If you’re busy, it’s no trouble for us to come back later.”

  “Sit.” Piso was gnawing the last scraps of meat from a chicken bone. “Eat if you want.”

  There were plates of roasted chicken, thick stew, rice, pigs’ feet in oil, cheese, and wine.

  “Were you expecting Cinna?” Galerius sat across from Piso.

  Cassius remained standing.

  “No,” Piso said. “I figured it would be Vorenicus.”

  “Vorenicus is dead.”

  Piso stiffened, as though struck a physical blow. “In the melee at the truce talks?”

  “That’s what I’m told,” Galerius said.

  “I had no idea.”

  “Of course.”

  “You think I’m lying, you dolt. If I had known, maybe I would have been more prepared for your attack. Cinna, too.” A long, curved knife was dug into the table. Piso plucked the knife from the wood and cut away a small bit of chicken and ate it directly off the knife. He tossed the bone aside.

  “How Vorenicus died is irrelevant. What matters is that the general has had enough of the old system. Your time is up, Master Piso.”

  “I see.” Piso nodded. He sipped from a mug of wine and leaned back in his chair. “I see it all now. It’s brilliant really.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Piso turned to address his guard. Cassius could see only the scarred half of his face.

  “It seems Galerius here convinced that lunatic to kill Vorenicus,” Piso said to the guard, as though the boy cared at all for the intrigue that had led to this moment. “With Quintus’s son out of the way, Galerius becomes the general’s second-in-command and his avenger.”

  “I’m here to discuss terms for your surrender,” Galerius said. “If you’d rather not, I have—”

  “When the general learns the boy’s dead,” Piso continued, still addressing the guard, “he seeks to punish me and Cinna for it. So he sends our hero Galerius to town with the entire legion. And when this is all finished, the commander here can swoop in and run the city while the good general mourns.”

  “Shut up,” Galerius yelled.

  “You rat-hearted bastard. How long have you had your daggers at Vorenicus’s back?”

  “I won’t take that from you.”

  “I could understand the maniac here.” Piso motioned to Cassius. “He just likes to cause trouble. But you, Galerius. You took an oath. The deepest pit in the great hells is reserved for oathbreakers.”

  Galerius stood from his seat. “Enough of this.”

  “Sit down, Galerius,” Piso said calmly.

  “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “No, but you’ll want to hear what I have to say. You too, lunatic.” Piso nodded gravely.

  “Speak then,” Galerius said.

  “That was a good move you pulled on the docks. Burning my means of escape and the like. And before I even realized war was at my goddamn gates.”

  “Maybe if you and Cinna were on friendlier terms, he would have warned you.”

  “Oh, the pervert told me the legion was on its way. Figured it best we combine our forces. But by the time he spotted your formation, you bastards were halfway down the damn road. Even a man as talented as me is at the mercy of time.”

  “You were beaten by a superior force.” Galerius smiled. “There’s no shame in that.”

  “Well, let’s not go ordering a triumph just yet.” Piso laughed, a slow, humorless sound. “See, I’m not the type to surrender. Just don’t have it in me. Old legion blood in my veins. Did you know that, Galerius?”

  “I did.”

  “Had an uncle served as an officer under Aentilius. Died fighting the Widsith in the Black Forest. Beautiful funeral ceremony. State funded and everything. You think they’ll give that to you when you die, Galerius? How many years in the service for you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty. That is commendable. I swear before the gods, there’s nothing I respect so much as a man who serves the public good.” Piso raised a mug in toast. He drank, then slammed the mug down. He belched. “Of course, the state does frown on rebellion.”

  “Rebellion?”

  “Yes, that’s what you’re doing, Galerius. You and your army out there are taking an Antiochi city by force. And since our good general and his army aren’t actually recognized by the senate, I wonder how they’ll take the news that the crazy bugger is no longer content to rot in his jungle and extort his neighbors. Instead, he wants to sack cities and install governments. I can’t imagine they’ll be pleased.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you have family on the mainland, Galerius?”

  Galerius did not respond.

  “How about you, maniac?”

  “No,” Cassius said.

  “Friends then?” Piso asked.

  “None.”

  “No family or friends. All alone are you?”

  “I have a father living yet,” said Cassius.

  “Good for you. But I’ll bet old Galerius here has a lot more relations than that. And do you know what the senate does to the families of rebels?” Piso licked his burned lips. “They take their lands. They take their money. They strip them of citizenship and strike their names from public records. They turn them into exiles, lower even than foreigners or slaves. And any honest citizen who wants to rob them or kill them, well that’s just between them and the gods. Because the law doesn’t protect exiles, does it, Galerius?”

  “Is there a point to this, Piso?”

  “The point is, you can have this island if you like. But out in the real world, you’re going to be doing yourself a world of hurt.”

  “Are you coming with us or not?” Galerius stood.

  “I wouldn’t trust the general not to torture me to death if I did surrender. So no, I’m not going with you, Galerius.”

  “Fine, then.” Galerius headed for the door. “We’ll settle this a different way.”

  “You didn’t encounter much resistance getting here, did you? Not once you passed the Market. Did you expect to find my men in full armor and formation, trading blows like you found in Hightown?”

  “I expected a fight at least, you coward.”

  “Know why you didn’t see any of my men in the streets?” Piso called. “Because they’re not in the streets.”

  Galerius stopped.

  “They’re hiding. Ferreted deep in the slums. And when your army begins to march back north, they’re going to spring up and attack and slink away again. No standing fight. No protracted spell battles. Just one hit and one kill, then they’re gone again. Imagine that repeated every three blocks. And if you want to stop it, your men will have to go house to house to flush them out.”

  “You gutless bastard. I turned Hightown to ash, I’ll do the same here.”

  “I heard you suffered quite a few casualties in the Market. Do you really think you have a force big enough to sweep half this city?” Piso grinned. “I don’t. Lowtown is a killing field now. Enjoy your
trip home, you sons of bitches.”

  “You don’t think you’ll make it out of this, do you?” Galerius shouted.

  “Of course not. But at least I got to enjoy one last meal before I went to hell.” Piso turned to his guard. “Do it. And make sure I don’t feel a thing.”

  The guard raised his hands and Cassius felt a thrumming in his chest. He reached for his gauntlets and dove. The blast sent the table spinning end over end. A cloud of fire sped outward from the center of the room, washing over Cassius.

  When the smoke cleared, he found Piso lying facedown, unmoving, the back of his tunic afire. Galerius’s arm protruded from under the table and when Cassius lifted the edge of the table, he found the body sprawled like a broken marionette, its face charred.

  At the door, the blast had knocked the two legionnaires on their backs, but the fire had not reached them. They rose now, moving slowly, checking themselves for wounds.

  “What in the hell happened?” one asked.

  “Did you do this?” the other shouted at Cassius.

  “Not me.” Cassius retrieved the drab pouch that Galerius had carried out of the Purse, looping it around his belt and knotting it on the hip opposite his gauntlets.

  Piso’s guard was kneeling just past his boss’s corpse. His right arm hung limp, the thumb and index finger of his right hand burned to bone, and the small pocket of flesh between the two, where he had held the jewel in secret, a mass of seared gristle. He was trembling.

  Cassius approached him. The boy did not look up.

  “My hand,” the boy said. “My hand.”

  From outside, Cassius heard the soldiers of Galerius’s personal guard fighting with Piso’s unarmed men. The two legionnaires ran for the door. Cassius headed for the stairway to the upper floors.

  “He told me it would only hurt a little,” the boy muttered. “I can’t feel my arm.”