Rise of the Blood Royal

by Robert Newcomb

  But Vespasian valued Persephone’s advice for more than just her schooling, her intelligence, or her powerful command of the craft. Unlike Vespasian’s other advisors, she had no need to curry favor by agreeing with him when she might otherwise not, or by fawning loyalty so as to win a higher position in the government pecking order. Be her always frank advice welcome or unwelcome, Vespasian could rest assured that it came from her heart rather than from some ulterior personal need.

  Walking back to the table, Persephone poured another cup of wine, then sat down and again consulted the many war maps lying there. So far the campaign was succeeding brilliantly. But like Vespasian and Lucius, she was concerned by their string of easy successes, and couldn’t entirely dismiss the feeling that their legions were marching into a Shashidan trap. But also like her husband and their trusted First Tribune, she believed that it was too early in the campaign for the Shashidans to suspect their ultimate goal.

  There were valid reasons for optimism. The Rustannican forces were still too far away for the Inkai to be sure of their enemy’s ultimate objective, and Vespasian’s invasion route into Shashida had been used several times before by other emperors whose purposes had been vastly different. From their current position, the Rustannican legions could turn in various directions, each one heading toward a worthwhile objective. It was hoped that only when the legions came far closer to the gold mines would the Inkai realize the daring nature of the Rustannicans’ plan.

  Moreover, taking the Shashidan mines had never been tried. Conquering Shashida’s gold supplies had long been considered by both sides to be reckless to the point of military insanity. The Shashidans knew that their mines were nearly unassailable and that any attempt by the enemy to take them would result in huge, perhaps devastating Rustannican losses, even if the mines were taken. Vespasian’s intelligence reports claimed that because of these beliefs, the Shashidans had grown complacent about protecting the mines and sometimes reduced the number of troops there to employ them elsewhere in the war.

  Persephone was no fool, and she knew that Vespasian’s ability to convince the Suffragat was due to more than his well-known powers of persuasion. Much of the Suffragat’s agreement was because Rustannica’s economic woes had dramatically worsened and this attack or something much like it simply had to occur. The Suffragat could only hope that like the Rustannican general populace, the Shashidan Inkai were ignorant of the desperate state of the Rustannican treasury. For if they knew the truth, the true motive behind this invasion would come to light too soon and perhaps spell an early defeat.

  Because of the vast Borderlands separating the two nations, the Suffragat had long believed that the likelihood of Shashidan agents spying in Rustannica was small, lending strength to the hope that taking the mines was still a military secret. But even the Suffragat could not know for sure. Random blood signature examinations meant to ferret out Shashidan spies were regularly carried out by roving bands of centurions, but few such agents were ever found. And given the millions of people living in Rustannica, trying to randomly unmask enemy spies this way was haphazard at best. Even so, rumors of a Shashidan spy network called the League of Whispers persisted.

  After putting down her wine cup, Persephone looked around the command tent. Although she was a lady through and through, she was no shrinking violet. She enjoyed the campaign’s noise, activity, and sense of urgency. In a way she even enjoyed the simpler but still comfortable surroundings in which she now lived.

  This war tent and those adjoining it were large and ornately decorated. Many more colorful tents like it stood nearby, each one topped with red banner bearing the imperial eagle embroidered in gold. One dozen of these tents housed the Pon Q’tar, another served as Lucius’ personal quarters, yet another as Julia Idaeus’ living area, and the fourth and largest held Vespasian and Persephone’s private rooms. The area in which the empress sat was the communal command tent, its spacious focal point connected by canvas corridors to the other tents. In this way the Femiculi, the emperor and empress, the First Tribune, and the Pon Q’tar could reach the command tent without having to trespass through each other’s private quarters. This series of interconnected tents was an ingenious arrangement that the Rustannican war machine had used in the field for centuries.

  Like her and Vespasian’s private areas, the central command tent was sumptuous and comfortable. Patterned rugs lay on the grass and tapestries hung on the tent walls. Supported by golden poles, the eight-part canvas ceiling rose to a high point in the center of the room. Upholstered chairs, sofas, and benches were placed about, and oil lamps hung at regular intervals from the golden roof beams. A long sideboard offered up food, wine, and other delicacies. Before a tray or pitcher could become empty or its contents stale, camp skeens immediately refreshed them. Watchful centurions always stood guard outside the command tent and the connecting tents.

  Tired of studying the war maps, Persephone rose from her chair and walked across the room to gaze into a full-length mirror. Although the dress she wore was simpler than something she might have chosen at the imperial palace, she looked lovely. The light blue silk highlighted her eyes, and her gold jewelry sparkled in the soft, warm light cast by the many oil lamps. As a matter of practicality while afield, she had collected her long blond hair behind her neck with a sapphire clasp, allowing it to fall along the graceful arch of her back. She was a beautiful woman, and despite her lofty position she carried herself without pretension or arrogance.

  Persephone was everything Vespasian could have asked for in a mate—save for the one flaw that had produced a crack in her heart and stubbornly refused to heal. She had gladly given him everything she had, everything she was, and everything she would ever be. In return he loved her with an ardor and fidelity unheard of during the reigns of past emperors, who brazenly took lovers despite their empresses.

  Yet there was one last gift that she had yet to bestow, and she deeply mourned her failure to do so. Worse, it was the one thing that she wanted to give him most of all, and what she knew that he hungered most to receive. She had yet to give him an heir.

  Persephone knew that she was a strong woman and a Vagaries sorceress without equal. Should Vespasian die, she believed that she could effectively rule in his stead. Even so, she felt unfulfilled. Despite her immense command of the craft and the fact that she was one of the most powerful people in Rustannica, her inability to do what most women took for granted often made her feel inferior and alone. Vespasian always comforted her during these times of self-doubt, telling her that it didn’t matter and that there was still much time left in which to try. But when he said such things she could sense the pain lying behind his words. The Pon Q’tar had chosen her to be his bride, and neither of them had been given any choice in the matter. Because of that she often wondered whether Vespasian harbored any resentment about not being able to live his life as he chose or with whom he chose. Another woman would have probably given him a child, she knew.

  But Persephone also knew that right now it didn’t matter—nothing did, save for their loving each other and overseeing the final death blow to the Vigors. And so she would do her best to put her personal inadequacies aside until the campaign was through. If they were victorious, she and Vespasian could keep trying to have a child. And if not it wouldn’t matter, for they would probably be dead.

  Just then she saw Lucius stride into the command tent. She was surprised not to see Vespasian by his side. After looking around, the First Tribune hurried toward her and took her hands into his. His face bore a worried expression.

  “Are you alone?” he whispered.

  Persephone nodded. “Where is Vespasian?” she asked.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Empress,” he said loudly, as if trying to make sure that he was heard outside the tent. Then his conspiratorial look returned.

  “There is something I must show you!” he whispered. “Stay here, and no matter what happens, let me give the orders!”

  As Persephone
watched him hurry from the tent, she noticed that the two centurion guards were gone. Then Lucius’ booming voice called out again.

  “Bring it into the tent!” she heard him order. “The empress is waiting!”

  To her surprise, three legionnaires carried a great rug into the tent. The rug was rolled up and lay across their strong shoulders. On Lucius’ order they placed it on the ground.

  “Shall we unroll your prize?” one of them asked the Tribune.

  “No,” Lucius answered. “I will do so myself. I had to kill three Shashidans to get it and it is to be a personal gift for the empress. Now begone!”

  After giving the First Tribune crisp salutes, the legionnaires left the tent to go about their other duties.

  Persephone scowled and placed her fists on her hips. “Why would you bring me a rug?” she asked. “Where is Vespasian? And what has become of the two guards who were outside the door?”

  Before answering, Lucius pointed at the rolled-up tent flap. At once it came loose and fell earthward to close out the world.

  “I sent the guards away!” he whispered. “You will soon see why!”

  Lucius pointed at the rug and it began to unroll across the ground. As it reached its full length, Persephone was amazed to see Vespasian lying atop it. He was clearly in distress. His eyes were closed, he was bathed in sweat, and his body shook uncontrollably.

  Persephone immediately realized that Vespasian was in the grip of another day terror. Before going to him, she grabbed Lucius by the shoulders. Calling on the craft, she augmented the strength in her arms and swiveled him around to face her. The look on her face was desperate.

  “Does the Pon Q’tar know about this?” she demanded.

  “No!” Lucius whispered quickly. “But it is likely that some legionnaires on their way to the front saw him like this, and we cannot assume that word of it won’t reach Gracchus! Just before losing consciousness, Vespasian told me to hide him in the chariot and bring him straight to you. He said that no one else was to know. I did as I was told.”

  Lucius looked down at his friend of so many years. In all his life he had never seen Vespasian so helpless. The sight of the most powerful mystic in the world humbled and struck down so quickly by an unseen enemy had unnerved the stalwart tribune.

  “What is wrong with him?” he asked Persephone. “He talked as though this has happened before.”

  “It has,” she answered. “And now that you have seen it, there can be no going back for you. I’m sorry that you had to become involved in this, Lucius, but what’s done is done. This was never our intent. I thank the Afterlife that you were there when it happened! You did well to bring him to me unnoticed.”

  Persephone sat down on the rug and took Vespasian into her arms. Lucius watched sadly as she rocked her husband back and forth like the child she never had.

  “Shall I call for a healer?” Lucius asked.

  “No!” Persephone answered. “I know of nothing that can be done for him. He must return to us on his own.” Suddenly the look on her face became commanding.

  “And now you too know the secret,” she declared.

  Looking down at her stricken husband, she wiped his brow and smoothed his damp blond curls. Despite her legendary skills in the craft, she was helpless to save the person she most loved in the world. That painful awareness caused her recent thoughts to resurface, and she realized that this was yet another way in which she had failed him. I can’t cure him, but I can protect him, she decided. She looked back up at Lucius.

  “What I am about to tell you must remain a secret,” she said. “Only we three know about the emperor’s affliction. If the Pon Q’tar or any other Suffragat members learn of it they might declare him unfit to lead this badly needed campaign. In the end, that defeat would crush Vespasian as surely as this affliction might. The Suffragat has the right to declare him unfit, but we must hide his secret. If word of this gets out I shall know that it came from you and I will kill you myself, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Empress,” Lucius answered respectfully. “I love him too. But is there nothing that we can do for him?”

  “Pick him up,” she ordered. “We must take him to our private quarters before anyone else comes in! Only there can I protect him and explain away his absence! Hurry now!”

  Lucius bent down to take Vespasian into his arms. With the empress leading the way, the First Tribune carried Vespasian down one of the many connecting canvas corridors and into the safety of the emperor’s personal quarters.

  SCARCELY ABLE TO BELIEVE WHAT SHE HAD JUST HEARD, Julia Idaeus stood stock-still, praying that she hadn’t been noticed. She stood only two meters away, just out of view down the long canvas corridor that connected her private quarters to the communal war tent. Finished with her rest, she had decided to rejoin Persephone to see whether she could coax the empress into telling her something that might be useful to the Inkai.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to hear such revelations as these. As she neared the war tent and heard the urgent conversation taking place there, she had immediately halted, then called a spell to cloak her endowed blood so that the empress and the First Tribune would not sense her presence.

  After Persephone and Lucius spirited Vespasian away, she stood in the canvas corridor, thinking. They would likely not return for some time, she guessed.

  Deciding to enter the war tent, with shaking hands she poured a cup of wine, then went to sit on one of the finely upholstered benches. She could not know how long she might have the luxury of being alone, and she would use every precious moment to think.

  What she had just overheard was vastly important, and the Inkai must be informed at once. She had found but one safe occasion to commune with them since that day in the Hall of Antiquity, using that instance to supply them with vital details regarding Vespasian’s advance. To her delight, she had been told that the Jin’Sai had finally reached Shashida.

  But the news that she had just stumbled across might be even more valuable, she realized, and the Inkai must be told straightaway. All she needed was another safe opportunity to do so, but when and where?

  Taking another sip of the excellent wine, she smiled to herself as she ended the spell cloaking her blood.

  CHAPTER XLI

  RENJIRO’S WORDS HIT TRISTAN LIKE A THUNDERBOLT. “Just as the Pon Q’tar did with Vespasian, we intend to imbue your blood signature with forestallments that have long been banned because they might literally mean the end of the world….”

  Renjiro’s mention of banned spells immediately reminded Tristan of his first visit to Crysenium and what the envoy Miriam had told him about the early days of the War of Attrition. She too had mentioned spells that had been banned from use by both sides of the conflict. As Tristan thought about it further, the pieces of Renjiro’s mysterious announcement fell into place. The sudden awareness was terrifying.

  The Pon Q’tar was about to take the struggle to the highest level. The only thing holding them back had been their need for an endowed person of supremely powerful blood whom the Shashidans could not effectively counter. With the birth of Vespasian they finally had one. And only Tristan’s blood was the supposed equal of the emperor’s.

  Tristan looked into Renjiro’s eyes. “It’s true, then—I’m the only one who can stop this,” he said. “The Pon Q’tar will try to take your gold because no matter what else happens, they still need the gold to keep their nation from falling apart. But afterward they will try to accomplish far more. They wish to destroy Shashida completely—to wipe its civilization from the face of the earth with one stroke. Using the banned spells, they mean to do with this one campaign what they have failed to achieve in aeons of relentless conventional war. You’re right, Renjiro. With Vespasian’s coming they finally have the ultimate weapon with which to realize their dreams.”

  A blank look on his face, Tristan sat back in his chair. “I beg the Afterlife,” he breathed. “Despite its disastrous consequences, it’s an i
nspired plan.” Suddenly something else occurred to him and he shot a quick glance at Mashiro.

  “Does Vespasian fully understand his role in all this?” he asked.

  Mashiro sadly shook his head. “We can’t be sure, but we have reason to doubt it,” he answered. “Our best guess is that he still believes that the entire battle plan concerns only taking the mines. If we’re right, the Pon Q’tar will tell him soon enough. We suspect that Vespasian’s blood already possesses these awful gifts, but that he remains unaware of them.”

  “Why would the Pon Q’tar not inform him?” Tristan asked.

  “Excuse me,” Wigg interjected. “Would someone please explain what you’re talking about?”

  A short smile crossed Tristan’s lips. “As you have been so fond of telling me over the years, you already have the needed information,” he answered. “You simply don’t understand how it all falls into place. I must say that it feels good to explain something to you for a change.”

  Wigg pursed his lips. “Then I suggest that you enlighten this simple old wizard and your Conclave privateer,” he said. Sitting back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “It all goes back to something Miriam told me in Crysenium before she and the other Envoys were killed,” Tristan answered. Before continuing he shot a questioning glance at Mashiro. “Am I right?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” the Inkai elder answered. “After all, I wasn’t there. Any time I know you speak in error I’ll humbly correct you, Jin’Sai.”

  “Fair enough,” Tristan answered.

  “And so?” Wigg eagerly pressed.

  Tristan looked back at the First Wizard. He took a deep breath, as if even he couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

  “I told the Conclave the things Miriam said to me about the early days of the War of Attrition,” Tristan said. “Surely you remember them.”

  Wigg nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “But it seems that you have taken those revelations a step further in meaning.”