Then Syri found the magic. Seeing her crafted physical shields rise around her, fluctuate larger and smaller, and then drop again was an odd experience, as if Toria’s own hand moved without her control.
Syri couldn’t contact Kane on her own. At most, they might have held a polite conversation in passing at the Twilight Mists. And that was an optimistic guess. On her own, Syri would have no way to sense Kane from here to the Roman encampment, not without knowing Kane’s magical signature the intimate way Toria did.
So Syri would use Toria’s magic to find Kane. A sneaky way of getting around the curse, but it worked. Toria opened her mind even more, letting Syri explore what it meant to be a warrior-mage. Elven magic was dissimilar from human magic. She couldn’t compare the two. They might not even fall on the same spectrum. Double-edged blade. A nudge in one direction, and Syri would have access to every iota of talent and knowledge Toria possessed. A slip in the other direction, and Syri could crush Toria’s mind, overwhelming it with her own power.
Or Syri could fall all the way in, leaving her body an empty husk while Toria gained an unwilling second personality.
No wonder Syri had snapped at her to remain still. Toria wouldn’t want to share a brain with herself either.
“Whoa!” After cutting the truck’s engine, Max put both hands in the air, and Sethri followed suit. He left the headlights on to keep the surrounding soldiers illuminated. “What’s the big idea? We’re just here to talk.”
After slipping the stiletto beneath her sleeve, Victory raised her hands in the air, too. “Tell Octavian that Toria Connor sent us,” she said, pitching her voice to carry out Max’s window. “He should be expecting us.”
The first soldier traded a look with the other standing beside him, who was armed with a longbow. “The general told us to expect tricks,” he said, his gladius steady.
Victory bit her tongue. What tricks? They were the ones who took her sire and adopted son. They were the ones who hurt her daughter.
With his smooth voice made even more soothing, Sethri tried again. “My name is Alexander Sethri. I represent Limani’s ruling council. We have come to discuss recent events in hopes of coming to a diplomatic solution. I can assure you that we travel alone, armed for personal defense.”
He was good, Victory gave him that. If this party had consisted of only her and Max, the mayhem would have already begun. She appreciated his steady presence.
“We’ll have to disarm you if you want to talk to the general.” The gladius lowered a handful of inches.
“That is to be expected,” Max said. “I’m sure the general and I can understand each other.”
At a gesture from his partner, the second soldier lowered his bow and took off at a jog through the darkness. “Now will you get out of the truck?”
Max looked back over his shoulder. Oh, now he wanted her to decide? “Might as well,” she said. “How else are we going to talk to Octavian?”
Taking the lead, she switched the lock and pushed the door open. If they changed their minds and shot her, the odds of them piercing her heart directly were slim. She’d get back up again. She stepped out with her hands in front of her, slamming the door shut again with a small hip bump. The two soldiers who covered her resheathed their swords when she got out—a good sign. “I have a knife at my right wrist and my sword at my waist,” she said. She would neglect to tell them of the ankle dagger unless it looked like they might perform a physical search.
“May we have those, then?” Good, it looked like they planned to take the polite route. One of her new friends held out his hands, and she snapped the stiletto into her palm. After handing the knife over, she unbuckled the scabbard from her waist. His partner took that, and she managed to relinquish it with just slight hesitation. Unlike Toria’s magical attachment to her rapier, Asaron taught Victory to treat her sword like a tool, nothing more. But centuries of use created a certain amount of fondness. She hoped she would see it again.
If things went to hell, she would need it.
Max also stepped out of the vehicle to relinquish his own small arsenal to the waiting soldiers. “Careful with that, now,” he said, handing over his entire belt to the young man who first stopped them.
“I think we know how to handle weapons,” he said, looping the belt around his arm and holding the bottom of the sword for balance. “We are trained soldiers, mercenary.”
Victory waited for the explosion. Max might be a laid-back guy most of the time, but the value of mercenary work versus formal soldiering was one of his more touchy points.
From the other side of the truck, Sethri called out a warning. “Max...” The soldiers around them tensed, and hands drifted once again toward weapons.
But Max laughed, clapping the soldier in front of him on the shoulder. “So you are, kid. One pointer though: next time a potential foe hands over his weapons, walk a few steps away so he can’t take them right back from you.”
The soldier’s eyes widened, and he ducked from under Max’s hand to follow his suggestion. Tension broken, the surrounding soldiers chuckled at their fellow’s expense. Things would be fine. Max knew soldiers. He had been a Guild trainer in New Angouleme before relocating to Limani. Victory was too out of touch with that world these days. With any luck, they would avert this whole mess, and she could keep things that way.
Another soldier escorted Sethri around to their side of the truck, and he stood between Max and Victory. Smart man. Even sans physical weapons, they were still lethal. One soldier rifled through Sethri’s briefcase, but returned it to him after assuring himself it contained no weapons.
The runner returned, emerging from the darkness behind the bobbing beam of a flashlight. After regaining a bit of breath, he said, “The general has agreed to see you. His pavilion is just over the bridge. If the three of you will follow me?”
Max reached through the truck window to switch off the headlights. Save for the flashlight, the surrounding area descended into darkness. If this had been a hostile mission, it would have been Victory’s cue to act. For a few seconds, she had the advantage over all present.
But this wasn’t a hostile mission. Victory placed her hand into the crook of Sethri’s elbow, quietly alerting Max that she would take responsibility for the civilian. Max stepped behind the soldier and gestured for him to lead the way.
The remaining men fell in loose formation around them while they walked down the road. Around a bend, and the river spread in front of them. The water here was wider and deeper, the current stronger. An ancient metal and concrete bridge spanned the river, remnant of the time before the Last War. Now it was the sole physical link between Limani and Roman territory.
And they planned to use it for their invasion.
“Are you that Victory?” A solder next to her broke the silence.
The man behind them shushed him, but Victory said, “Yes, I imagine I am.”
“My great-grandfather fought with you in Castille during the Battle of the Straits.” He gave her a lopsided shrug. “He would always end the story by telling us how beautiful you were. He is right.”
That twist left her a bit speechless, but Max took up the slack. “Oh yes, she’s quite lovely with a sword in her hand. It’s the dresses you have to watch out for.”
“Says the man who takes his own sword out on more dates than he does women.” More of the soldiers around them attempted to hide snorts of mirth.
She took a good look at the soldier next to her, noting the dusky skin and almond eyes marking those descended from the southern portion of Hispania. She looked similar, but her now pale skin took more of an olive tint—Asaron had found her in Aragonia, the northern part of the peninsula.
The Castillans lost the Battle of the Straits, almost a hundred years ago. It led to the eventual absorption of both it and Aragonia into the Roman Empire.
&n
bsp; It was the final straw before she fled to the New Continent and Limani. It was a miracle that this soldier had a great-grandfather live to tell such stories after that battle. Had she been human, she would have died any number of times in that long fight.
When they approached the bridge, more armed Romans came into view stationed around its base. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had also wired it with explosives. That was how the Romans fought. Octavian proved things hadn’t changed when he attacked Toria this afternoon.
Victory brushed those thoughts from her mind when they stepped from dirt and sand onto concrete. No time to get riled up over past bloodshed. And while Octavian threatened Toria and prevented her from following him, he’d done no lasting harm. Who knew, maybe the curse she seemed to be suffering under was nothing more than a side effect of her separation from Kane. Nobody knew exactly how the warrior-mage bond worked, least of all her.
She crossed the bridge holding her head high. From this vantage point, she could see the numerous campfires spread through the woods on the opposite side of the river. Those trees held the missing members of her family.
“Hey.” She touched the soldier next to her on the arm, capturing his full attention. In a low voice, she said, “Maybe you can help me out.”
“Depends on what it is,” he said.
“Two of my friends are being held here,” she said. “We’re worried about them.”
“Yeah, the kid and the other vampire. I saw them yesterday.”
“And?”
Giving his fellows darting looks, the soldier stepped closer to her. “I didn’t get to talk to them or anything, but they looked okay. Quiet, mostly.”
Waves of relief washed across her. Toria would be even more ecstatic. Now they knew the prisoners were held here and hadn’t been transported farther south. Excellent news.
He pulled away, returning to marching attention. They’d reached the end of the bridge. This side was in much worse shape, having lost its gentle slope up from the land and instead ending in a sheer drop. The group dispersed into a single line to climb down the rickety wooden ramp.
A handful of floodlights came on all at once, lighting the base of the bridge in fluorescent brilliance. Victory shielded her eyes with a gasp, and Sethri caught her elbow before she lost her balance. But she recovered quickly, blinking away the afterglow.
These Romans moved fast. Military efficiency had improved over the past hundred years. Soldiers scurried about, setting up tables and chairs under an open-sided pavilion at the tree line.
The party stopped and waited until preparations were complete. Victory tried to catch her new friend’s attention, but he’d found himself a place on the other side of the group. That was okay. She had the information she’d been hoping for. Digging for more might cause trouble.
On an unspoken signal, the setup crew faded back into the trees, and the soldiers escorted them forward to the pavilion. Sethri took the seat in the middle of the three arrayed on one side of the long table. Victory took her cue from Max, and he solved the problem by taking the seat on the right. She placed herself on Sethri’s left, flipping aside her long coat to sit, and the three settled in.
With little fanfare, an older soldier approached the pavilion, emerging from the dark trees flanked by two bodyguards. He wore a fancier uniform than the various styles of fatigues and forest garb his subordinates sported, but little in the way of medals or ribbons. Victory recognized the single immediate sign of rank: the small bronze eagles pinned to his collar. A general, though not the highest rank she’d ever seen. He still might be the most experienced in the colonies, evidenced by his blond hair silvering at the temples, despite his apparent age. About the same age as Max, she guessed.
So this was the man who assaulted and threatened her daughter. Not much to look at. She could take him, but alas, now was not the time.
Sethri stood when Octavian reached them, though neither she nor Max followed suit. Both men clasped hands over the table, but it didn’t look like either sank to the level of trying to best grips. She already knew Sethri was too professional for such a thing, though it raised Octavian’s status in her mind. But not by much.
“Welcome. I’m General Julius Octavian. Please, have a seat.” Both men did so, and another officer sat next to Octavian.
He gave Victory a small nod, and she returned it with no more than a thin smile. Let Sethri play at making friends. She was too busy not lunging across the table and ripping Octavian’s throat out.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Sethri said. “I’m Head Councilman Alexander Sethri, representing the interests of the city Limani and its denizens. With me are Mercenary Guildmaster Maximilian Asher and Master of the City Victory.”
Ah, her pointless title, when the majority of the time she was the sole vampire living in Limani. She’d never felt default counted. Sethri was pulling out the big guns tonight. It worried her that he felt he needed them.
Now Octavian smiled, a big grin filled with warmth. Victory didn’t buy it for a second. “An honor. Your reputations precede you.”
“Yes, we are quite fond of our more famous residents,” Sethri said. “But they’ve accompanied me as fellow councilmembers. I believe we have much to discuss tonight.”
“I completely agree,” Octavian said. “For instance, the attack staged against my men two nights ago.”
“Attack?” Sethri traded looks with Max and Victory, but she had no idea what Octavian was talking about either. “Are you referring to the incident that resulted in two Limani citizens being taken prisoner by your men?”
“I am.” Octavian took the slip of paper his aide handed to him. “Mr. Asaron and Mr. Nalamas trespassed on Roman territory. They are also responsible for killing one of my men and severely injuring two more.”
A surge of pride filled Victory. Toria hadn’t known how much damage they caused, but she knew her guys wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Since when has crossing the Agios River constituted trespass?” Sethri lifted his briefcase onto the table and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “According to the trade agreements established in 2094, passage between lands was unrestricted to travelers by foot, horseback, or small vehicle with no goods intended for sale. I’ve marked the passage here.”
He began to hand it to Octavian, but the general brushed it away. “Thank you. We have our own copies.”
“So what has changed?” Sethri set the papers on the table. “And what can we do to reach a peaceful solution to whatever problem there is?”
“Let me give it to you straight,” Octavian said. “You are aware of the change in command in Roma?”
“The Emperor is dead, yes,” Sethri said. “And that the new Emperor is not one the senators approve of.”
Now Asaron’s inside information from down south would come in handy. Victory awaited Octavian’s response to that one. They would see where the man fell in the political game, and then they would have more influence over the situation. Sethri might be the expert, but she’d been around longer.
“The new Emperor is the old one’s nephew, yes,” Octavian said. “Benedictus is...an interesting character.”
Considering the Emperor was the official head of the Roman military, it made sense for Octavian not to speak out against him. But Victory perked up when the general did not jump to his immediate defense.
“Tell me, one soldier to another,” she said. “How much military experience does this Benedictus have, anyway?”
“He is a decorated admiral in the Roman Navy,” Octavian’s aide said. “And graduated from the Venetian Military Academy in the top third of his class.”
“We all know the royals get commissions when they’re barely out of diapers,” Max said. “Titles and medals don’t tell us how much experience he has.”
While the aide looked paine
d, Octavian relented. “The new Emperor is nineteen years old. To my knowledge, his stints aboard a warship have been nothing more than pleasure cruises.”
Now they were making progress. “I understand that,” Victory said. “Especially since military experience has never been a prerequisite for emperorship like it is for the prime minister position in Britannia.”
“But that still doesn’t explain why all of a sudden he seems to want Limani,” Sethri said.
Now Octavian clammed up. Stalemate. Victory’s turn again.
“The latest rumors from Fort Caroline,” she said, “were that your new emperor needs to prove his worth and make a name for himself.”
The aide’s expression grew icy, but Octavian remained aloof. “The emperor merely has plans for expansion.”
His own voice cold to match, Sethri said, “Have the British been consulted regarding these plans? One of the major clauses of the Revised Treaty of 2072 insists Limani remain an independent city-state.”
“I feel it only fair that we know what the Romans have ceded to the British in return for our lands,” Max said.
“The Empire of Roma has ceded nothing,” Octavian said. “To my knowledge, the British have not been consulted.”
Time to break out her knowledge of the Roman political structure. “What does the Senate have to say about the emperor’s actions?” Victory said. “Don’t they have to approve major military offensives?”
“To my knowledge,” Octavian said again, his voice more hesitant now, “the Senate has approved all of the Emperor’s plans currently being enacted.”
More than anything else she had encountered or heard in the past few days, that statement chilled Victory’s already cool blood. A truism that had held solid for centuries stated that if you wanted a good plan to be destroyed without bloodshed, give it to the Roman Senate to pick over. She caught Max’s eye behind Sethri’s head. She read his visible shock and imagined she looked much the same.
Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) Page 20
