Torien sat up slowly against the doorpost. “Yes. Mahlan?”
The boy dipped his chin, very slightly, not lowering his eyes.
“Where is your sister?”
“She fishes the point. It is the best time—after the rain.” The boy’s eyes were unblinking on Torien’s face. “You are Alluin’s friend?”
“One of them. You met Alluin?”
“They say we go free if we fight. If we do not fight, then we stay in the mines. I tell them I fight.” The boy shrugged. “They say to me, ‘guard the prisoners.’ Alluin he asks my name. He tells me he see my sister in Modigne.” His eyes went to Torien’s hands and lingered there, keenly. “He tells me the oath you make.”
Torien leaned forward, tugging off his glove. He held out his hand palm-up over the fire for the boy to see. The scar was a thin white line under the calluses on his palm. “Justice,” he said, “or else my life in the attempt—and my soul if I broke my word. Blood is holy, Cesini say, so a blood oath binds body and soul.” He slid the glove back on. His throat was tight. “Mahlan,” he said, “tell me if Alluin is alive.”
The boy dipped his chin again. “They give the officers as blood-prizes to the clan chiefs. They kill the commoners.”
“Where is he?”
“The Mayaso chieftain she takes him. He is in the camp of the Mayasi. I swear to him I get him out. I, too, do not break an oath.” The boy’s chin came up, proudly. “We run from them two days. Then his friend he finds us in the desert.”
“His friend.”
“His friend the signo. He takes us to the fort.”
“Had he a scarred face—this signo?”
“There is a scar here.” The boy touched his right cheekbone. “Like the mark of an iron.”
“He wasn’t at the mines?”
“He comes from the fort.”
It had been the signo, then, carrying word to Chareste that the mines were lost. Alluin, of course, had stayed. Alluin, by reason of his officers’ oath, had stayed and waited to die with the rest of the garrison—Alluin, whom he had left to die for no reason at all, because Aidar had never had any intention of holding a truce.
“You didn’t see the fort fall,” he said.
The boy shook his head, once. “Alluin he sends me home.”
“Alone?”
“He sends the signo with me. It is almost two weeks.”
“He’s here—the signo, I mean?”
“He goes with the soldiers on the ships to Istra.”
Through the doorway, Torien could see the last of the sunlight running up the hill. They would be awaiting his orders in the camp on the flatland. He sat up on his knees and poured a handful of eagles from his wallet into his palm. He held it out to the boy over the fire. “For what you’ve told me.”
“I do not tell it for your coin. I tell it because you are Alluin’s friend.”
There was the same stubbornness in the boy’s face that he remembered in the girl’s. He did not press it. He slid the coins back into the wallet. “Give my greetings to your sister,” he said.
He rode down to the waterfront. They had fired the beacon at the point. He could see the looming black shapes of the troop ships at anchor off the quay, and the nothingness beyond, all the way to Tasso. The sun was gone down over the sea-line and the Wolf risen hard and bright above the strait, the sky bruised purple now with dusk.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Torien’s world, the world of the Vareno Empire, borrows from the Christianized Roman world of Late Antiquity, but it should not be read as an exact analogue. Readers will correctly note that Varen, the political and cultural capital of the Empire, is modeled on Roman Italy—but that actually knocks the first hole in a strict analogical reading, because by the time Christianity reached the sort of dominance in the Roman world that Torien’s monotheistic religion enjoys in the Vareno world, the political center of the Roman Empire had long since pivoted away from Rome. Once we move beyond the borders of Varen, the analogy starts breaking down completely.
In short, the problems of Torien’s world—violence and injustice, racial and cultural prejudice, class and ethnic tensions—are not the problems of one particular historical moment, and should not be read as such. But they should resonate as real-world problems, just the same—maybe all the more strongly, since they can’t be relegated neatly to the past.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks, first of all, to my family—Dad, Mom, Nathan, Elizabeth, Imogen, Meg, Zeke, Isaiah. Thank you for your support and good humor and longsuffering, and for doses of reality when I needed them. Special thanks to Mom, Zeke, and Isaiah for slogging through early drafts and giving me invaluable feedback. Mom, I hope you can someday forgive me for leaving Alluin to the jackals.
Thanks to my critique partner Mary Johnson, for your steadfast encouragement, your insights, your patient responses to late-night emails, and most of all for your enthusiasm for this story.
Thanks to Akiko Oshimizu, for always wanting the next chapter. Sorrynotsorry that you missed your subway stop.
Thanks to my agent, Lane Heymont, and to Georgia McBride and the team at Month9Books, for believing in this story even when I didn’t.
Thanks to the em dash—I couldn’t have done this without you.
Thanks to the wonderful community of readers, writers, editors, bloggers, and otherwise bookish people—friends, “real-life” and online—who have helped and encouraged me along the way: Maureen Eichner, Louise Bates, Alyssa Hollingsworth, Elizabeth Buege, Angela Goff, Eric Martell, Daniel Swensen, Hazel West, Amira Makansi, Sarah Hawkins, Mat Meyer. (And thanks to The Twitter, for bringing so many of us together in the first place—what a fascinating modern age we live in.)
I’d be remiss not to acknowledge the huge debt of gratitude I owe to the teachers who instilled my love of history and literature (and showed me how they fit together)—to Mom, again, for raising a bookworm; to Hélène Ranwez, the only one who’s ever succeeded in making me enjoy Shakespeare; to Eric Miller, Professor of History at Geneva College, not only for helping me to understand the importance of stories, but for challenging me to think about the way we tell them and why. My thanks, likewise, to the faculty of the departments of History and Political Science at the University of West Georgia—particularly to Michael de Nie, Timothy Schroer, Daniel K. Williams, Nadejda Williams, Robert Schaefer, and J. Salvador Peralta, each of whom has shaped me as a reader and as a writer.
And, finally—
Non nobis, Domine, non nobis,
sed nomini tuo da gloriam.
Character List
In Modigne
Torien Risto, a newly commissioned commander in the Imperial army
Alluin Senna, Torien’s adjutant and best friend
Lida, a Modigno girl
Mahlan, Lida’s brother
The mother of Lida and Mahlan
Salvo Briule, commander of the Imperial Guard garrison
Aregne, Briule’s adjutant
Jovan, a priest of the Hospitaller Order
Antoni, a priest of the Hospitaller Order
Brevade, a Modigno jente
Sagrado, a Modigno jente
In Tasso
Espere, commander of the Imperial fort
Tarrega, Espere’s adjutant
Chareste, a lieutenant at the fort
Savio, a corporal at the fort
A signo from Puoli
Nerix, a signo
Miro, a signo
A chieftain of the Mayaso tribe
Aidar, a watch captain of the Asano tribe
Idran, chieftain of the Asano tribe
Pallo Espere, Commander Espere’s son, a lieutenant in the Imperial army
Stratto, an Imperial Guardsman
Valle, an Imperial Guardsman
Ædyn, a Cesino slave
In Choiro
Chæla Ceno, a courtesan
Vaiz,
Chæla’s bodyguard
Maris Pavo, High Commander of the Imperial Guard
Vigo, a lieutenant in the Imperial Guard
Alvero Senna, an Imperial senator, Alluin’s father
Tarchin Berion, the prince, heir apparent to the Imperial throne
Fiere, commander of the Imperial fort at Vione
Lucho Marro, an Imperial senator
Blood Road Pronunciation Guide
Characters
Ædyn – AY-dihn
Aidar – IY-dahr
Alluin Senna – AH-loo-ihn SEH-nuh
Alvero – ahl-VEH-roh
Antoni – AHN-toh-nee
Anzo Chareste – AHN-zoh kah-REH-stay
Aregne – ah-REHN-yay
Berioni – beh-ree-OH-nee
Brada – BRAH-dah
Brevade – breh-VAH-day
Chæla Ceno – KAY-luh CHAY-noh
Dio Valle – DEE-oh VAH-yay
Espere – eh-SPEH-ray
Fiere – fee-EH-ray
Fihar – FEE-hahr
Idran – EE-drahn
Iolano – ee-oh-LAH-noh
Jovan – JOH-vahn
Lida – LEE-dah
Lucho Marro – LOO-koh MAH-roh
Mahlan – MAH-lahn
Maris Pavo – MAH-rihs PAH-voh
Miro – MEE-roh
Montegne – mohn-TEHN-yay
Muryn – MUHR-ihn
Nerix – NEHR-ihks
Nico Briule – NEE-koh bree-OO-lay
Pallo – PAH-loh
Patra – PAH-truh
Raniere – rah-nee-EH-ray
Sagrado – sah-GRAH-doh
Salvo – SAHL-voh
Savio – SAH-vee-oh
Sere Moien – SEH-ray MOI-ehn
Serro – SEH-roh
Stratto – STRAH-toh
Taigo – TIY-goh
Tarrega – tah-RAY-guh
Taure – TOW-ray
Tauren – TOW-rehn
Torien Berio Risto – TOH-ree-ehn BEH-ree-oh REE-stoh
Vaiz – VIY-eez
Vigo – VEE-goh
Places
Alchys – AHL-kihs
Apulano – ah-poo-LAH-noh
Arondy – AH-rohn-dee
Baralla – bah-RAH-yuh
Breche – BREH-kay
Cesin – cheh-ZEEN
Charys – KAH-rihs
Choiro – KOI-roh
Civiparro – chih-vee-PAH-roh
Ebre – EHB-ray
Epyris – eh-PEE-rihs
Gola – GOH-luh
Gorazo – goh-RAH-t~hoh
Gracha – GRAH-kuh
Inumæ – ih-NOO-may
Istra – EE-struh
Kabira – kah-BEE-ruh
Manola – mah-NOH-luh
Modigne – moh-DEEN-yay
Nona – NOH-nuh
Puoli – poo-OH-lee
Salina – sah-LEE-nuh
Seragno – seh-RAHN-yoh
Tasso – TAH-soh
Varen – vah-REHN
Vessy – VEH-see
Vienta – vee-EHN-tuh
Vione – vee-OH-nay
Volenta – voh-LEHN-tuh
Demonyms and people groups
Asani – ah-SAH-nee
Asano – ah-SAH-noh
Brycigi – brih-CHEE-gee
Brycigo – brih-CHEE-goh
Cesini – cheh-ZEE-nee
Cesino – cheh-ZEE-noh
Charysi – kah-REE-see
Dobryni – doh-BREE-nee
Dobryno – doh-BREE-noh
Epyrian – eh-PEER-ee-uhn
Mayasi – mah-YAH-see
Mayaso – mah-YAH-soh
Modigno – moh-DEEN-yoh
Puolian – poo-OH-lee-uhn
Salino – sah-LEE-noh
Tassoan – tah-SOH-uhn
Vareni – vah-RAY-nee
Vareno – vah-RAY-noh
Volenti – voh-LEHN-tee
Other
Acetum – ah-CHEH-toom
Adienta -- ah-dee-EHN-tuh
A Valle perdoname ar’ordenone meo s’ie revaia – ah VAH-yay pehr-DOH-nah-may ahr-OHRD-eh-noh-nay MAY-oh SEE-ay reh-VIY-ah.
Bayas – VIY-ahs
Chi – kee
Chirone – kee-ROH-nay
Cobarte – koh-BAHR-tay
Cuenta – koo-EHN-tah
Galleno – gah-YAY-noh
Jente – HEHN-tay
Linta – LEEN-tah
Na bayas o – nah VIY-ahs oh
Quedas – KAY-dahs
Sente – SEHN-tay
Signi – SEEN-yee
Signo – SEEN-yoh
Signone – seen-YOH-nay
AMANDA McCRINA
Amanda McCrina was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia. She received her BA in History and Political Science from the University of West Georgia. She lives in Madrid, Spain, where she teaches middle- and high-school English at an international school. She writes stories that incorporate her love of history, languages, and world travel. She drinks far too much coffee, and dreams of one day having a winning fantasy-hockey season.
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Table of Contents
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Character List
Pronunciation Guide
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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