by Vox Day
But no sooner had the blade struck home than it vanished in a cloud of stinking red smoke. The demonic kobold smiled, and the horrific smile widened as the monster began to laugh. It reached out and seized his shoulders in its outsized claws and began shaking him, methodically, rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, up and down, up and down.
“Corvus!” the terrible beast hissed at him. “Corvus, wake up!”
He blinked, and with a shrug of his shoulders, managed to break free of the hands that were pressing him down upon the bed, batting them away with the feeble remnants of his strength.
“Corvus, you were dreaming. Wake up now. He’s here to see you before he goes.”
“Romilia?” he asked, his heart still racing.
The curly tendrils of his wife’s dark hair were tickling his face as she leaned over him. She sat down on the bed beside him and stroked his cheek.
“Corvus, you need to get up now. He’s waiting for you.”
He groaned. Whatever spirits had been in that elven wine were now located somewhere behind his left temple, and they were not happy to be there. “Oh, good Lord, Romilia. Tell Nicenus I’m not seeing any clients today. He can tell them whatever he likes. Just make them go away!”
She leaned over and kissed him, her lips feeling soft and plump against his own. He reached for her.
But she only laughed and batted his arms away before leaping up from their bed.
“I thought that might wake you up. Now get out of bed and put some clothes on. Caius Vecellius is here to escort you to the Sanctal Palace. And Lucretius Siculus is here to see you. He said he’s leaving for Marcus’s legion today.”
“Siculus?” All thoughts of a morning dalliance vanished. “Did he say if anything is wrong? Did the Cynothii move against the XVIIth?”
“I have no idea,” she said as he slipped a tunic over his head. “I don’t think it’s an emergency, though. He seemed relaxed to me.”
And indeed, while Siculus was dressed for travel, the tribune’s only armor was his stained leather lorica. He wasn’t even wearing his sword. He was a legionary veteran and patrician whose path along the cursum honorum had been more of a leisurely stroll than a march. He stood eating a handful of figs liberated from the table in the triclinium and smiling at the pained expression on Corvus’s face as he stumbled awkwardly into the room with Romilia trailing rather more gracefully behind him.
“It would appear you sit uneasily upon the Eagle Chair, my lord consul aquilae.”
“Do shut up, Siculus,” Corvus groaned. “What possesses you to ride off in such haste? Is there word from any of the legates?”
“Nothing out of the usual. Scato is complaining again about a shortage of olive oil, and he says the quality of the last wine shipment from the Thursian merchant holding the contract has reached a new nadir. Apparently there is some dispute over which is the inferior vintage, the Thursian’s wine or this year’s horse piss. He also said the the signifers from four or five of the centuries anticipated running short of coin soon, so I’m bringing three chests of silver and another of gold with me to Aviglianus. Then I’ll ride east and join up with Marcus Saturnius. We’ll need to pay off our winter suppliers.”
“I assume you aren’t traveling alone?” Corvus asked. The ex-quastor was trustworthy enough, but they were hardly capable of defending such a treasure alone.
Siculus grinned. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to lug those heavy monsters around myself! No, a group of Petrines are bringing the winter supplies to one of their monasteries in Gorignia so I’ve arranged for us to travel with them, and we’ll meet a squadron from the VIIth there.”
Corvus nodded with approval. Although smaller and less renowned than their fraternal colleagues, the Order of Saint Peter was the oldest military order and was primarily comprised of ex-legionaries who had taken vows after retiring into the service of the Church. They were tough as the leather armor they wore, eschewing both steel and iron for reasons that Corvus had never understood. They were nigh on incorruptible, having little in the way of ambitions or material wants. The legion’s money would be safer in their company than in the banks of Amorr.
“So you know where Saturnius decided where to stow XVII for the winter?”
“Yes, at the castra strativa near Gallidromum. It’s a good choice, in my opinion. It should serve well as our primary base of operations in the spring.”
Corvus closed his eyes, attempting to envision the territory surrounding the northeastern province. He’d been over the map of it so often, he could see it almost as clearly as if it were spread out before him. “The castra at Gallidromum will hold two legions. Why doesn’t he bring another one up? That would be safer than leaving the other two in Vallyrium. Remember, that mounted infantry the Cynothii have can move faster than our infantry can march.”
“I know,” the strategist admitted. “But half of Caudinus’s men are out there somewhere, and we’ll need to find a place for them once they’re located. I imagine an amount of retraining will be in order too. Arvinus is the best praefectus in the three legions, and all the centurions of the XVIIth are fresh from training up their recruits last summer. In light of how they performed against the goblins, we can be sure they’ll do a good job with the XIVth, once we find them.”
“What will Saturnius do if he finds out they ran?”
The two men locked eyes for a moment, each daring the other to admit what neither wanted to say aloud.
Siculus shrugged.
“I don’t know if he can justify not decimating them,” he said quietly. “But if Caudinus lost three thousand, what do we gain from eliminating another three centuries worth? That’s half a cohort!”
Corvus shrugged. “I don’t know. Saturnius will think of something. If not, remind him that he knows what to do. The honor of the eagles must be preserved.”
Siculus nodded and was silent for a moment. Then he grinned. “Would the lord consul happen to have letters for any of his junior officers?”
“I do,” Romilia called from behind him. She slipped one arm around Corvus and extended a tightly rolled scroll with the other. “Tell my son to keep himself well-wrapped and warm, Gnaeus Lucretius. And tell him to stay away from those filthy women at the baths!”
The tribune laughed. “The men call him ‘Clericus,’ my lady, so I think you need not concern yourself overmuch with fears for his virtue. I happen to know he spends his free evenings reading in his tent, as he robbed me of the only book in my library!”
Corvus gripped the younger man’s forearm and clapped him loudly on the thick leather covering his shoulder. “Tell him the consul suffectus is following his career with interest and that I will see him in the spring. And keep your eyes open, Gnaeus Lucretius. Write me once someone finds Caudinus’s men, and tell me exactly what happened to Caudinus too. I won’t have anyone following his example.”
“Ave, my lord consul,” Siculus said mockingly as he gripped Corvus’s arm firmly in return. “You keep your eyes open too, General. You’ve made enemies of the first two men in Amorr. Be sure to make some friends as well.”
“If you’d been here with the clients yesterday, you’d know I have far more friends now than I ever wanted,” Corvus said with a rueful smile. “Now go, lad, and may God go with you.”
Siculus nodded, kissed Romilia twice, once on both cheeks, then turned and marched from the triclinium. They could hear the horses outside stirring as he rejoined his waiting men, mounted his horse, and rode off through the gate and over the cobblestones of the street.
“He’s a good man,” Romilia said. “But Lucius Andronicus was a good man too. Do you think Marcus Saturnius can defeat those northern barbarians?”
“He damned well better. He’s ten times the tactician that Caudinus was. And he’ll have three legions—three and one-half if you count the XIVth—to Caudinus’s one. I don’t doubt his ability to beat the Cynothii, but I am concerned that no one can seem to figure out where the rest of the bl
oody XIVth is. They can’t simply have vanished, and if there had been another battle anywhere near that province, I can’t imagine we wouldn’t have received word of it yet. But we will. The snows will start soon enough, and nothing is going to happen up there until the spring thaws anyway.”
She slid past him, slipped her arms around him, and pressed herself against him. “Well, I, for one, am delighted to hear that I’m actually going to have my husband keeping my bed warm in the winter for once. It’s one thing to be lonely during the summer, but in the winter, a woman gets cold!”
He ran his hands up her sides. She wriggled to escape his grasp, but he flexed his arms and held her fast. He leaned down to kiss her, and she kissed him back for a moment, hard, then used the moment of distraction to break free.
“Come back to bed,” he urged her, still holding one arm captive. “I’ll warm you up.”
“I’m not cold now!” she protested. “It’s a lovely day, and I have to go to the market. Valerilla is coming over this afternoon, and she’s bringing both the little ones. You haven’t even met her Decia yet. You were too busy gallivanting around the allied cities trying to find centurions for your new legion last spring when she was born.”
“Valerilla is here?” Corvus released his wife’s hand, delighted at the news.
He loved all his children, but he had a particular affection for his younger daughter, whose shy and sensitive personality had always stirred the protective side of his nature. He had given her to Gaius Decius Mus, the elder son of Publius Decius Mus, twice consul provincae, in exchange for a larger dowry than he could really afford as well as a collection of dire threats and apocalyptic vows if the man should ever so much as inspire her to tears. He need not have worried, though, as Gaius Decius, who served as curule aedile last year and was widely expected to win election as praetor two years hence, was slavishly devoted to his young wife and the two children she had already given him.
“Yes, she wasn’t planning to attend the Hivernalia. You know how she detests a crowd. But when she heard her darling papa was deigning to show his face in the city for once, she talked Mus into bringing the family back from his Clusian estate. I don’t know if Valerilla is a bad influence on him or if he simply can’t face the thought of enduring one more social event after having to put on all those games last year, but he’s been hiding out there ever since his year as aedile ended.”
“I can’t say I blame him.” Corvus snorted. He remembered his year as curule aedile and the job had made the legionary logistics look like a mere tutor’s exercise by comparison. His aedileship hadn’t been a disaster, but neither had it been a triumph, and it had put him deeply into a debt that only a very profitable campaign against the wealthy kingdom of Pharesiya, during which he captured and ransomed two of the heirs to the throne, permitted him to pay off six years ago. “Do you remember that time that Ilkubran merchant brought twelve lions to the house and left them with Nicenus? I was terrified he was going to quit my service.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed him. I was about ready to quit your service too. I was terrified one of them would get loose and eat the children before the beastmaster arrived to take them away. Now, speaking of children, you need to collect your little army of axemen and run off to the baths before you do anything. Your face needs shaving, and your daughter will be dreadfully disappointed if you don’t look like a proper consul when she arrives.”
“It’s good to know someone properly appreciates me,” Corvus said, laughing. Romilia wasn’t jealous of how close he was with their younger girl, but he knew Valerilla was a closed book to her and sometimes she felt a bit excluded. “Oh, and that reminds me! I brought something back for the children from Gorignia. They were in my saddlebags. Tell Nicenus that I’ll want them when I return.”
“You brought something back?” Romilia said suspiciously. “From Gorignia?”
“Yes, a real goblin war club for Gaius and a black wolfskin for Decia!”
“Oh, Corvus,” Romilia shook her head then pressed her forehead against his chest. He could feel, rather than hear, her laughing. “Only you would think those are suitable toys for babies. Please tell me you at least cleaned all the blood and all the other nasty bits off it.”
“The wolfskin or the club?”
“Both!” She kissed him, then pushed him away. “I’ll tell Nicenus to have one of the girls clean them again while you’re gone. Now get yourself dressed properly and be on your way, my lord consul. And tell Captain Vecellius to arrest anyone who tries to detain you on your way back. Your daughter is desperate to see you.”
The great bell was just ringing for the second time when Corvus strode into the White Palace, followed by Vecellius and his axe-bearers. The Sanctal guards stood aside at his approach, their demeanor entirely different than the last time he’d been here. They lined the corridors, one positioned every twenty paces or so, and their white cloaks over their bleached leather armor made them look like statues as he marched past them. It wasn’t customary for the Senate to meet in the Sanctal throne room, but then, this was no common meeting of the Senate.
The doors to the great chamber stood open, and he could see that most of his fellow Senators were already seated in a grand semicircle facing the central dais. The three consular seats had been arrayed upon it, below an elevated platform upon which rested the great gold-and-ivory Sanctal throne, nearly twice the size of the three below it. Like his own Eagle Chair, it was unoccupied—although not for long, God be praised. A new Sanctiff would go a long way toward keeping the unruly city from devolving into too much chaos during the winter festival. His two colleagues were already seated, although the blue-robed celestines for whom the first rows were reserved were not.
He nodded at several of his clients and other aquaintances as he walked down the length of the central aisle. But he nearly stumbled and broke his stride when he saw who was seated in the front row next to the princeps senatus on the right side of the aisle, across from the princes of the Church.
It was his brother, Magnus. He was deep in conversation with Severus Patronus, of all people. Their heads were so close they were almost touching, he saw to his astonishment. Unlike the last time Corvus had seen him, his brother was clean-shaven, but his face was still drawn, as if he had not eaten in several days. But what was he doing seated next to the man who had been his chief political rival, if not outright enemy, for more than ten years?
Well, he wasn’t going to find out now. Corvus looked quickly away, not wishing either to meet his brother’s eyes or to draw undue attention to the unholy union of House Severus and House Valerius that appeared to be taking place. As his escort smoothly split in two and moved to join their counterparts ringing the dais, he mounted the stairs then nodded to Titus Manlius and Marcus Fulvius before turning around and seating himself in the Eagle Chair. No sooner had he sat down than the doors to the chamber closed and the celestines, most of them white-bearded and stooped with age, were helped to their seats by the four young senators charged with assisting them.
Patronus rose and declared the Senate in session. He then sat down again, and an elderly celestine took his place between the platform and the assembly—the cerulengus, if Corvus interpreted the gold stripe on his sky-blue robe correctly. He raised his hands and the senators fell silent. This had not been the first intersanctum in the history of the Republic, but neither the Senate nor the People were comfortable without a Holy and Sanctified Father to guide them, and perhaps more importantly, to intercede with the Immaculate on their behalf.
“Immaculate, Son of Man, Son of God, most holy and perfect Savior of Mankind, we pray You hear our call!” The cerulengus’s voice echoed throughout the chamber despite his age. “We follow You, You who are both God and Man, who left Your first estate and became flesh so that Man might know and see and hear and touch the Eternal and Almighty God. You lived, You healed, You loved, You taught, and yet You were betrayed and hung upon a Tree for the wickedness of Man. But just as Death could
not hold You, and You rose again to life eternal, so we now raise up a Man to stand in Your stead and guide Your Most Holy and Sanctified Church in, but not of, this Fallen Earth.”
When the cerulengus returned to his seat, Patronus rose again and stood before the dais, facing out toward the rows of senators. “City Fathers, I bring you the best of news: By the grace of God and the mercy of Our Immaculate Savior, the Sacred College has spoken with one voice. We have a Sanctiff!”
A great cheer went up from the assembled Senate.
“Who is it?” Corvus whispered to Torquatus.
“A Falconian, Valens,” the consul civitas leaned toward him and replied. “It’s unexpected. He’s young, not even fifty. After an impasse of this length, they usually compromise on the oldest goat in the flock in the hopes that he’ll need a successor before long.”
“A Falconian…well, at least it’s not a Crescentius or a Colonna.”
“Or Severan,” Torquatus shook his head.
There came a thunderous blaring of horns. The double doors swung open, and the new Sanctal nominee, Falconius Valens, entered the throne room. He was preceded by the Grand Masters of the four knightly orders, the Priest-Captain of the Redeemed, and two other tall, stiff-backed men of martial appearance whom Corvus assumed to be the commanders of the Sanctal Guard. He was followed by a phalanx of twenty-one archbishops, all wearing towering white mitres and sky blue mantels over their white vestments As one, the Senate rose to its feet and began to applaud, including Corvus and his two colleagues.
In contrast to the splendor that surrounded him, Falconius Valens was clad in nothing more than an unadorned white robe, and he walked barefoot over the crimson carpet that led to the dais. But he stood out like a bird among butterflies and looked all the more noble for his humble attire. He was so tall that his head was nearly on a level with the top of the mitres worn by some of the shorter archbishops, and his short, neatly-trimmed beard accentuated, rather than concealed, his fine, aristocratic features. If there was no palpable sense of holiness surrounding him, neither was there the vague impression of frivolty his predecessor had occasionally conveyed.
