by Vox Day
“All right, lad. We could use a good meal before we deal with those buggers at the bridge. How’d you catch them?”
“Dug up some worms and undid a link from my chain. Worked like a trick. This river must be so full of trout I’m surprised we can’t just walk over on their backs. I caught two before you even started snoring.”
“Smells good.” Lodi crouched over the riverbank and poured the remainder of the blood and gold into the rushing waters. “No sign of anything bigger than trout?”
“Nothing except that pike there,” Thorald said, pointing to a slender, evil-looking fish that was half again as long as the two trout still waiting to be put on the fire. “These look ready. I wish we had some oil though. Do you want that one?”
Lodi speared the fish with his knife, peeled back the blackened skin, and began eating the flaky white flesh inside. It was marvelous, and if it wasn’t the finest meal he’d ever eaten, it was perhaps the one he’d appreciated the most.
He was looking up at the night sky, thinking that tomorrow might not be such a terrible day to die, when there was a large splash right in front of him.
Thorald made a noise that was as close to screaming as it was possible for a dwarf to make and still call himself a dwarf.
“Lodi, what in the blackest name of the Deep Dark is that?” The young dwarf was pointing at an expanding circle that was rapidly flowing downriver and out of sight. Admittedly, it was a very large circle.
“That’s something splashing in the water,” Lodi said, suddenly feeling that luck might be back on their side. “Apparently something just a bit larger than your pike.”
The creature that made the splash suddenly popped up from the water not three armslengths away from him. Despite himself, Lodi very nearly let out a very undwarven sound. It had the head of a dwarf, only smaller, beardless, and more streamlined, the upper body of an elf, though more muscular, and its hips were covered in scales. Several feet behind it in the water, a tail lashed the water.
“What is that?” Thorald said in a hushed voice as the fish-creature pointed downriver and made weird clicking noises at them, punctuated by the occasional eerie screech.
Lodi ignored him and clicked back, albeit much more slowly and without any of the screeches.
The creature rocked back in the water, its dwarf-like features betraying shock, then dove down into the water and disappeared.
“You know how to talk to that thing?” Thorald said, incredulous.
But before he could answer, the wild mer reappeared. This time, it was calmer, and it cocked its head to one side as it stared at Lodi and clicked slowly at him. Lodi clicked back, and it beat its tail against the water in excitement. Lodi used his hand in a similar fashion. They were communicating! He offered it a piece of the cooked fish that had cooled off a little, and the mer wolfed it down in a single bite, revealing two rows of sharp, jagged teeth that looked as if they were capable of biting through a dragon’s hide.
Lodi pointed downriver. They exchanged some more clicks. And when it smiled, seemingly pleased, Lodi took a gold coin out of his pouch and gave it to the river monster. It fairly leaped backward, turned a somersault in the water, then surfaced again, clicking madly at him. It slipped into the current, and with one last flick of its tail, disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
“Were you bargaining with it?”
“You can bargain with everything except trolls and devils. Trolls are too stupid, and devils are too damn smart.”
“How can you bargain with a fish-man?”
“Well, he thought you were real pretty, so I offered you for its wife if he’d help us clear the bridge in the morning. I gave him the coin to make rings, so he’s off to fetch the priest now. He wants to make it all good and proper-like.”
“Lodi!”
Lodi chuckled. “Hey, I told you they loved gold. The mer got big kingdoms and all sorts of things going on under the sea. They say they got buildings even bigger than the ones men build in Amorr and Savonne. But they can’t smelt metal under the sea, what with it being wet and all, so precious metals are a particular rarity. They mostly get them from trade with sea elves or from shipwrecks. They love shipwrecks! But the river mer, they’re the wild ones, and there ain’t no shipwrecks in the rivers, so they’ll do just about anything to get their hands on some.”
“And he smelled it from that dust you put in the water?”
“Well, it was probably the blood that got his attention first. I just put the gold in to make him curious. They don’t get a lot of meat other than fish, and they’ve got noses like sharks.”
“What’s a shark?” Thorald said. “Anyway, I don’t understand how you can talk to them.”
“When I was a slave in Amorr, they had this huge stadium called the Colossus where they’d make us fight. Sometimes they’d fill the whole ground with water and bring in ships—to have naval battles, you know. Once, for one of the special ones, they brought in about a score of mer captured by fishermen. The mer fought real good and real clever, so I got to know two of them that survived the bout because we were owned by the same stable. I learned a few words.”
“Do you think he understands what you want?”
“Yeah, they’re probably smarter than gobbos and orcs. I think he got it, because most of the words I know have to do with fighting, us being fighting slaves and all. He’ll bring some others, and they’re going to attack the orcs at the bridge in the morning, so we need to be in position to run across.”
Thorald frowned, looking dubious as he put the remaining three fish on the coals. “Do you really think they’ll come? And how can they attack the orcs from the water?”
“You’ll see.” Lodi picked a little bone from his teeth and flicked it into the river. “They’ll be there because I promised him another coin and some fresh meat. No way they’ll want to miss out on that.”
“Meat? It’s already dark! How are we going to find any squirrels or deer now?”
“No need for that.” Lodi smiled grimly. “When we cross that bridge tomorrow, just be sure to throw an orc or two in the water for our new friends.”
AULAN
It was with more trepidation than relief that Aulan slid off his horse at the foot of the steep slopes of the Quinctiline and handed the reins to one of his father’s stable slaves. It was good to know that he wouldn’t have to spend another day in the saddle, fear his horse breaking down under their merciless pace, or get caught up in whatever plebian lunacy had caused the fires and destruction he’d seen riding through the Vicus Anser.
Still, he dreaded facing Patronus’s reaction to the news that the Valerian legion had escaped the traps set for it. Not being privy to his father’s plans, he had no idea if this was nothing more than a minor setback or a disaster that could trigger a civil war between the Houses Martial, but regardless, there was no chance that he would be pleased.
Aulan wasn’t much happier about the familiar climb uphill he now faced on legs that were bowed and aching from nearly two weeks on horseback. It had taken several generations of persistent effort, and ultimately an appointment as the pro-praetorial governor of Ptolus Trittica, for his great-great-grandfather to convince Quinctilius Quantuvis to sell him the great manor that now served as the heart of House Severus in Amorr. It held a commanding view of the western half of the city, one that was second only to that possessed by the Sanctiff in his palace atop the Viscusine. And while its location served as a useful reminder of Severan power to visiting clients and rivals alike, Aulan had come to loathe the tiring ascent from the base to the peak even as a child. Even if it weren’t for his reluctance to face his father, the long march uphill would have been very nearly the last thing he wanted to do.
“It’s not my fault,” he told himself as he removed his leather gloves and beat them against his thigh in a mostly fruitless attempt to shake some of the caked-on dust from them. “I wasn’t in command. I wasn’t even there, for the most part. And I didn’t have enough horse t
o hunt that damned legion without risk of being caught by their cavalry. Coming back here to give a few days’ warning was the only sensible thing to do!”
It had been the only sensible thing to do. He was sure of it. But if he was right, why had he spent most of the exhausting ride back to the city trying to convince himself? Why was he still trying to convince himself now? Perhaps, he thought, because in his place, Patronus would have simply stripped Falconius Buteo of his command and ordered the young Valerian tribune to surrender his legion by virtue of his own self-declared authority—and somehow it would have worked. Regulus, on the other hand, would have launched a bold, dashing, and suicidally insane attack with his badly outnumbered cavalry wing. In that case everyone, including their father, would praise his brilliant heroics despite the loss of all his men while accomplishing precisely nothing.
A pretty house slave’s double-take as he entered the front door and walked past her made him smile and helped distract him from his worries for a moment. She had the sort of dark, sensual eyes he hadn’t seen during several months in the north, and he made a mental note to discover her name in the unlikely event his father left him with his evening free.
He turned a corner, saw there was someone in the smaller of the mansion’s two triclinia, and frowned at whom he saw dining there. It wasn’t the sight of his older brother reclining on a coach that offended him, pompous ass though he was, but the six men with him whom he recognized as being men of the principalities, not the city. One of them might have even been a provincial, judging by the outlandish cloth cap he was wearing on his head as if he were some sort of jester.
“Have you turned merchant, then, Regulus?” Aulan asked, drawing himself to his full height and placing his hand on his sword hilt. “Or are you going considerably further afield these days in search of your debaucheries?”
“Aulan?” His brother’s eyes widened, and he was sufficiently startled for his eyes to sit upright with such suddenness that he upended a wooden cheese tray and sent its contents rolling across the marble floor. “Saint’s bones, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Falconius Buteo?”
Aulan scowled at his older brother, whose face was flushed with wine already though the sun was barely past its zenith. “I’m hardly going to discuss either House or legion business in front of your friends, Regulus. Who are they, and what are they doing here?”
“We are guests of your father, Lord Severus.” One man rose from the couch he was sharing with the man in the oversized cap and bowed to him. “Your lord brother has been kindly keeping us company as we wait for our audiences with the most noble princeps. I am Opelius Macrinus, and I am here representing the interests of the High Prince of Oscium, if it please you, my lord. Am I correct in understanding you are Aulus Severus, the younger?”
Aulan had no idea what the man was babbling about, nor was he pleased, but the idea that their presence here wasn’t Regulus’s fault did manage to penetrate the red fog of his irritation. And if they were indeed his father’s guests, then he had damned well better stop embarrassing himself. Even a son had no right to question the dominus of the household, still less if that dominus also happened to be the head of a patrician House.
“You are correct, sir. I apologize for my rudeness, Macrinus, and beg the pardon of you gentlemen, as well. I have been away from Amorr for some time with my legion and, as you can probably tell from the state of my attire, have only just now arrived in the city. I did not mean to be a bore.”
The Osciite and the other five men were quick to assure him that they had taken no offense and that it was indeed a veritable pleasure to make his acquaintance, however unexpectedly. And they were all obviously intrigued, Macrinus in particular, by the fact that Aulan was wearing leather armor bearing the unmistakable signs of a long and hurried journey. Given the practiced eye with which the Osciite looked him over, Aulan had little doubt that the man had identified him as a tribune and a knight.
He was tempted to ask the man what his business was that had brought him to the heart of House Severus, but resisted the urge, knowing that the attempt to pry would only make him look weak. And besides, if he cared to, he could learn it easily enough from his father or the one of the slaves later.
“Well, gentleman, if you don’t mind, I am eager to see my mother and sisters, so I shall take my leave of you now. Regulus, I imagine we shall see each other later.”
His brother waved a languid hand in dismissal. One of his reclining visitors sat up and poured yet more wine for him. It was just what Regulus needed, Aulan thought sourly. If they were lucky, he’d pass out before saying anything he shouldn’t.
“Lord Aulan,” he heard a familiar voice call.
He turned and saw Delmatipor, the majordomus, walking quickly toward him. The bald slave smiled broadly and held out his meaty arms to embrace him despite the immaculate white robes in which he was clad.
“Delma, your robes,” Aulan protested.
But the majordomus was having none of it.
“The laundry girls are too lazy anyhow,” he said, thumping Aulan’s back as he hugged him. “It’s good to see you back safely, boy. The household has been praying for you every night since we heard about the legion’s defeat in the north.”
Aulan grinned. Regulus was his father’s favorite and Tertius his mother’s, but he’d always been the closest to Delmatipor, the true master of the manor.
“Is it safe to assume you will profit from my return, Master Delma?”
“There may be a few guardsman who won’t be as delighted to see you as perhaps they should be, my lord.”
“I suppose it’s just as well I came home unannounced, then, isn’t it?”
Delmatipor only smiled and shook his head. “There’s no harm in it. You’ve been in the legions long enough now to know the way of it.”
He had a point, Aulan decided. “Yes, well, I suppose you must be right. It’s good to see you too, Master. Is my father here? And speaking of Father, who are those men drinking Regulus off his couch in the triclinium minus? Are they truly his guests?”
“I am afraid so, my lord.”
“What are they doing here?”
The majordomus spread his hands and shrugged. “I really couldn’t say, Lord Aulan. Your father trusts me to oversee his household, but he seldom confides in me with concerning Senatorial business, much less foreign affairs. Though I don’t think I would overstep myself to observe there have been a remarkable number of provincials passing through of late. If you’ll follow just me, I will take you to him, and you can ask him yourself.”
As they strode through the marble floored halls together, Aulan occasionally being welcomed home by slaves who recognized him, Delmatipor filled him in on the latest family gossip. He would not, however, reveal the name of the man Patronus had chosen as his sister’s betrothed, and Aulan’s curiosity grew with each stubborn shake of the majordomus’s head. The door of the scriptorium was closed, and to Aulan’s surprise, Delmatipor knocked rather than simply entering.
“We’ve had some unusual guests of late,” he replied in response to Aulan’s querying glance.
Aulan heard his father’s voice bark a less than courteous invitation to enter, and when the majordomus opened the door for him, he was astonished to see, seated across the desk from his father, a large man he had seen many times in the Forum, but one whom he would never have expected to make the arduous Quinctiline climb. He was too surprised to say anything, but fortunately, his father was nearly as surprised to see him.
“Aulan!” he exclaimed, rising from his chair. “You’re filthy, did you just arrive? You must have ridden hard—I only received your letter the day before yesterday. Delma, see that you make sure the boiler for the caldarium is stoked. I imagine he’ll be wanting to bathe soon.”
The other man had risen too. “You must be Severus Aulan,” he said, assessing him with the practiced eye of a former legionary commander.
“At your service, Senator.”
The big senator exchanged an amused glance with his father. “I take it he has not heard the happy news? You must address me as Magnus, my boy, as we are all but family now. Your sister will be marrying my youngest son, Sextus, in the spring.”
“That is…wonderful news indeed, Magnus. Please convey my sincere congratulations to your son.” Aulan managed to simultaneously smile and get the words out without either choking on them or glancing quizzically at his father. What the hell was he thinking, marrying Severa to a Valerian?
“Cool young customer, isn’t he?” remarked Magnus approvingly. “Patronus, if his commander can spare him an additional day or two, he might be the very one to seal the deal we were discussing.”
“Indeed,” his father commented noncommittally. “Aulan, did you bring any of your men?”
“A few,” he answered truthfully. He didn’t wish to mention in front of the head of House Valerius that in this case, a few happened to mean two squadrons. That would tend to raise serious questions as to why the legion to which those twenty men belonged were missing from their cavalry wing, and it wouldn’t take long for a well-connected retired general such as Valerius Magnus to find the answers.
“Consider it done,” Patronus promised Magnus.
Magnus had the good grace to bow slightly.
“Excellent. If your son has any interesting news of developments in the north, I should appreciate being informed of them at your earliest convenience. In the meantime, I will ensure that Sextus is on the tribunal ballot, as we agreed.”
“I rejoice to hear it” Patronus averred drily. “You will be at the next assembly?”
“I look forward to it, my lord princeps. Until then.”
“Until then.” Patronus gestured toward the majordomus. “Master Delmatipor will escort you to the gate, and if you should require anything further of House Severus, you have only to ask, Magnus.”
