by Matt Russell
Along their rows, the men were perfectly still. Cassian picked up sounds and images from various minds within the group, most of which involved imagining fighting with mystically enhanced strength and speed. Some were anticipating growing rich under the future emperor’s command. Others were thinking about becoming the moral paragons described in the speech. Whatever their motivations, not a single man moved.
"I see," said Cassian with a soft chuckle, letting his voice carry all over. "So be it then." The thing was done, just like that.
"SOLDIERS!" he yelled, and three hundred and fifty bodies stiffened and stood taller. "We will begin drilling at sunrise. Set your gear at the ready. I will expect you out of your tents, dressed, armed, and in exact formation within six minutes of when you hear the horn. Do not come late, and do not come to me with excuses. Is that clear?"
There was a resounding "YES, SIR!" The men cried in near perfect unison.
"Excellent!" Cassian shouted, gazing around at what would soon be his elite, personal army. His heart, still numb from Dimitris's death, felt a tremble of excitement. His destiny had truly begun.
Chapter 22:
A Sister’s Determination
Livia felt a deadness in her heart as Hervin drew the cart up to the eleventh inn on the path north. The sun had risen high into the morning horizon and... nothing. She was sure they had lost Iona's captors hours ago. There were so many winding roads through the hills that split in dozens of places. Had it been foolish to rush out like this? That thought pained her. They might have gone to one of the local hunters and paid to borrow a tracking dog, but then... what would she have used to give the hound a scent? Livia knew enough about hunting animals to understand that they needed a basis for sniffing out quarry, and that they could only track something that continuously touched the ground. If Iona had been laid in a cart, a dog could not be used to find her. Livia might have done far better with a search party, but then who would leave their homes in the middle of the night for a former slave?
"I'm sure we'll find something here," Hervin muttered as he stepped down off the cart. He moved in quaking steps to the wooden post in front of the inn and proceeded to tie the reigns of their horses to it.
Livia could not even manage an encouraging smile for him. Iona was gone. She could feel it. Gods but it wasn’t fair! Hervin had revealed that he had adopted both of them and sent the cow away, and for the first time in her life, Livia had been truly happy. All that joy had been an illusion. The pain she felt now was far worse than anything Lady Sondal had ever done to her.
Still, she stepped down from the cart and gazed at the 'Limping Stallion' inn. It was a strange name, perhaps chosen as some secret joke the owners had. The building was two stories tall and was in reasonably good shape for a roadside inn. Livia had studied maps of this area and knew that there was a town a half day’s ride east, and this inn was set up to cater to those traveling between cities. It had horse troughs with relatively clean looking water, which the flustered Hervin had failed to take advantage of, tired and thirsty as their horses must be after a full night's riding.
Livia went around to the back of the cart and reached under the blankets to slide out the image she had drawn of Iona's captor. She had shown it to dozens of people, none of whom had recognized the face. As Livia looked at it now, she wondered if it were an adequate drawing. She had felt confident about it at first, but now, after so much failure, she noticed dozens of tiny imperfections. Gods, was this all hopeless? A feeling of despair washed over Livia, and she became so lost in it that the sound of footsteps to the left failed at first to register.
"Hello!" a loud male voice said.
She gave a little jump and looked up to see a large man in fine green and brown linens walking toward her from the direction of the outhouse to the side of the inn. Livia blinked at him, automatically scanning for danger the way she had trained herself to do during years of whippings from Lady Sondal. The man was at least ten years older than she, and though he was smiling, there was something troubling in his dark eyes. He was quite tall and built like a fighter, with thick, knotted limbs, and he wore a sword on his belt with a gold-laced pommel that probably cost more than both her horses. He was an aristocrat—maybe even a lord. As Livia registered all of this, she also noted that he had maneuvered himself between her and the entrance to the inn, where Hervin was.
"Good morning," the man said, lifting an eyebrow. He took several steps toward her.
Livia cast him a terse smile as if to say, ‘Good morning, please leave me alone.’ He continued to move closer. She looked down into the cart, instinctively feeling the need for a weapon—even a small one—to be on hand. She had left her bag in the front of the cart, in which she had packed a small dagger in case there was trouble on the road. Livia gazed stupidly down at her simple dress—the one that did not have extra pockets for things such as knives. She had nothing on hand.
"Former slave, eh?" the man chuckled. He drew near enough for her to catch the all too familiar stench of wine.
Livia snatched up her drawing, cast the man a second tense smile and started to walk past him, but she was forced to stop when his arm shot out, and he leaned into the side of Hervin's cart, barring her path.
"Where you going?" he said, the grin still on his face. “Hang around a few minutes. My name’s Calvis Suleeman, and I’m a baron, so maybe don’t be so quick to brush me off.”
Livia cast him a cold stare, trying not to tremble. She was furious that this noble-born ass would trouble her now, but also frightened of the look he was giving her. His smile…did this baron think he was being charming? No, he would not care—not with a slave girl. She glanced at the entrance to the inn. Hervin should have waited for her! It was not as if she could scream out like a normal young woman.
"You're just gorgeous!" Calvis chuckled. He leaned in, and Livia flinched back, but he moved remarkably fast and got an enormous arm on the other side of her. She began to breathe very quickly and turned and glanced at the door to the inn again. It was still closed.
"Why are you so quiet?" Calvis sighed. He reached up and brushed a thick finger over the part of her cheek where her tattoos were. "Who freed you?" She flinched away from his hand, but this only seemed to amuse him. "Must have been an imbecile. You'd fetch five or six Thousand desseks in a capital city brothel." He leaned in closer to her face, so that his hot, drunken breath assaulted her nostrils. "Maybe you're a runaway slave, and this isn't a real freedom mark. If I thought that were the case, well..." the nobleman cast her a smirk, "it would be my duty as a baron to place you under arrest."
Livia's jaw clenched. She thought of the magic—the tiny shred of power buried somewhere inside her. She reached for it, feeling desperate, but it refused to come as it had the day before. Only a vague tingle traveled through her right hand, and before it could manifest into any kind of external force, a mind-shattering surge of pain erupted through her. Livia’s knees weakened, and she stumbled. The baron caught her, taking her shoulders in his hands
"What's wrong?" he said with a soft laugh. "Did my words make you nervous? I must say, that is a bit suspicious." His eyes stared hard into hers for a moment, and then they began to travel down. His smile broadened along the way until he suddenly blinked several times at her midsection, and his expression contorted into confusion. "Prince Arkas?" he muttered, and he took a step back from her. She followed his gaze down and realized that her drawing had unfolded in her hands. "Gods, I... I'd know that face anywhere," the man muttered. He gazed back up into her eyes and said: "Why do you have a portrait of the Emperor's son?"
Livia gazed down again at her drawing. Arkas Adronicus? The Starborn?!
"Oh shit!" Calvis muttered, taking a visibly nervous step back from her, his eyes going wide. He looked her up and down as if seeing her anew and said: "Are you... are you his mistress or something?" Livia had never seen a face grow pale so quickly. "Actually, I don't need to know! I... I have a-absolutely nothing but respect for
the royal family—and prince Arkas himself!" The man cast a nervous look around, as if expecting danger, and then he put up his hands in a pleading gesture and whimpered: "N-no trouble, p-please, I—I have a wife and two sons!" He turned then and ran toward the inn's stables, which were about sixty paces to the right.
Livia watched him go, but her mind was entirely elsewhere. Iona had been abducted by a Starborn? She gazed down at her drawing once more. Could it be a mistake? The fear on her would-be attacker's face had been so real—he had been entirely convinced that her sketch was of Prince Arkas. Livia's hands began to tremble, and she dropped the drawing onto the grass. The son of the Emperor! The weight of that notion crushed her mind. How the hell was she going to get Iona back from such a person? He could have both her and Hervin executed if they so much as cast him a disrespectful glance.
Livia tried desperately to think. Prince Arkas was Starborn. If she remembered correctly, he was also a high ranking member of the Nemesai order. Her heart nearly exploded in her chest. Was Iona in a Nemesai cell? She shut her eyes and remembered the words the young man had said: ‘Are you the weapon?’ Why would the Nemesai think that Iona was a weapon? Why would Arkas not take her to the local Nemesai temple for interrogation rather than abscond with her to some distant place in the North? Why had Livia not been arrested as well—or Hervin? If the order suspected heresy, it was normal for them to interrogate everyone surrounding the crime.
None of the facts made sense on this front, but that did not mean this was not a religious arrest of some kind. If Iona were perceived as some kind of important weapon, ridiculous as the idea seemed, would the order not send its most capable agent to apprehend her? A Starborn was undoubtedly that, but what kind of weapon could Iona be, and against whom? Livia's fingers went to her temples, and she started to rub. There was no way to decipher the motives with what she knew. Still, Iona's life hung in the balance, which meant decisions needed to be made.
Livia shut her eyes and focused. She and Hervin had lost Prince Arkas in the night, but perhaps that did not matter so much now that she knew who he was. Starborn were easy to find. They drew attention wherever they went. Still, even if she knew precisely where he was and also where he was keeping Iona—which would likely be in a Nemesai stronghold—what could be done? Livia had some power that seemed to react to the magic of others, but it was unpredictable at best. Without another sorcerer around, she had barely managed to crumple up a single piece of paper and toss it across a room, and the effort had nearly killed her. Just now, when a man was threatening to assault her, she had not been able to muster any kind of offense.
Livia had no experience in combat or subterfuge whatsoever, and her enemy was a Starborn prince with virtually limitless wealth, and there was the even more significant enemy of the Nemesai Order itself. Against such opponents, she was as nothing, even with whatever strange abilities lay inside her, but... there was a person in the world who had defeated both Prince Arkas and the Nemesai Bishop himself.
"Livia?" Hervin's voice came accompanied by the creaking of hinges. She turned to see him walking out the doorway to the inn, a sorrowful look on his face. "N-no one has seen anyone matching the description I gave," he muttered, "but I still think we should show the sketch." He walked to her and said: "Sorry, I should have waited for you before rushing in. Did you need to use the privy?"
Livia glanced at the outhouse, her mind flashing for just an instant to the man who probably would have raped her, but she pushed all that away. Instead, she walked to the bag at the front of the cart and drew out her paper and pencil, and wrote:
I know who has Iona, and I think I know what our best chance is to get her back.
Hervin stared at the note for a few seconds after she handed it to him, and then exclaimed: "Who?! What do we need to do?"
Livia grimaced as she took the sheet back and wrote more:
I'm going to get involved with some dangerous people. I need you not to ask any questions. You know almost nothing about what is going on. That may save you if I am caught.
"WHAT?!" Hervin exclaimed after reading the words. For the first time since she could remember, his face filled with anger at her. "What are you talking about? I adopted you both! You don't get to face danger to find Iona and keep it secret from me!"
Livia stared at him. Of course he was angry. He had a right to be. Hervin’s feelings were not what mattered most though. He had never even been able to stand up to his own wife. Her kindly adoptive father would never be able to face a Nemesai inquisitor. She could though. Livia had good reason to believe her mind was a dangerous thing to invade, and her powers would either come when the time came, or they would kill her. Either way, no one would learn anything from her she did not want known.
She snatched the paper from Hervin's hand and wrote again:
I love you. That is why if you do not agree to leave this to me, I will run away, and you may never see me again. It breaks my heart to write this, but you must agree now, or I will leave you right here.
When she finished writing her hand was trembling, and a set of tears had run down her cheeks, but she felt utterly determined as she held the note up for him to read.
Hervin read the words and then, in a frightened voice, said: "Are... are you sure?" Livia swallowed and gave him a decisive nod. His face took on a sad, defeated expression, and he muttered: "A-alright."
Her heart ached, knowing the pain she was causing her... father, but this had to be done. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead, and then pointed to the cart.
"W-where are we going?" Hervin murmured. Livia shook her head to the left, indicating the direction of south. He squinted at her. "Do you mean back home?" She nodded. Her father drew in a very slow breath. Frustration played in his eyes, and then his thick lips pressed hard together, and he began walking to the driver's seat of the cart. Livia stepped around to the other side and climbed up next to him.
Hervin set the horses into a slow, tired trot back home and did not speak for a very long time. That was probably for the best. It gave Livia time to think. What would it take to infiltrate the Cassianites? She could read and write very well, and she more or less ran most aspects of Hervin's trade business, which meant access to supply lines and goods in which notes and secret literature could be concealed. She was smart—much smarter than the pair of fools that had been handing out Asango's pamphlets. If the Cassianites could be convinced to trust her, she could make herself very useful to them, and in turn, they could help her find out where Iona was. That might take time, and the thought troubled her, but this was the only realistic path of which she could think to get Iona out of the hands of Prince Arkas.
Livia blinked as another thought entered her mind. There was still the Sansrit witch, Lady Gretis. The woman might help her, but then again even a Sansrit Master might not side with a slave girl she had met one time against both the Nemesai Order and the son of the Emperor of Denigoth. Livia did not know, but she could write a letter—a very carefully worded letter—exploring the possibility. This was a secondary plan though. For the moment, she would find a way to join the damned Cassianites. They got people away from the Nemesai all the time, or so she had heard. It was worth the risk to join their ranks. Hell, she would find a way to get an audience with Cassian Asango himself if that was what it took!
Chapter 23:
Kota’s Burden
Glavius gazed at what appeared to be four parallel claw marks in solid stone. He hoped to the gods that they had been made by Kota. There had been a handful of alleged sightings of a brown-skinned demon demonstrating impossible feats of strength and speed, though it never attacked anyone. Glavius had been on this trail for weeks, but this was the first time he had discovered any real evidence that this was the correct path. Still, as he looked at the deep gashes in the rock, there was a deep feeling of apprehension. If there were a powerful demonic creature roaming about, he was not at all prepared.
Glavius rested
a gloved right hand on the hilt of his sword in silence, gazing around. He was deep into the Tagason mountains, where very little was mapped, and he had elected to leave his horse in the town to the west because the terrain had become so uneven. That had been many hours ago. Now, trees and birds and gods know what else surrounded him on all sides. Evening would come soon, and he might spend the night alone in the wilderness, but then again, perhaps not.
After several more minutes of searching, Glavius came across the stump of a tree a little wider than his waist. The trunk had been carried off, which of course meant that a person rather than natural causes had felled the tree, but that was not what was interesting. The slice in the wood was straight and clean, as if something had slashed through it in a single cut. He had seen Gretis perform incredible feats of strength, but never anything on that level. Could it have been Kota?
Glavius gazed back in the direction of the deep gashes in the stone and swallowed, wondering if what he was about to do was incredibly stupid, and then he moved his left hand to the horn on his belt, drew it up, and blew. The low, unmelodious sound of the bullhorn tore through the peace of the forest with such sharpness that dozens of birds shot into the sky from all around. Glavius slid his sword halfway out of its scabbard as he turned slowly around, gazing in all directions. There was nothing—nigh a sign of movement on the ground or from anywhere for several moments. He hoped they were near enough that they had at least heard the first blast, if not close enough to trace it back. Gods knew Kota's ears were insanely acute. Still, no response came as the minutes dragged on, and Glavius finally decided to risk a second blow. He drew in a slow breath, and then moved to horn to his lips once more.
"No, don't blow that damned thing again!" a familiar voice shouted from the right. Glavius whirled to see Lady Gretis step around a large tree, a calm smile on her face. She looked the same as ever, seeming not to have aged a day in the year and a half since he had last seen her. "It is wonderful to see you, my old pupil."
