Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (119 page)

MARCUS

Five days had passed since his unexpected defeat at the hands of Magnus. Five days and four mostly sleepless nights since his legion had retreated in shock and dismay from the battlefield to the legionary fortress at Montmila.

During the days, Marcus was too busy giving orders and keeping up a brave face for his men to dwell upon what had happened, though it nearly killed him to look them in the eyes.

He had failed them. All of them. He had failed the living, the wounded, and worst of all, the dead. Their fears that his youth and inexperience would let them down had come to pass, and at the very worst possible time. He knew tha,t if he let them see weakness, if he let them see his remorse, he would lose them entirely. So he smiled, and nodded, and slapped them on the back. And he never showed them any sign of the doubts that filled his heart.

It was the nights he dreaded most. No sooner was he alone than he relived the battle and his preparations at least twenty times each night. There had been so many mistakes, but which one was the crucial one? Should he have ordered his horse not to pursue? He knew from personal experience how futile such orders could be when every knight was sure the enemy was ready to run. Had it been a mistake to reinforce Legio XV’s knights with an entire wing from Legio XVII?

He’d had the numbers! He’d grabbed the better ground! He’d made the enemy come to him! He’d done everything right—everything except win.

One hundred fifty horse to his four hundred fifty, and they’d still destroyed two-thirds of his knights and driven his infantry from the field. How was that even possible? Was Magnus a genius? A wizard? He’d grown up in the man’s house, he’d studied most of the man’s battles, and yet he still couldn’t figure out how his uncle could possibly have won the day with all the odds stacked against him. If he hadn’t been there and witnessed it, he would not have believed it possible.

With the exception of the First Knights, who’d died on his shattered right flank, Legio XVII’s losses hadn’t actually been terribly severe. Most of the casualties were taken by Legio XV before they broke and ran, and before their senior centurions betrayed him by surrendering to his uncle the day after the battle.

At that single stroke, his fighting forces had gone from ten thousand to four thousand, while Magnus’s had grown to the point that he now had more than three men for Marcus’s two. And despite Legio XVII’s successful retreat to Montmila, it was only a matter of time before he would have to decide whether to surrender it or order the men to take the field again despite being outnumbered and demoralized.

He stared down at the crumpled letter from Magnus, and unable to help himself, began reading it again. It was a portrait in magnanimity, carefully composed to spare his feelings and flatter whatever might remain of his pretensions. But his uncle’s iron fist was there, unmistakably, with no pretensions of concealing it beneath the fine velvet glove.

To M. Valerius Clericus, tribunus militum, legatus locum Legio XVII

Montmila (Ianuarius)

My dear nephew and namesake, I hope you will allow me to congratulate you on your remarkable performance in admirably filling in for the late Marcus Saturnius as legatus locum tenens for Legio XVII. I know you well, Marcus, and I know how the sting of this defeat will be painful to you. But it is no hollow compliment when I tell you that I would count this among the foremost of my victories were it not for it having been won against my own House and my own legions. Your strategy was decisive, your tactics were sound, and even in defeat, your leadership was magnificent. Far more experienced generals than you have failed to execute such a well-disciplined fighting withdrawal from the battlefield.

But, as you have now learned, the wisdom of age and the lessons of experience will trump even the most gifted young mind. So I call upon you to heed that wisdom, to listen to the voice of that experience, and come to me. I do not ask you or your men to lay down your arms, as I will have need of them, come spring. I do not have so many officers of skill and experience at my disposal that I would spurn your services, nor will I hold against you what might be seen by some as a rebellion against the rightful Lord of your House. I am aware that you were only seeking to continue to serve Amorr and honor your tribune’s oath to the best of your understanding and ability.

Your ability, as I always believed it would be, has proved prodigious. However, your understanding of the complicated and unprecedented situation that has arisen in Amorr, in Vallyria, and in the allied cities is understandably deficient. I shall, of course, be pleased to fully apprise you of it upon your arrival, but suffice it to say that the Amorr of the Senate and People we knew and served is no more.

While the empire and its trappings still exist in superficial form, there is no life in them. Not only are the imperial provinces in revolt, but after years of having their demands for full imperial citizenship rejected, in no small part due to me and my party, the Utruccan allies have formally rejected Senatorial rule and formed an independent league that dwarfs Amorr in manpower and geography alike. Vallyria is of course among them. So, as Dux Vallyria, it now falls to me to lead our House legions on behalf of the Vallyrian people and their ruling council.

You know the motto of our mutual House: Our House is Amorr. But what you must understand this means is that our allegiance must be to House Valerius, not to what is the now-shattered empire of Amorr. It is our House that is Amorr, not Amorr that is our House! Marcus, I call upon you to be faithful to your House, to be true to your ancestors, and to be honest with yourself. You are House Valerius first and foremost, and therefore I expect you to surrender Legio XV to me within seven days of receiving this letter.

In other news, Sextus sends you his greetings and his best regards. He was betrothed to Severa, the daughter of A. Severus Patronus, at the winter festival, and by this time will have been elected tribunus militum as well. So, as you see, much has changed, and it is becumbent upon us to ride the waves of those changes to the benefit of our House and the people of Vallyria.

I pray you will come to me soon, lest I be forced to come to you.

M.V. Magnus

At Aviglianus

“Send in the tribune who brought the letter,” Marcus called out to the guards standing at the door of the chambers he’d taken in the luxurious praetorium.

The blood that had stained the marble floors outside where its previous inhabitant had fallen was gone, and Marcus wondered how long it would be before his own was spilled if he did not submit to his uncle.

They couldn’t hope to hold the fortress against the veteran engineers of the other legions, and they couldn’t retreat back into Larinum. And even if he could somehow manage to find a way past Magnus and his two legions, there was no chance that the Senate would permit him to retain the legion. It might not even allow him to turn its men over to his father. With Houses Martial turning against the Senate, the unthinkable had suddenly become reality. Everything was in a state of madness.

If he could be certain that Corvus would be retained as consul aquilae and given command of the Senatorial forces, trying to slip past Magnus might be worth the risk. But it was just as likely that Magnus’s betrayal would cause the Senate to turn against his father and arrest him, perhaps even execute him. If what Magnus was saying about the allied league were true, the Senate would never permit his father to go into exile, for fear he would return at the head of an allied army.

“Tribune Aulus Severus Aulan from Legio VII,” one of the two guards accompanying his uncle’s messenger announced.

Marcus waved them off, and they left the two tribunes, one sitting, one standing, to examine the Severan tribune they’d escorted in. Marcus was thinking that, while the Severan was neither particularly tall nor handsome, he did carry himself well, with the self-confidence of an experienced decurion well-accustomed to victory.

“I understand congratulations are in order, Tribune.” Marcus tapped the letter. “My uncle tells me that your sister is to marry my cousin.”

“Yes, I stood with Sextus at the betrothal. They make a handsome pair. Unfortunately, it was a less than joyous occasion.”

“Why is that?”

“Because my father was murdered immediately after the betrothal. By Cassianus Longinus.” The Severan smiled bitterly. “I imagine you can understand how that might have put a slight damper on the celebrations.”

“Yes, of course!” Marcus was shocked. “Severus Patronus is dead? Are you certain it was Longinus?”

“The entire city is certain it was Longinus. He was standing on the Comitium, holding up his blood-stained hands for all to see.”

“I don’t know what to say. I am very sorry for your loss, Tribune. I knew nothing of this.”

“No, I understand. And I, in turn, must offer condolences for yours. Your brother Corvinus is dead.”

Marcus shook his head, not sure that he’d heard the other correctly. “What?”

“He chose a bad time to visit the city. There has been considerable unrest there. Riots. It seems he was caught up in one.”

“No,” Marcus protested. “That’s not possible. He is a farmer. He almost never visits Amorr! Are you certain it was Servius Valerius, the son of Corvus, and not some other Valerian?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m quite certain of it.”

Everything seemed to flicker. For a moment, Marcus was too shocked to speak. Then he shook his head and firmly set the dreadful news aside. Of course Corvinus wasn’t dead. What would a Severan and a rebel know about his brother, anyhow? Surely Magnus would have mentioned it in the letter… No, he had no time to think about this now.

“Be that as it may,” he said coldly, “I need you to tell me why you are here.”

Severus Aulan pointed to the letter. “Magnus did not send me to be a bearer of bad tidings, Valerius Clericus. Your uncle knows you’ve been parading around the provinces for months. He is aware you don’t know anything about what’s been happening in the city. Everything has changed. Death stalks the city like the plague. No one is safe. The Sanctified Father is dead, celestines have been murdered in heart of the Sanctal palace, senators are slaughtered in public, and half the lords of the Houses Martial have abandoned the city to take command of their legions. It’s not so much a civil war as simple chaos. No one knows who will stand with the Senate and who will stand with the leagues.”

“Leagues?”

Marcus was still having trouble focusing on what the tribune was telling him. How could his big brother be dead? He was a farmer, for God’s sake! Farmers don’t die in city riots! It was absurd. He shook his head again. He’d think about it later. This was too important, he couldn’t afford to miss anything.

“Yes, plural. The allied cities have formed two leagues, and they have made common cause against the Senate and People. Marruvium leads the north and east, Salventum the south and west.” He shrugged. “My father was trying to prevent all of this, but your father and the clausores first blocked him in the Senate, then killed him for fear he’d ultimately find a way succeed. They brought this on themselves.”

“My father blocked him? But Magnus was the first man among the clausores, not my father.”

“Your uncle had a change of heart. I expect you know why. Your father stepped in to replace him in the Senate upon his return to the city. His political skills were rather a surprise to everyone, especially my father.”

Marcus thought about Fortex and the look of abject astonishment on his face when the unexpected death sentence had been pronounced. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I think I do know why.”

The Severan nodded sympathetically. “Look, Valerian, you really don’t have a choice. You know Magnus will beat you again, whether you stay here or you come out to meet him. What you don’t know is that the two legions raised by the Larinii are on the march. They’ll be here within a week. They’re blocking your line of retreat, so running isn’t an option. Magnus doesn’t want you to throw away your men’s lives, and if you’re half the man Magnus is, you won’t do it.”

“You sound almost as if you admire him. That sounds strange, coming from the mouth of a Severan.”

Severus Aulan laughed, a little self-consciously. “Yes, well, I suppose you recall the cavalry that broke your right flank?”

“I do.” He could hardly forget it. He saw it every night in his dreams.

“I was leading it, but the plan was all Magnus’s. The false retreat, the hidden infantry, and the way Legio XV crumbled. Everything went exactly as he said it would. I’ve been in the legions for six years, and I’ve never seen anything like it. The only thing that surprised him was how you got there first and stole the high ground. How did you manage that, anyhow?

Marcus wasn’t about to tell the Severan about his elven eyes in the sky.

“You really expect me to surrender, don’t you?”

“Magnus says you’re not entirely stupid.” The Severan shrugged. “So does Sextus. So I’m confused that you’re even hesitating. It seems to me you’d have to be entirely stupid to fail to see it’s your best option.”

“Sextus Valerius, tribunus militum.” Marcus rolled his eyes. “God help the poor legate to whom he’s assigned.”

“I like Sextus. He’s a good lad.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Marcus was still trying to picture his shamelessly hedonistic cousin in a tribune’s helm. “All right, Tribune. You’re correct that I have no choice. You may return to Magnus and tell him I will leave here in two days. If, for some reason I have not arrived in Montmila within the seven days he demands, then he may come here to take possession of the legion from my second-in-command, Gaius Trebonius, in person. Trebonius will have orders to give the command to him.”

The Severan bowed in graceful acknowledgement of Marcus’s submission. “I will do so. It would be helpful if you would put that in writing, Commander.”

Marcus smiled grimly. “Tribune will do. It appears my command pro tems is at an end. You are dismissed, Tribune.”

The Severan started to turn around to depart, then hesitated, and turned back to face Marcus. “Look, Valerian, you cannot come to Aviglianus. Send the other tribune, what was his name, Trebonius? You’d better send him instead.”