Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (70 page)

CORVUS

The face of the tall elf loomed over Corvus. The elongated alien eyes held him transfixed in place. He tried to move, but he was held fast by invisible bands of iron. Frantic, he struggled against them, desperately trying to reach the gladius he knew was at his side, but he could not free his arms. The spell, if indeed a spell it was, was stronger than a man’s grasp.

“The gods are coming!” the elf said in a voice like thunder. “They are coming, they are coming!”

Closer, closer came the face to his own. He could smell its fetid breath, the rotten scent of carrion emanating from its broken, jagged teeth. The elven features began to ripple and blur. The skin began to rip and tear like a bloodless mask as if the beast were a snake shedding its skin from the head. Was it a kobold or a demon? He couldn’t tell. Fear exploded within him, and the force of the terror somehow freed his arm. He cried out to Saint Michael as he drew his sword and thrust it toward the yawning jaws that were lunging for his throat.

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 bloody 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.”