Princeps’ Fury

winter. Recent rains had made the ground into little more than mud pits stretching for miles. The unfortunate refugees struggled through them at a snail’s pace.

Behind them, spread out in a broad bar of muscle and steel came three Legions, marching side by side, straddling the road in tight formation. Their march was slow but steady, their engineers moving ahead of them, earthcrafting the mud into more tractable footing as they approached and restoring it to mud as they passed.

Behind the Legions came the Vord.

The front edge of the enemy pursuit was a ragged line, the swift-moving Vord as slowed and separated by the horrible footing as the fleeing Alerans. But the farther back from that front edge one looked, the more coherent and organized the Vord became. The lizard-wolf creatures ran together in ranks, centered around the enormous hulking mass of the Vord warriors, or around the still-larger giants that covered the ground in strides yards long. Overhead swarmed the black-winged form of hundreds of vordknights, clashing and skirmishing with Knights Aeris covering the retreating Legions.

The three bars of Legion steel were badly outnumbered by their pursuers, but the black-and-scarlet banners flying from the center Legion flew bravely in the breeze, and the discipline of the troops held them in good order as the foe closed in on them.

“Bloody crows,” Antillus Raucus breathed. “Crows and bloody furies.”

“Do we attack?” Lady Placida breathed.

Gaius Isana, First Lady of Alera, nudged her horse to stand between Aria’s and Raucus’s. “Of course we do,” she said in a firm voice, ignoring the twinge of discomfort from the still-tender wound in her stomach. “I didn’t go through all of this and march these Legions all the way down from the Wall to stand around and watch things happen.”

High Lord Antillus’s mouth spread into a wolfish smile. “Looks like the boys are going to earn their pay today, then.”

“Look at the banners in the center Legion,” Lady Placida said. “Do you know who that is?”

“An Aleran,” Isana said, her tone steady. She felt Araris’s steady presence at her back, and looked over her shoulder to find him, on his horse, hovering a few feet away from her, his eyes focused on nothing and everything at the same time. “An Aleran in trouble.” She turned to Raucus, and said, “Attack, Captain.”

Raucus nodded sharply. His horse danced a step sideways, evidently picking up on his rider’s excitement. “I recommend we wait, Your Highness,” he said. “Let them advance another mile down that causeway, and I’ll leave those ugly things in pieces.”

Isana felt the confidence flowing from him, and arched an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“They’re coming with maybe thirty thousand troops. I’ve got three standing Legions, three Legions of veteran militia, better than a thousand Knights and every bloody Citizen in Antillus. Pieces, Your Highness,” Raucus replied, vicious satisfaction in his voice. “Little ones.”

“As you think best, High Lord Antillus,” Isana said.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Hah! That’s a good one.” He turned his horse and said, “There are preparations to make. If you will excuse me.” He saluted Isana and turned his horse-then hesitated, glancing back at Isana.

“Your Grace?” Isana asked.

“It’s a battle. Things can happen.” He reached into his coat and withdrew an envelope. It was brown with water stains and brittle with age. He held it out to her and said, “In case I’m not able to give it to you later.” He nodded to them. “Ladies.”

Isana took the envelope and watched as Raucus rode back to his senior centurion and the captains of his Legions.

“What is that?” Aria asked.

Isana shook her head. “I think it’s…” She opened the letter hurriedly-and instantly recognized Septimus’s liquid, precise handwriting.

Raucus, My insides are whole again, and I’m getting ready to leave the back end of nowhere. I expect that the holders here in Calderon will be just as happy to see the Crown Legion go. Too many handsome young men for all these pretty young hold-girls to resist-which reminds me that I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve got a surprise for Father. He’s going to choke on it, but Mother will make him see reason. More later, old friend, but I’ll need you to find some time to cover my flank during an important engagement. Murestus and Cestaag just got back from Rhodes. I had them following the money trail of those cutters I told you about. They didn’t find anything that could go to a court, but I think I might like to visit Rhodes and Kalare with a few good friends once I wrap up my current obligations. Interested? I wrote Attis already, and he’s in. Invidia got my letter. She was furious that I told Father no, though you had to read between the lines to see it. You know how she is- polite and cold as a fish, even when she’s about to beat someone senseless. Father will be in a rage about me turning her down, though what else is new? To tell you the truth, though, I was never really sure about her. Oh, gorgeous, intelligent, strong, elegant, everything Father thinks I would need. But Invidia just doesn’t give a crow’s feather about people in any sense other than how they can profit her. It means she fits right in with everyone at the capital, but at the same time, I’m not sure she’s entirely sane. Give me passion-and compassion-any day. I’m glad I can write you. There are fewer and fewer people I can speak my heart to, these days. Without you and Attis, I think I’d have lost my bloody mind after Seven Hills. Here’s truth, old man. The next few months are going to bore future students of history at the Academy for decades. The three of us will get together again with the old gang from the fencing hall-minus Aldrick. Then we’ll sort some things out. Are you in, snowcrow?

Sep

PS-How’s the little snowcrow? He set anything on fire yet? When do I get to meet him? And his mother? 

Isana stared at the letter and blinked away tears.

Septimus. She could hear his voice as she read the words.

She sniffed before anything could dribble down her nose and looked at the date on the letter. A second letter was visible in the envelope. She opened it and read it is as well.

The handwriting was not Septimus’s. It was angular, sharply leaning to the right, and in places the paper had been torn, as if the quill had been pressed too viciously to the surface of the fine paper upon which it was written. 

Raucus, By the time I got wind of anything and made it to Calderon, it was hours too late. But I was there when they found him. I know that by now the official story has reached you, but it’s nothing but smoke. Septimus died with five of the finest blades in the Realm in a circle around him. And it wasn’t the Marat alone who did for him. Firecrafting and earthcrafting were both involved. I saw it with my own eyes. Septimus was the only heir, and his father was arrogant or incompetent enough to allow him to be murdered, despite Septimus’s appeals for his aid, for pressure upon the Senate, for direct action against the ambitious bastards who eventually killed him. The First Lord did nothing, and our Realm is doomed to division and self-destruction as a result. He doesn’t deserve my loyalty, Raucus. Or yours. I know you won’t believe me, you slow-witted northern snowcrow. And even if you did, you’d never come with me down the road I’ve chosen. If the House of Gaius can’t defend and protect its own child-and a soul like Septimus’s at that-then how can it do so for the people of the Realm? I don’t ask you to help, old friend. Just stay out of my way. Good-bye.

Attis 

“My Lady Isana?” Araris asked quietly.

Isana blinked and looked up from the letter.