The Dark Lord

justice now? Are you the judge of the twelve tablets?'

'You will be silent!' Anastasia's voice was sharp in the darkness. Thyatis recoiled, and the Duchess rose up in her saddle, face fully visible now, eyes flashing. 'I am not a judge, but I have a duty to the Empire, as do you. Emperor Galen accepted his brother's return—in full knowledge of what occurred on Vesuvius—and he, and I, find no pleasure in the act. Maxian is terribly dangerous, but he is still a human being. He loves his brother, he loves Rome, and—look at me!—we need him desperately. He fought the dark spirit to a standstill, far from home, without any aid or support. Persia will press us—I know this —and we will need the prince and all his power.'

Thyatis made to speak, but the grim look on the Duchess' face stopped her cold. 'Very well.' Thyatis nudged the stallion into motion again. 'Very well.'

Anastasia's breath escaped in a hiss and the mare began trotting to catch up. 'Daughter, listen to me. You saw the wheel of fire, in the Emperor's library? The portal opened upon Constantinople?'

Thyatis nodded, though she did not look at Anastasia. The Duchess sighed, quietly. 'There are things I must tell you—here, far from Rome and all its spies—there is work for you, if you will take it up.'

'What kind of work?' Thyatis glanced over her shoulder, frowning. At the same time there was a tickling sensation in her stomach, a quickening pulse, the bright spark of interest. 'I think I've had enough of the Emperor's business.'

'This is not for the Emperor,' Anastasia said quietly, her tone somber. 'This is for the Archer.'

'The Archer?' Thyatis was nonplussed. Who is the Archer—oh! 'For the goddess?'

'This is Thiran business.' Anastasia reined her horse in and motioned for the little light to be doused. Thyatis slid the pole back, then blew gently on the wick. The candle fluttered out, settled to a glowing stub and then died. There was no moon and the desolation was utterly dark. Only the stars glimmered down between silent, rushing clouds.

Anastasia waited, listening, until the night felt still and empty.

'The Daughters of the Archer have a sacred purpose.' Her voice was soft in the gloom and Thyatis bent closer, straining to hear. 'One part of our task is to ensure certain ancient secrets are not allowed to trouble the world of men. The thing you saw, the wheel of fire, is part of one of those secrets. That device, a telecast, is very old. Until I looked upon it for myself, I would not have believed the Emperors of Rome had come into possession of such a... weapon.'

'A—' Thyatis felt a finger press against her lips and fell silent.

'I have learned there is—there was—a second telecast in Constantinople. The mechanism allows an adept to look upon faraway places, to see and to hear what transpires there. If two of the telecasts are conjoined, as the prince effected, a man can move swiftly, instantly, from one device to another. Of itself, this is a powerful tool. But there are more than just two of these devices.'

The Duchess sighed again, and shook her head, cursing herself for letting such a critical matter escape her attention. I knew Galen and Heraclius were carrying on secret correspondence! I should have marked its speed, and efficacy, and wormed out this secret... then there might have been time to do something. Before the Prince learned of the thing... before he stepped through the burning door!

'I do not know how many telecasts existed before the Drowning, but there is at least one more, hidden within Thira itself. That telecast has not been used in centuries and I pray it will escape detection. But I fear... I fear the prince and the Emperor will see the great use and advantage in war of these devices and they will seek to find more. If they do, then they may stumble upon Thira itself.'

Thyatis laughed, an humorless acid sound. 'You will wield one weapon—the prince—but not another? Isn't Rome worth it? What about your duty to the Empire?'

'You are insolent.' Anastasia's voice turned cold. 'I am a Daughter of the Archer, first, and a servant of Rome second. At the moment, I balance a precarious burden. Listen to me and think upon my words—what is the first edict of the Order? That no man ever be allowed to set foot on holy Thira itself. There is a reason, and the telecast held safe there is a great part of it.

'Possession of the telecasts will neither win nor lose this war for Rome, but their use might destroy Thira and the Order. The prince, if he were aware of the Thiran device, could call upon its power and step through, leaping across the leagues in a thought's instant. He would stand inside the depths of the mountain, within a chamber where no man has ever set foot. My sworn duty—your sworn duty as a Daughter of the Archer—is to prevent just such an event.'

'Why? What will happen?'

Anastasia felt a sinking feeling, hearing the simple curiosity in her adopted daughter's voice. 'I will not say,' the Duchess said. 'It is enough for you to know we must contrive a way to destroy the telecast now in the Emperor's possession and prevent any other such device from ever falling into his hands.'

'Of course.' The Duchess ground her teeth, hearing the smirk in Thyatis' voice. 'Stealing from the Emperor isn't a crime...'

CHAPTER FIVE

The Pyrenees, The Western Roman Province of Narbonensis

Rain drummed on mossy stone, sluicing down out of a leaden sky. Clouds clung to the mountainside, slowly rolling across the crest of a narrow ridge. Among massive granite boulders, dwarf trees clung to the slope, glossy green leaves pointing downhill. A path wound among the stones, itself a tiny running stream as the sky rumbled and cracked with distant thunder.

A figure appeared out of the mist, head bent, a thin white hand gripping a tall bone-colored staff. Water beaded from a heavy woolen cowl and the woman climbed slowly, exhausted by the steep ascent from the valley floor. Mud beaded on her bare white feet, slipping away from the skin like oil separating from water. The path ended, opening out onto a narrow way surfaced with fitted stones. Fallen limbs and broken stones lay scattered across the road; grass, flowers and long-rooted shrubs grew in cracks between the slabs. No one had dared use the road up the mountain in a long time.

The sky grumbled, flashing intermittently with muted silver light. On the road, the woman made better time, striding wearily along, her will refusing to admit exhaustion, flat tendrils of sleek wine-red hair peeking out from under the hood of her robe.

The road wound around the shoulder of the mountain, rising steeply, then twisted back like a snake and ended in a looming, dark gate of scarred and blackened stone. The peak itself ended in a massive wall of granite and shale rising up into the mist. Once, a heavy gate closed the tunnel mouth, but the portal had been torn away long ago and hurled down the mountainside in anger. Without a pause, the woman strode into the passage, deftly stepping over and around blocks of fallen masonry and a scattering of ancient, rusted metal.

'Children!' The woman's tired voice whispered through the tiny yard beyond the gate passage. Slit windows stared mournfully down into the court. Blooming roses and dark green ivy climbed the walls, slowly eating away at the mortar. A ramp of steps led up onto a battlement on the left and another tunnel opened out to the right. 'Attend me!'

The woman grimaced, dried rose-petal lips sliding into a frown. Where are the wretched creatures?

Standing in the shelter of the tunnel mouth, she flipped back her hood, revealing an elegant pale neck and colorless eyes. Despite the humidity, her hair did not tangle or run riot, but swept behind her head and over her shoulders like a bird's wing.

'If you do not come out to greet your Queen,' she said, voice rising and carrying over muted thunder, 'I shall come into this house and root you out, each and every one.'

The soft padding of feet whispered out of the nearby tunnel. Yellow eyes flickered in the darkness, first one, then a dozen. A musky smell suffused the air and the Queen nodded, tucking the staff under one arm. 'Come here, children, let me see you.'

Something like a wolf, but with a longer, rangier body and larger head loped out of the tunnel and sniffed the Queen's feet. She smiled, teeth white in the dim light, and the creature whined and licked at her hands. Three more of the creatures slunk out of the tunnel, heads low, tails dragging on the cobblestones. The Queen laughed and pulled their ears and whispered to them, growling deep in her throat. At the sound—a merry greeting in their rough language—men and women crept out of the tunnel. Their hair was long and sleek, their tunics and shirts