The Dark Lord

'What happened?' Galen stirred, frowning. Another dram of wretched news did not seem to tip his cup. His gaze was flat and cold, without amity or emotion of any kind, matching his brother's expression almost exactly. Gaius turned his head very slightly—just enough to catch a sense of the Duchess, who sat watching the discussion with intense interest.

'Our agents, Lord and God, both those supplied by the Duchess Anastasia and by myself, did find by diverse means a tomb of some repute, far out in the desert waste. Persian agents had also found the place and a struggle followed. Many perished and the Persians were driven away. One telecast—in form and shape much like our own—was recovered and moved to safety in nearby hills. Unfortunately...' Gaius' eyes slid sideways to the Duchess. She observed him with a cold, composed expression. The old Roman suppressed a smile. '...someone was watching and, when our man left the device to succor a friend trapped in a burning building, stole the telecast away.'

The Emperor's lip twitched and he blinked slowly. 'The Persians?'

'No, my lord,' Gaius said with a relieved voice. He raised a hand in sign against ill luck. 'Not the Persians! We can give thanks to the gods for that, at least. The only bright star in an otherwise dark firmament. No—the man who bore the telecast from the tomb is a Walach in Imperial employ.'

The old Roman glanced around the table, nodding in a friendly way. Almost grinning, he laid a forefinger alongside his long nose. 'For those who have not made their acquaintance, these Walachs are a swift, brutal people, more beast than man, given to transports of rage and excesses of bloody vengeance. Yet this one... while he has learned Roman virtue and drunk deep of our nobility and civilization... he retains—with his strength and speed—nares leves.'

'What do you mean?' Galen made an impatient motion, a sharp, irritated anger beginning to prick in his face. 'A fickle nose?'

'A discerning nose, I should say,' Gaius replied. 'He knew who took the device by their smell and taste in the dry air. Our expedition suffered many unexpected setbacks and maladies and on a cold desert night this man —this loyal Roman—divined the provenance of the thieves.'

Gaius turned to look at Anastasia, raising one bristly gray eyebrow. The Duchess did not react, regarding him coolly, her hands entirely still on the tabletop.

'My lord, two members of our expedition did not return and I do not believe they perished in the desert, by fire, or sword, or the action of the enemy.' Gaius Julius' voice took on a formal timbre, as though he stood before the Curia, speaking knowledgeably upon a matter of the law. 'They are Thyatis Julia Clodia, a centurion in the Imperial service, and Betia, a maid in the household of Anastasia De'Orelio, Duchess of Parma. I believe they took the telecast and fled into the desert, seeking their own gain therefrom.'

Anastasia blinked slowly, but her expression did not change by so much as an atom. Gaius Julius felt a warm glow of respect suffuse his cold, dead heart. Look at her! Caught in her own ploy and fairly exposed, yet she does not show fear, remorse, even panic. Ah... the world is filled with wonders!

'Duchess?' The Emperor stared at her in open dismay, brows furrowed. 'What do you say to this?'

'I can say nothing, Lord and God,' she replied quietly, challenge plain in her pale violet eyes. 'This claim is as new to me as it is to you. Master Gaius, if only your own men have returned, who is to say they did not lead their companions to some unfortunate pass and contrive a tale to make them heroes and the unfortunate dead, villains?' A grim smile played on her lips. 'Give me leave to speak with these men and we shall ascertain the truth.'

'Of course,' Gaius Julius said in an expansive tone. 'They wait in the antechamber even now. Let us bring them in and you may put these questions to them yourself!'

'Do they?' Anastasia raised an eyebrow and Gaius thought he caught a flicker of surprise. Interesting, he purred to himself, she thought I was lying? But why? The women were her own agents... perhaps... perhaps they did steal the device for their own game, betraying the Empire and her, both. He started to frown, then caught himself.

'Enough of this.' Galen spoke up, rising from his chair. He glared at the Duchess and Gaius Julius alike. 'Another failure of our aims.' He pointed abruptly at the Duchess. 'These men will stay in Imperial custody and a truthsayer will be summoned. Then I will question them.' He turned a forbidding expression on Gaius as well. 'I will not countenance any dissent or distrust—particularly between the two of you—not in this dark hour. If I find either of you have been playing your own game, putting us all at risk, you'll find yourselves taking the view from the Tarpetian Rock!'

The Duchess stiffened, one white hand fluttering up from the tabletop, then forced down again. Gaius Julius made himself to nod in acquiescence, though the basilisk stare the Emperor turned upon him made his blood run colder still. 'Of course, my lord.'

The old Roman nodded politely to the Duchess. 'My lady, perhaps I was hasty. My apologies.'

She inclined her head, showing polite acceptance of his contrition, but Gaius was sure she would not forget his accusation. He hid a predatory smile—the look on the Emperor's face had been enough reward for today—if even the slightest seed of distrust grew between them...

—|—

Galen watched the Duchess and Master Gaius bristle at each other and forced down a sense of rising hopelessness. The 'revelation' of the mission's failure had not taken him by surprise—the captain of the Urbes Brigantium had sent him a warning as soon as the Imperial galley docked at Portus. He was not surprised his two spymasters were at odds either—plotting and scheming against one another should be like breathing—but watching their faces and seeing their mutual animosity there was one more blow than his stomach could handle today. Why did I ever think two spies were better than one?

'Then we know where we stand,' he said aloud, drawing everyone's attention. 'It seems unlikely—given their overextension—the Persians will continue to attack into our territory for the rest of the year. They will have to digest their fat new conquest and they have wounded soldiers who must heal and recuperate.' Galen did not bother to disguise the bitter tone in his voice.

'What we must decide,' he continued, though Maxian's expression was growing darker by the word, 'is if we will attempt a counterattack in the next month or two, before winter makes the seas too dangerous to essay with the fleet. The comes Alexandros and his Goths could be landed at one of the small ports on the Cyrenaicean coast, allowing them to march east to attack Egypt.' Galen nodded to his brother. 'Our new fleet of the air is almost ready—'

'Ha!' Maxian's laugh was a sharp, abrupt bark. Galen fell silent, surprised. The prince rose, lean face a pale streak against the dark colors of his cloak and tunic. 'Would that be wise? Brother—you are my sworn Emperor and blood of my blood—but you are becoming witless in advanced age!'

Galen flinched from the cutting tone, then his face settled into granite. 'What do you mean?'

'Egypt is lost!' Maxian's hand cut the air in a ferocious blow. 'Consider the Persian sorcerer's skill—he cannot send his army of the dead a great distance—but nothing stops him from giving them life again if our army marches into his hands! You are counting living men, thinking we might muster equal numbers, but we cannot!' The prince's face twisted into such an expression of rage and disgust even old Gaius drew back. 'You sacrificed fifty thousand men to buy a month's time—yet if we strike against Egypt—we will fight those same six Legions! Every fallen man is now a Persian soldier, one who does not need pay, food, wine, oil or even a centurion's boot up his backside to fight.' Maxian stared around the table, contempt and grief mixing in equal measure on his young face. 'We have entered a terrible new world and you will be lost if you try a familiar guide or map to find your way.'

The Emperor grasped the back of the chair next to him, exhausted mind awhirl with hideous visions. 'I... I had not thought of that.' Galen's voice was a barely audible whisper.

'No,' Maxian said, casting a pitying glare at his brother. 'You had not. No one did.'

'What... what do we do, then?' Anastasia managed to speak, though she too had grown pale. Only Martina remained unmoved, watching her husband with a sly smile on her face, long fingers playing in russet curls.

'The Persian sorcerer and his servants,' Maxian said frankly, 'must be destroyed as soon as possible. Without them, the Persian army will be only living men again and they our soldiers can defeat.' He flashed a grim smile, holding his brother's eyes. 'Our old Horse could not match them, save in the strength of his heart and indomitable will, but I will make good his sacrifice. We will watch the enemy with our hidden Eye and when the