The Dark Lord

seals will fail.'

The sorcerer stood over them, sullen black flame licking around his outline. He seemed ready to strike them both down where they sat. Shahr-Baraz raised a quieting hand.

'We will not tell him,' the king said. 'Despite all this, I have no love for Rome.'

The Boar stood, holding out a hand for the Queen. Tentatively, she accepted, finding his palm warm and dry and immensely comforting. Shahr-Baraz glared at the sorcerer. 'You should have told me this before. We have wasted time...' The king paused, canting his head to one side. 'Wait a moment. You urged me to attack Egypt— what were you seeking here? A tool? A weapon?'

Dahak's lip curled into a sneer. 'Nothing. A dry well.'

Shahr-Baraz gave the sorcerer a level stare in return. 'Are we stronger for all this?'

'No,' Dahak allowed, sneer fading into a scowl. 'No, I am beginning to tire.'

'Can we wait,' the Queen said, hating each movement of her lips, 'until you regain your strength?'

The sorcerer shook his head, a look of equal disgust playing across sharp, inhuman features.

'Then we must press them hard while we can,' Shahr-Baraz said, pursing his lips. 'Why do you need the fleet? Why this army? You could summon one of your horrors to fly you to the enemy. End this with a single, swift blow.'

'He will not be alone,' Dahak growled. 'I recognized him when we fought. He will be well protected, surrounded by fanatical Legions, mewed up in their strongest fortress.'

'Why?' The Boar made a grunting sound. 'Who is he?'

'Their Emperor's brother,' Dahak replied sourly. 'And he has... clever toys. Things we lack and have no time to make.'

Toys? The Queen searched her memory, remembering something... Yes, a disk of gears and interlocking wheels; he called it a duradarshan, but not a toy... In that moment, Zenobia remembered something else, something the sorcerer had said and she felt a faint gleam of hope flare in her secret heart. She almost looked to see if there were a window opening into the chamber, then caught herself and fixed her attention on the King of Kings.

'Prince Maxian?' The Boar sounded surprised and thoughtful. 'Isn't he a priest of the temple of Asklepius the Healer? Hmm... if his powers turn towards yours, he would be a puissant foe. And he will be guarded by armies.'

Dahak grimaced, but said nothing.

'Well,' Shahr-Baraz turned to Odenathus and Khalid, who were listening with wide eyes. 'We do need the fleet then and quickly too. And we must freight an army, one strong enough to fight through to Rome if we must.' The king's eyes twinkled. 'I've a thought about that...'

Zenobia turned away from the discussion, sick and consumed with loathing. Our freedom was only moments away and now we choose to place the collar on our own neck?

We must, Zoe answered, though her helpless anger was even greater than her aunt's. What choice do we have, if the world is to live?

The Queen's humor did not improve. The truth was tasted of ashes.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The Chamber of Sight, Palatine Hill

'Next window.' Galen slumped sideways in his chair, face puffy with fatigue. 'Next window.'

The telecast shuddered and hummed, the rushing sound of spinning gears and wheels filling the room. The Emperor watched listlessly, forcing his mind to comprehend and classify each image as the device jumped and flickered. 'Next...'

The scene suspended in the burning disk flashed and another section of sandstone wall came into view. Square windows bisected by iron bars drifted by. Galen could see people moving about within, sitting at low writing tables or shuffling baskets of scrolls from place to place. Business is business in Egypt, he thought glumly. Regardless of who sits on the throne of the Two Lands.

'Wait!' The Emperor squinted—this window was larger than most. A woman stood framed by a windowsill, swinging open a pair of wooden shutters. For an instant, it seemed she met the Emperor's eyes through the burning lens, but then she turned away. Galen frowned in surprise, seeing she wore an elegant, yet archaic costume, more reminiscent of old Egyptian statuary than any recent fashion he knew of. 'Who is this?'

The two thaumaturges seated beside the device shook their heads slightly.

'Can you show me the room? Do you feel the Serpent close by?' The Emperor continued to watch the woman speaking—there was another figure, perhaps two, in the room—he could see an elbow and someone's hand gesticulating.

'He is not...' The elder of the two Roman thaumaturges concentrated. 'Not that I can sense.'

Galen bit his thumb, considering the Egyptian woman's striking profile. A Queen? Where did the Persians find a Queen of old Egypt? Hmm... is that the jeweled hilt of a Persian cavalry sword on a man's belt?

'Look inside,' the Emperor decided. 'Let us take a small risk.'

'A risk of what?' A husky, tired voice intruded. Galen looked over his shoulder. Maxian stood in the doorway of the library, draped in gray and black, his hair unkempt and stringy.

'Max, come sit.' Galen rose, shaking a cramp out of his leg. He took his brother's hand and led him to a couch against the wall. In the telecast, the mysterious woman continued her discussion, entirely ignorant of the distant, spying eye looking over her smooth white shoulder. Maxian sat with a sigh, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

'Bring food,' Galen said to one of the servants hovering outside the door. The Emperor turned to the thaumaturges and scribes. 'Rest for a moment. Go down to the kitchens and get something to eat; cheese, kippers or oiled bread. There may be some minted goose or flamingo left.'

Maxian seemed to have fallen asleep by the time everyone had shuffled out and Galen could turn to him again. The Emperor smiled faintly, feeling a great sense of compassion for his younger brother—who seemed so old, narrow face lined with fatigue, his hair a tumbled mass of oily strands, hands stained with rust and oil and countless tiny scratches. Galen sat thinking, forehead resting in his hands, trying to remember if he had ever been so exhausted in the Legion. There had been a time in Pannonia... I think not, he grumbled to himself. Marching and fighting was easy, compared to this slow death by tiny, pecking bites.

'What were you looking at?' Maxian spoke, eyes still closed.

'The palace of the governor of Egypt,' Galen said, leaning back himself. The wall was blessedly cool against his back. 'I believe the Persian commander has taken up residence there. We're peering in the windows to see if we can spy out what they intend to do next.'

The prince laughed, an honest sound, filled with weary mirth. 'Momma would whip your behind with a strap for such rude behavior, if she were alive to catch you.'

'She would.' Galen snorted. 'How are you?'

Maxian grunted, raising a hand and making a dismissive motion. 'I live. The work in Florentia is complete. Only interior fittings remain—chairs, windows, floors. There are three-dozen men eager to try their hand at flight.' He opened his eyes, fixing Galen with a fierce stare. 'We are almost ready.'

'Good.' The Emperor looked away, unable to meet the accusation in his brother's smudged brown eyes. 'Good. The fleet is ready, Lord Alexandros is ready... there are other Legions coming, but I've not heard—yet— when they will reach Rome.'

'Do we know which way the enemy will move?' Maxian rubbed a fine-boned hand across his face and the stubbled, patchy beard vanished. He smoothed back his hair and the grease and oil faded. Exhaustion dropped away, leaving him bright-eyed and alert. 'What have you found?'

Galen watched his brother with open disgust as the younger man stepped lightly to the telecast. The prince did not bother to mutter or make an arcane sign—the disks and gears shuddered, blazing with hissing flame as the device sprang to life. 'Show me the Bruchion,' Maxian commanded, 'and what we looked upon before.'

The Emperor suppressed a start of surprise—the difference in clarity and acuity between Maxian's command of the device and the Legion thaumaturges was no less than night and day—staring into the distant room at a