The Dark Lord

would be reliable in the face of the enemy, giving my brother support on the land if his efforts in the air failed.'

Gaius Julius blinked. The Emperor's eyes narrowed. 'The Rhenus Legions were called home because I feared a conspiracy—and now I can guess whom you suborned on my staff...' Galen spit on the floor. 'Bastard of a Greek... I freed him myself. A pity I didn't know the Eighth was already here or our situations would be reversed.' He sighed. 'I should have listened to Anastasia.'

'You ordered those Legions to Rome to suppress... me?' Gaius Julius licked his lips. The point of his gladius dropped away from the Emperor's neck.

'I should,' Galen said in a brittle voice, 'have had you and Alexandros killed as soon as I knew of your existence.' The Emperor nodded politely to the young Goth, who had stiffened at the threat to his friend and sword-brother. 'Your pardon, Prince Ermanerich. I fear you've fallen into the company of traitors...'

'Why didn't you?' Gaius Julius feel a queer pressure in his temples and tiny black dots swam in the corners of his vision. He felt unaccountably grainy, as if the air itself were wearing against him. 'The Duchess, at least, must have told you who I was if you'd not guessed yourself.'

The Emperor's face changed, revealing deep melancholy. 'You were my heroes,' he said, voice thick with emotion, 'Daydreams of youth remain even with the old, and you are both here—giants out of history—throwing down all enemies, conquering nations, driving back the darkness of barbarism. When I learned who you were, Gaius, I was... so pleased. Here is my idol in living flesh, and I can speak with him; discuss literature, history, politics! What a joy!'

A faint, bemused smile flickered across the Emperor's haggard face. 'No greater surety has a king, than knowing Alexander of Macedon commands his armies in the field. I worried about Aurelian every day, but never about the Gothic Legion, never! My faith was unshakable, for he is Alexander!'

Gaius Julius started to speak, then felt a trembling at his chest. His hand clutched on the prince's amulet, still on a silver chain around his neck and found the metal burning hot. 'Ah!' He stared around the room, suddenly cognizant of a black mist filling the corners and darkening the shadows. 'The Oath!'

Ermanerich's eyes were quick, darting from the old Roman slumping towards the floor to the Emperor to the spreading discoloration on the floor around Gaius' feet. Sorcery! his mind screamed, flooding with fear.

Without thinking, the Goth lunged forward, powerful arms thrusting and the leaf-bladed spear plunged into Galen's side. The Emperor gasped, face draining of color, and Ermanerich felt the spear point scrape between bone. For a moment, everyone was transfixed, a tight little tableau of a dying man and two murderers looking on. Then, with a sigh, the Emperor slipped from the spear and crumpled to the floor at the foot of his bed. A thin stream of blood fluted from the spear point.

Gaius Julius staggered, clawing at the air, then fell down himself. The Goth leaned over him in concern— nothing seemed to have touched the old Roman—but his face and hands and neck were withered with age. A hot, bright spark glowed on his chest and smoke curled up from the prince's amulet. Ermanerich's fingers moved towards the peculiar object, then jerked away.

'It's burning!' he blurted, stunned. Reflexively, the Goth made a sign against evil.

A grain passed, then two. A cough wracked the old Roman's body and his eyes fluttered open. 'Ermanerich...' he wheezed. 'Carry me to the Senate building, to the Curia. There is work to be done.'

'Not dead, are you?' The young Goth approached Gaius Julius cautiously and prodded him with the tip of his boot. 'What happened?'

'Help me up!' The old Roman tried to lift a hand and failed. He closed his eyes. 'While we were each certain of our cause, the Oath let us settle things ourselves and neither Galen nor I intended anything but the best for Rome.' Gaius coughed wetly, scowling at fresh spots of blood on his sleeve. 'By the gods, he nearly had me with pretty speech... I'd almost changed my mind.'

Ermanerich lifted the old man. He was very light, barely skin and bones. 'Watch your head.' Turning sideways to get through the door, the Goth edged down the hallway and into the study. A group of heavily armed men loitered in the outer room, though none were legionaries. Each wore, however, a dolphin sigil in silver on his breast.

'Sad tidings, my friends,' Gaius Julius proclaimed, letting Ermanerich stand him up. Gaius' guardsmen stared at him with interest. 'Guard these doors and let no one enter! A bleak day for Rome, but not one without hope. The Emperor lies sadly dead, but before the sun rises, the Senate shall acclaim another.'

—|—

As it happened, the sun was just climbing among the peaks of the Appenines when Gaius and Ermanerich and an ever-growing crowd of guardsmen and supporters reached the doors of the Curia. Down in the maze of buildings around the Forum, only the rooftops were glowing apricot with the first touch of dawn. Two ranks of Praetorians blocked the entrance to the Senate House and the Goth slowed, seeing the legionaries held bared swords and spears. Standing nearby, a brace of men in crimson cloaks and high, horsetail-plumed helmets surrounded a woman in regal garb.

Martina started with surprise when she saw Gaius Julius' troubled face in the torchlight.

'What happened?' she exclaimed, hurrying through the ranks of her own guardsmen. Gaius Julius managed a wan smile, but his weight was almost entirely supported by Ermanerich's powerful arm and shoulder.

'There was fighting in the palace,' the old Roman said in a loud, carrying voice. The men on the steps of the Senate tensed and their officers moved forward, recognizing the Eastern Empress and the visage of one of the Imperial ministers. Gaius clutched Martina's proffered hand and bowed his gray head over her rings and bracelets. 'Empress, I am surprised to find you here, and afraid I must give you poor news in public.'

Everyone grew quiet; the tradesmen rising early to attend their shops and workshops passing through the Forum Romanum slowing their pace, eyes and ears drawn by the torches and grim-faced men arrayed on the steps of the Curia.

'Motrius, commander of the Imperial Guard, attempted to take the princeps Galen hostage tonight and claim the purple for himself.' Gaius' voice grew stronger as he spoke and he winked at Martina. Relieved, she squeezed his hand in return. 'By good luck, the guardsmen within the palace remained loyal and their valiant sacrifice bought time enough for news to reach me and allow some cohorts of the noble Eighth Augusta to run to the Emperor's succor.'

A murmur ran through the crowd and behind the ranks of Praetorians on the steps, the great ivory doors opened a crack. Someone looked out, listening.

'The traitors have gone to a just reward,' Gaius continued, his voice ringing from marble facings and pillars. 'But we came moments too late. The Divine Emperor, our Lord and God, lay dying, though the dog Motrius had fallen as well, struck through by the Emperor's own sword, which has ever been ready in the defense of justice and freedom and against tyranny in all lands.'

A stunned silence followed the words, and Gaius Julius bent his head, as if he hid tears with the folds of his bloody toga. For a moment, no one moved, and then one of the centurions among the Praetorians stepped forward.

'Who will lead us now?' the grizzled veteran asked of the crowd. 'We are at war and the Emperor's son's too young to take up the laurel crown. Someone must lead Rome while we strive against Persia.' The man turned to Gaius. 'Did the Emperor say aught, when you found him?'

Gaius Julius shook his head, grief plain on his old face. 'No, my lords. He breathed his last as we fought to his side. He said nothing.'

'What of Aurelian?' Someone in the crowd called out. 'He is Caesar, though absent. He will rule!'

Many of the tradesmen and passersby shouted in agreement, but the commander of the Praetorians—now joined by a clutch of senators newly dragged from their beds—shook his head. 'A double tragedy,' the centurion said, 'for news has recently come from Egypt. Aurelian is dead, slain in defense of Alexandria itself.'

'No!' A great moan rose and many of the senators on the steps cried out in fear and alarm. Men in the crowd gathered on the plaza ran away through the streets, shouting the news. Gaius Julius frowned after them, and motioned with his head to some of his guardsmen. The mercenaries loped off, hands on their knives.

'Do not despair!' Gaius Julius climbed the steps, one hand on the small of Martina's back, dragging her along. The Empress flushed, then hurried to catch up. Ermanerich was happy to remain in the crowd below, leaning on his spear. Exhaustion from the long, endless night was beginning to wear upon him. He'd ridden ten