The Dark Lord

shoulders of a man blocking the door into the captain's cabin.

'...are we waiting for?' A voice carried out into the hallway, sharp with a Northern accent around the Latin words. 'You're missing good rowing water and a shore breeze!'

'Pardon, friend,' Thyatis said, tapping the black-haired man on the shoulder. He turned, revealing a long, pale face dominated by luminous eyes and a glossy beard. Thyatis blinked, catching an odd shape to his jaw, his ears, even the line of his nose. Her fingertips brushed across metal-scale armor over powerful biceps.

'We're waiting,' boomed a Greek-accented voice, 'for the rest of our passengers.'

'Passengers! We're not on a pleasure cruise up the Nile! I've messages for the Caesar Aurelian and...'

Thyatis stepped past the big man in the door, eyes narrowing in interest.

The captain of the Paris, a stocky, bald man with arms like tubs of lard and a chest straining against his spotted, stained tunic filled half the tiny cabin. Opposite him, a little taller but much lighter, a wiry Roman with a sharp mustache was waving an ivory message cylinder under the captain's nose. '...I've orders to get to Egypt with all speed. So you can just—'

'We can leave now,' Thyatis said, her cold, level tone cutting across the lean man's rising voice. 'We are all aboard.'

'Who are you?' echoed back, from both the captain and the Roman.

'Thyatis Julia Clodia, an agent of the Imperium and representative of the House De'Orelio,' she replied coolly. 'Captain Pylos, feel free to leave harbor at the earliest opportunity.' At the same time, she nodded to him, flashing her forearm—circled by an archer's wristband—for him to see. The captain nodded in response, relieved to turn things over to a superior officer, then pushed out of the cabin, muttering. A moment later, the ship trembled as he stomped up onto the deck, bull-voice shouting.

'You would be Nicholas,' Thyatis continued, nodding to the shorter Roman, 'and this would be Vladimir.'

'I am,' the man said, glowering up at her. 'We also serve the Empire. We've been waiting for you, then, and your... baggage.'

'My team,' she said, suppressing a smile. Nicholas was standing on tiptoe now, which barely managed to bring him to her eye level. For a moment, she considered the man—he was finely muscled, with odd colored eyes, a dancer's waist and thick wrists. One eye was nearly obscured by a fierce, semicircular scar. A swordsman, she thought, looking him over. Very quick, I think, with a temper and a sharp tongue and he's never even thought of working with a woman before... Thyatis looked around the cabin, saw a table built into the wall and sat. Now they were of a height and Nicholas visibly relaxed. 'Have you been apprised of the mission?'

'I have,' he said. 'There is a device, hidden in some Egyptian tomb. We find the thing and bring it home.'

Thyatis nodded, pursing her lips. She looked Vladimir over critically and the big, black-maned Walach stiffened, then almost blushed. 'There might be more than one device—the telecast— and they are heavy. Vladimir, how much can you lift?'

'He can lift an ox,' Nicholas snapped, stepping between the two of them. 'He's with me, my partner and my friend. Can you lift so much?'

'No,' Thyatis said, pointing past Vladimir with her chin. 'But my friend Mithridates can.'

Vladimir turned and his eyes widened. The big African was standing behind him, completely filling the passageway, head bent over almost sideways.

'Hello,' Mithridates rumbled, smiling at the Walach.

Vladimir bared his teeth reflexively, then grinned tightly. 'Kind of cramped down here, isn't it?'

'It is,' the African answered, backing up. Stepping carefully, he eased back up the stairs. Vladimir followed and Thyatis was sure he was relieved to escape the tension between Nicholas and her.

'We'll need both of them to move such a weight,' she mused, watching Nicholas back away to the other side of the cabin. 'Nicholas—what kind of missions have you taken for the Empire?'

'Whatever they gave me,' he said suspiciously. 'Why?'

She spread her hands, taking a breath. 'Have you dealt with anything odd? With wizards or sorcerers?'

'Yes.' The Roman settled back against the wall. 'Vladimir and I were bodyguarding a Legion thaumaturge the last year. We were in Judea, cleaning up some local trouble, before the revolt swept over us. Then we were in Constantinople...' Nicholas' voice went hollow and Thyatis raised an eyebrow in surprise. The man seemed shaken. 'That was very bad.'

'I heard,' she said. 'I know how you feel—I've been in some scrapes where it seemed the gods were far away.' A vision of flames filling the sky beyond an iron doorway tugged at her memory, but she put the thoughts and the grief they brought away with a shake of her head. Concentrate!

'This one of those?' Nicholas' expression had softened and Thyatis breathed a little sigh of relief. The tension had faded from his voice and his shoulders relaxed from guard stance. 'Wizards? The dead come to life— the sky shaking with infernal voices? A chill like Thule ice in the air?'

'I hope not!' Thyatis grinned, running the tip of her tongue against the back of her teeth. 'These telecasts are sorcerous, though, and the Hill thinks the Persians would give left nut and right sword-hand to secure one.'

'I heard.' Nicholas ventured a tight little smile. 'Master Gaius said he'd seen one—all ablaze with green fire and whirling light. He said the prince used one to...'

Thyatis felt the room grow distant, rushing away from her. The tone change in the Roman's voice was plain—Nicholas knew old Gaius, and the prince—he respected them. Her eye fixed on the man's collar, finding a silver medallion there, worked in the shape of a dolphin. The crest of Caesar's house, she remembered. The Duchess' voice followed—The prince is charmed by the duradarshan and all it promises and dear Gaius Julius will bend heaven and earth to please our lord Maxian... So here is their agent, set before me as my second.

She blinked and saw Nicholas looking at her with a quizzical expression. 'I'm sorry,' she said, focusing on him again. 'I've seen one too. An unsettling experience.' She made a sharp wave with one hand, pushing away ill memories of the prince. 'We believe there might be two in Egypt, or rather, there were two once and we hope to find just one, or the parts of one.'

Nicholas watched her intently with his odd eyes, but said nothing.

'Do you have a problem,' she said after a moment of looking back at him, 'working for me?'

'No,' Nicholas replied, but his jaw was clenched tight. 'I was told to follow your orders.'

'Will you?' she said, pushing away from the table. He licked his lips, staring up at her. Thyatis noticed his fingers were clenched tight around the hilt of his sword and for an instant, she thought she heard a singing sound, like fine glass being rubbed wet.

'I will,' he said, grudgingly. Then he swallowed, as if he cleared his mouth of some poor taste, and said, 'I've been the leader before, I know how it is. I—'

'Good.' Thyatis said, cutting him off before he said something he would regret later. She swayed a little, as the ship shivered, pulling away from the dock. Thyatis leaned down, peering out a porthole and saw the narrow brickwork wall of the quay sliding past. Bronze rings, corroded and green, drifted past. 'We're on our way, then.'

She looked up, grinning, then frowned. Nicholas was already gone, leaving the cabin empty.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Alexandria, The Portus Magnus

Shirin pressed herself against a colossal sandstone foot, cloak over her mouth against billowing dust and heat. A row of gods towered above her, hands on knees, facing the sea. Dead stone eyes watched a column of Roman legionaries tramping past, hobnail boots ringing on the paving, shields gleaming in the noonday sun. Every man's face was grim and sparkling with sweat. They filled the avenue, pressing beggars and priests alike aside. Dust settled out of the air, coating Shirin's dark hair. Ignoring the legionaries—she had lost sight of Florus and his maniple in the confusion of debarkation—she turned away from the port and padded down a narrow side street. Hot dimness folded around her and the Khazar woman moved forward confidently, her face covered by a heavy veil.

Mutilated beggars whined as she passed, pushing dirty, stained bowls against her feet. She ignored them,