The Dark Lord

with them at noon tomorrow. If a man refuses my command, which is given with the voice of the Emperor, then that man is to be slain. His second, or heir, will come instead. Do this now!'

—|—

Thin high clouds and an oppressive pressure in the air marked the following day. Aurelian rose before dawn and spent the morning standing at the edge of the tell, watching the fortifications rising below him with relentless speed. Slabs of basalt in twelve-by-eight-foot sections—looted from an abandoned temple on the outskirts of the city—were being placed along the fighting wall and driven home with padded mallets. The sight gave him no ease, for he could feel the wind turning to come out of the east. Phranes had forced him to choke down some food, but now the flat bread and boiled grain lay in his stomach like a ballast weight.

'Lord Caesar?' It was Phranes again, venturing out from the great tent. 'The priests have come, as you commanded. The Legion commanders are here, too.'

Aurelian did not turn around. 'Has the commander of the Fleet arrived?'

'Yes, my lord, as well as the senior captain of the Eastern ships in the harbor.'

The prince nodded, then turned and climbed back up to the tent. The space under the awnings was full, priests and soldiers and clerks packed shoulder to shoulder. Though the day was cloudy, the sun seemed much hotter than usual, making the air simmer. Slaves moved through the tight mass of men, filling cups and passing trays of pastry and cured meat. Only the space directly behind the field desk was open, and Aurelian passed through the press of men slowly, meeting the eyes of many, speaking softly to others.

By his command, a map of the delta, carefully inked on sheets of parchment, lay open on the table.

'I have news,' he began, without preamble, looking out over the sea of faces. Everyone was sweating, even the Egyptians. 'It is poor. Constantinople has fallen to Persia.'

The murmur of men speaking in low voices stilled. There was only a faint creaking of ropes and canvas. Aurelian nodded, looking from face to face.

'This news came last night, by sea. The Eastern capital has been destroyed. The Persians, with their Greek and Avar allies, have overthrown its walls and slaughtered—yes, I say slaughtered—its citizens. The army of the East has been broken and can no longer be accounted upon the field of battle.' Aurelian paused and bowed his head, placing his palms flat upon the table.

'The Emperor Heraclius... the Emperor is dead, and his brother, the great prince Theodore, has also fallen. The Eastern fleet has been scattered and only the remains of the Western Legions, supported by Khazar and Gothic auxillia, stand between the Persian army and Greater Greece.'

Aurelian looked up and saw a cold, stunned silence had fallen over the gathering. Even the priests of the temples—usually a stoic and sullen lot—seemed surprised, even fearful. They were, however, listening very closely. The prince did not smile, though he was pleased to see that his harsh words had woken them to attentiveness. 'There is more. The Persians have employed the foulest sorcery to—'

'Rubbish!' One of the priests made a loud snorting noise, sticking out his chin pugnaciously. 'Roman lies! The mobehedan serve the lord of light, they would never—'

Aurelian made a slight motion and one of the legionaries in the crowd slammed the butt of his spear into the priest's back, knocking him to the ground, gasping for breath.

'There is no time for discussion,' the prince barked at the crowd. 'By the eyewitness account of soldiers and priests within the city, it is all too clear the Persians have brought a monstrous power against us. The great gates of Constantinople were toppled by something which cannot be described.' He picked up the parchment and read aloud: 'A storm of darkness, writhing with obscene movement—and within the city the soldiers were overwhelmed by hosts of the risen dead. Yes, the Persians own a necromancer among their number.'

Aurelian paused, letting his words hang in the air. The priests stirred, incredulous, and began to speak, their voices rising up like a flock of gulls.

'Be quiet.' The prince did not repeat himself. The priests fell silent, cowering under the stern visage of the legionaries among them. 'You may read the accounts yourself, when I have finished, but I have not misled you. Know this—the Eastern Empire has fallen, its emperor dead, its army scattered, its fleet broken. Emperor Galen, Lord of the West, has placed all Eastern lands under his direct authority. You may dispute my conclusion, but I know the enemy will turn upon Egypt, and we will be sorely pressed to withstand him.'

Aurelian turned to the east, gesturing out into the murky haze and the endless green fields. 'Within the month, the Nile will begin to rise. By the end of Augustus it will be in full flood, making an impassible barrier between us and the east. That leaves the enemy only two months in which to break through our lines at Pelusium. I believe he will make that effort with every power at his disposal.'

The prince turned back, a grim smile on his face. 'Every power.' He stabbed a thick finger at the priests. 'The day has come for you to leave your temples and schools. A black tide rushes toward us and you will have to bar its passage.'

'Us?' One of the priests, a spindly little acolyte of Sebek the Crocodile, squeaked in alarm. 'We are not battle magi—'

'You will have to be. We need thaumaturges desperately. Too many have already been slain in Thrace or Syria. You will have to fill the gap and stand against the foulness Persia brings. Have you heard me? The Persians have cast aside every covenant and restriction—they will wake the dead of Egypt to destroy us. They have summoned the forbidden onto the earth to throw down their enemies! This has become a war of great powers, not just of men!'

Aurelian's voice rose, trying to force his point across by volume. Some of the priests were nodding, ashen- faced; others spoke agitatedly among themselves. But too many of the shaven-headed men stared at him in confusion or outright disbelief.

'Your gods,' he barked, temper fraying, 'demand you stand and fight! This is the oldest enemy—you may call it Set or Ahriman or Typhon—but it is the foe of all that lives! Wake up! Rouse yourselves—if we fail, if Rome fails, if you fail, then Egypt will be destroyed, as Constantinople was destroyed. The temples will be cast down in fire and ruin, the people enslaved, your own heads will be upon a stake, and death itself would be a welcome release from the torments you will suffer.

'Know this, priests and captains: Rome will fight to the last to hold the enemy from Egypt. Without Egyptian grain, Rome will starve. If Rome fails, then Egypt will die too. You must come forth with all your strength—you are learned men; many of you can wield the power of the hidden world, you own ancient secrets passed down from the Pharaohs—you must bend all your will and power to this enemy's defeat.

'Know this, too; there is no escape from this war. If Egypt falls, there will be no place to flee, for the enemy will grow ever stronger, and Rome ever weaker. In the end, if you hide, the enemy will find and consume you. You must fight, and we must win.'

The prince ceased speaking, a little surprised at his own vehemence. In the night, he had spoken with the Legion thaumaturges and their words filled him with raw fear. The power unleashed upon Constantinople still echoed in the hidden world, jolting furiously outward, and where such foulness passed, men with the sight quailed. A truly horrific power—something out of ancient legend—was loose in the world, and allied with Persia—if not its master!

Aurelian did not think he could hold Egypt against such strength. In truth, if the enemy fleet controlled the sea, he was not sure he could hold Egypt against the Persian army, much less this power. More than half of his men were new recruits and the rest had never faced such a terrible enemy. But I will not yield. I will buy time, at least, for Galen and the Empire.

Aurelian did not dwell on his brother's situation. The Emperor had his own concerns.

'Lord Caesar.' One of the priests rose—a very old man, bald, with smooth, dark brown skin and a neat yellow-white beard. He leaned upon a hawk-headed cane and the sign of Horus the Defender was worked into a clasp holding his tunic at the shoulder. 'I will speak frankly. Egypt has never loved Rome, even under the 'good' Emperors. You are foreigners and conquerors. Your taxes are heavy and your demands in labor worse. There are some among us who might hope Persian rule would sit lighter upon our necks...' The old priest looked around, grinning, showing gappy white teeth. 'But they are fools. Even without this... dark power... the Persians would ignore our traditions, trample our gods and squeeze the farmers for every last coin. This is the way of Empires.'