The Dark Lord

heavy, furious beat. Black mist flowed from half-seen vents, red worms writhing down night-shrouded slopes. The man holding the sun swayed, the last light failing. Darkness swallowed the scene, save the fitful glow of the burning mountain.

Maxian heard people crying in the darkness, though he was unmoved by the phantasm. Silently, he turned his palms toward one another and pressed them against the contained air, as if something stiff resisted him. Beyond the eastern roof, a sudden light flared, a shining white beam striking through the curdling mist, driving back the abyss of darkness. The sun—dead, cold, rods black as slate—was revealed. The muscled man continued to balance the orb on his back, swaying little by little from side to side. White light played across him, casting his face in sharp relief, his tense muscles growing huge under such scrutiny.

Four men of diverse races appeared from the east, backs arched, hands and toes gripping the cables. Bound to their backs was a four-square platform. With smooth grace, they scuttled forward, exemplary skill keeping the platform steady. Standing on their support, a man in white robes with a patrician face, bare ankles adorned by wings, wore a golden wreath on a high brow. He held aloft a crystal sphere, incandescent with white light. As he advanced, Maxian pushed his hands away from his chest and the mist and darkness boiled back. Vesuvius' refulgent glow dimmed, then vanished. The conical outline receded into mist and was gone.

The four crawling men scurried on until they came even with the sun. Now the muscled man rose, inch by inch, muscles straining, rolling the orb of the sun from his back and onto his hands. He stretched skyward, lifting the sphere of rods above his head. The noble Roman tossed the brilliant crystal into the air. The muscular man swayed, spinning the lattice and then deftly caught the flying crystal in a cup at the sphere's heart.

The sun blazed alight anew, flooding the courtyard and the sky with golden light. A cheer went up, torn from unwary throats, and everyone clapped furiously. No longer slow, the man bearing the sun ran off to the west along the cable, carrying the radiant orb away over the rooftop. Behind, the noble Roman bowed to the crowd gathered below, then the four bearers scuttled backward and in moments they too had vanished over the eastern roof.

Maxian snapped his fingers and every candle, lamp and torch in the house sprang alight.

A great clamor of glad voices rose, filling the air. The servants watching from the shadows of the arbor streamed away, chattering, their good humor restored. Even Gaius Julius was smiling.

'Nicely done,' the old Roman said. 'The winged feet were a good touch.'

Maxian shrugged. 'It was the Duchess' idea—I just added a little light.'

'Hmph.' Martina made a face, but seemed content to lean against the prince, hands clasped across his chest, her chin resting on the crown of his head. 'No one can accuse her of subtlety— Rome lights the world, indeed!'

Gaius Julius gestured at the people crowding back into the hall, appetites restored, faces bright with cheer. 'They needed something to revive their spirits. The Duchess invited everyone of importance in Rome and Latium— if their will flags, then the Empire suffers. Now they see their Emperor, see his son, their bellies are full, their senses replete. They are inspired—and tomorrow they will set to their tasks with greater vigor, with a lighter heart. I say again—well done!'

'Thank you, Gaius.' Maxian made a small bow in reply. 'But I did little. How passes your evening?'

The old Roman tilted his head to the Empress. 'We have been talking, Martina and I. I thought you'd been working too hard—but she tells me what she's found about our enemy—'

Maxian raised an eyebrow, face going still, his expression becoming cold and forbidding.

'—and I cannot fault you! Is there anything else I can do to aid your search? I have no desire to live in a world ruled by a three-headed dragon that lives only to consume and torment the living.' He paused, a catlike smile on this face. 'Cicero as consul was bad enough.'

The prince relaxed, nodding. 'We need more of everything, Master Gaius. More time, more skilled workers, a better grade of iron ore, more money to pay them and purchase materials. I would appreciate the effort if you kept such concerns fresh in Galen's mind while we are up in Florentia.'

'Of course.' Gaius Julius rubbed his chin, feigning thought. 'I am reminded of a note that lately crossed my desk—a bequest was made to you, Lord Prince, and the Emperor remanded the property to the Imperial Exchequer. I will remind him of your good and loyal service, urging him to use the bequest—through his hands, of course—to fuel your enterprises.'

'What bequest was this?' Martina leaned over Maxian's shoulder, interest perked.

'A small matter,' Gaius Julius smiled faintly. 'An old friend made Lord Maxian his sole heir—as he had gone down to the halls of the dead without male issue—a suitable, princely sum!'

'Who was this?' The Empress flicked her fingers, bidding Gaius hurry with his revelation.

'The esteemed senator, Gregorius Auricus,' the old Roman said, lowering his voice and making a sign to propitiate the gods. 'Solely the richest man in Rome, save the Emperor himself. The master of vast estates, herds, flocks, wineries, oil presses, flour mills, merchant ship shares, bakeries—every possible source of wealth! All left for Maxian Atreus, without stipulation save 'to use for the good of Rome.''

'Really?' Maxian was surprised and gratified. 'How remarkable... but you say Galen refused to approve the inheritance?'

'Yes...' Gaius Julius made sort of a sickly smile. 'The note—by the Emperor's hand—related the inheritance was being secured by the state, to finance the war and other... efforts.'

Maxian laughed, with a little catch in his voice. Gaius Julius caught the change in tone, and hid another smile, though his eyes fairly gleamed. Martina, for her part, did not laugh at all.

'So,' she said in an icy voice, 'now the prince must petition for wealth rightly his? He must send polite notes, requesting his own revenues be released to himself? So he might continue his work, to strengthen the Empire and throw down these Persian monsters?'

'Yes—' Gaius started to say, but Maxian cut him off with a raised hand.

'This is within my brother's right—though I am puzzled by his decision. But, I will not argue the matter with him. That,' the prince said with a smirk, 'I leave to you, Gaius. Just get me the things I need.' With that, the prince squeezed Martina's hand and stepped away. 'I'm starving. Shall we eat?'

Martina did not answer. Instead, she gave Gaius Julius a look of such banked fury he stepped back in alarm. Ignoring them both, Maxian started off for the banquet tables.

'My lady?' the old Roman ventured quietly, as soon as the prince was out of earshot. She pursed her lips, obviously restraining a vigorous expression of disgust.

'Does the prince possess lands of his own, Master Gaius? His own livelihood?'

'Well...' Gaius Julius shrugged a little, clasping both hands behind his back. 'Not to speak of—there are some small properties in his name; rundown apartment houses, a copper mine in Illyria; at one point he held a vineyard and estate on the slopes of unfortunate Vesuvius... nothing too large. Traditionally, the Emperor provides for his family—including any brothers or sisters.'

'Does he?' The Eastern Empress' brown eyes narrowed. 'Or rather, he keeps his brothers from accruing their own wealth, so as to protect his position.' She paused, staring after the prince, who was following his nose to the food. 'He doesn't care, does he?'

'Maxian? No—I don't think he does. It's not important to him.'

Sympathy and anger warred in Martina's face for a moment, then her expression settled into a determined frown. 'Then we will watch out for him,' she said briskly. 'To make sure he's not cheated again.'

—|—

Anastasia was standing in an alcove just off the atrium of her house, when the water clock began to sound, signaling the seventh hour of the night. The party was winding down—more than half the guests had departed in small groups, escorted by link boys and armed slaves—and the chiming sound beat in her head like a hammer. Everyone else seemed determined to greet the rising sun over the ruins of her feast and many lesser lights were already asleep, curled up in corners or on the couches in the entertaining rooms.

The Duchess pressed the back of a thumb against her eyebrow, hoping to stave off an incipient and formidable migraine. In the brief instant, while her eyes were closed, she heard a murmur of voices and the clatter of boots and sandals on her tile floors. Someone is leaving, she thought, giddily. Oh good! Gathering herself, she stepped out into the hall and saw the departing guests were the prince, the Empress and the sly gray old shape of Master Gaius Julius.

'Lord Prince,' Anastasia said, bowing slightly. 'I am very pleased you came this evening. And thank you for your help. Without your 'additions,' I fear my little play would have fallen rather flat.'