Halls of shadow, p.8
Halls of Shadow, page 8
Still bleeding from the ravens and the cut on her temple, Valentina left the wall and stepped onto the middle of the bridge, and with her came Koren and several centurions. As rain fell, she talked to Enathor, son of Elethor, King of Elania. She told him that she would withdraw the legions from his island. She welcomed his people into this city. She offered him partnership with Aelar—that they should build civilization here together, equal members in a republic of nations. The temples to Aelar's gods, she vowed, would not expand, and they would rise aside temples to the Elanian spirits.
"I will send no more Aelarians here," she vowed. "Not settlers or soldiers. Those Aelarian civilians who've already built lives here will remain, but they will live here peacefully. They will respect your culture while you respect theirs. The time for war in the world has ended. It is time to forge peace, to build civilization."
That night, Valentina lay down to bed in the Tilium forum, in Atticus's old chamber. At dawn, they would begin preparation for the journey back home. It would take days to prepare the supplies they needed, and Aelar was a long journey away. It had taken her and Koren nearly two months to travel here from Aelar, and an army would move more slowly. It would be spring before she arrived at the walls of Aelar again, bringing with her three legions.
And once I'm there, will war be unavoidable? she thought. Or can my words there too sway men's hearts to peace?
Koren stood by the window, looking out upon the city. The moon shone outside, and embers glowed in a brazier in the chamber. Both silver and red lights illuminated him. He wore only cotton breeches. He had cropped his hair and beard short; they were black as the night. As Valentina lay in bed, gazing at him across the chamber, she suddenly realized how beautiful he was. She had never understood when the other women of Aelar would gossip about men's beauty, speaking of men's bodies, their smiles, their stiff cocks. Valentina had never cared for any of those. Since awakening to womanhood, the love of her lumer had been enough for her. Yet now, lying here so far from home, she saw beauty in Koren—not only the beauty of his youth and form, but the beauty of his soul. There was so much light to that soul, so much joy, though so many worries weighed upon it.
"Will it work?" Koren said softly, still not facing her, gazing out the window. "Once we withdraw the legions, will the Elanians live in peace with the Aelarian settlers? Or will it be butchery?" He turned his back to the window, facing her. "Can men be trusted to live in peace, or as soon as we remove the might of an empire, will this place descend into chaos?"
"It was already descending into chaos," said Valentina. "I stopped that chaos."
Koren lowered his head. "How do you do it, Valentina? How do you believe in the goodness of men?"
She sighed and rose from the bed. She walked toward him and held his hands in the moonlight. She spoke softly. "When my mother was pregnant with me, Marcus butchered her. He took a knife, and he cut her corpse open, and he pulled me—just a fetus—out from her belly. He stole me from my mother's womb just to punish my father."
Even in the moonlight, Koren visibly paled. "God."
Valentina nodded. "And he treated my father even worse. He starved him, beat him, turned him into a chained animal, then forced him to dance and entertain the nobles—a fool, a wretch. When Septimus finally rebelled, Porcia Octavius murdered him—along with hundreds of other senators. I saw those murders. I saw my lover, Iris, strangled and murdered, lying dead at Marcus's feet. How do I believe in the goodness of men? I do not. I believe in their cruelty. In the malice and evil of mankind. And that is why I must believe in goodness, why I must fight for peace. Because only light can banish darkness. Only love can banish hatred. Only peace can banish war."
Koren lowered his head, silent for a long time, then looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Valentina. That those things happened to you."
She pulled him into her arms. "We've both walked dark paths. We've both seen too many loved ones lost, too much desolation, too much darkness to believe there can ever be light. But we'll keep shining our light. You and I, together, against the shadows."
They kissed in these shadows, like they had kissed under the blankets on their way to Tilium, but now they shed no tears. Now she did not kiss him for comfort in the cold and misery. Now she kissed him because she loved him—fully, deeply, completely.
She hesitated, then looked up at him and pulled off her stola. The soft linen fell to the floor, revealing her nakedness. Valentina had never been naked in front of anyone before. Even with Iris, she had always hidden under the blankets. Even in the bathhouses, she would hide her pale body underwater. She wished she could be bold and confident like Ofeer, and it took all her courage to meet his eyes.
"I've never made love to a man," she said. "Many suitors courted me in Aelar, generals and senators and great lords and kings of distant lands. I turned them all away. But I want to make love to you, Koren. I think I will enjoy it. Will you show me how?"
He nodded, eyes soft. "I'll show you how." He suddenly grinned—that old, mischievous grin she remembered, the one she hadn't seen nearly enough these past two months. "Some light in the shadows, right?"
She lay on the bed, naked, and closed her eyes. She was nervous, but as he kissed her, held her, she felt calmer, felt loved, felt better than she had since before her father had come into the garden, frightening her with stories of robins and cuckoos. It was awkward sex, their teeth banging twice, and it took several attempts before things seemed to work, and it was not wild love like in the stories the women in the bathhouse would share. But when it was over, and when she lay in his arms, and he stroked her hair and told silly jokes that made her groan, Valentina was happy—truly happy for the first time in many months.
On a winter morning, the legions departed from Tilium, traveling in galleys downriver through the island of Elania, heading toward the distant sea. Many leagues lay between them and Aelar. Valentina did not know what she would find when she got there—the tyranny of a new emperor or a city in ruin, ravaged by war. Many leagues and much darkness and much fear. Yet as they sailed, ship after ship, passing through this land they had conquered, Valentina vowed to keep carrying her light.
TIRUS
Sailing his galley across the Encircled Sea, Consul Tirus Valerius saw the island in the distance. He sucked in air between his clenched teeth, a smile tickling his lips.
"Cadom." He drank from his mug of wine, wiped his lips, and nodded at the shore. "Aelar's greatest symbol of might."
His sister-in-law stood at his side. Julia was a tall, athletic woman, an accomplished javelin thrower in her youth, having won several laurels in Aelar's games. Her hair streamed in the wind, a single streak of white running through the black locks like a silver river through a midnight field. Her dark eyes crinkled in amusement. "I thought that honor went to the Amphitheatrum."
Tirus snorted. "The Amphitheatrum is for show, that's all. Look ahead of you, Julia. Look at this island. Cadom was once Zohar's jewel, its only island and a light of its civilization. This place was once home to thousands of Zoharites, a thriving hub of trade and life and Luminosity. And now . . . ruins. The scars of imperial wrath."
He stared at the approaching island, at the ravaged walls, fallen towers, and smashed columns that littered the hills. Tirus remembered sailing here twenty years ago, serving in the legions under General Marcus Cadigus. Both Marcus and Tirus had been in their thirties then, still young and strong, two officers with eager wives at home and the glory of conquest ahead. Tirus remembered the towns that had risen here in Cadom, the Zoharite ships that had sailed against them. He remembered those ships burning, those towns falling. He remembered Jerael Sela kneeling before his new masters. He remembered dragging Shiloh Sela—gods, she had been beautiful back then—to Marcus, his gift of glory for a night.
"Here we first brought Zohar to its knees," Tirus said, lost in memory. "And here my ascension begins."
Julia kissed him. "This island will ever be a jewel in your empire, my future emperor."
Her mouth was warm and hungry. Tirus had never forgotten kissing her for the first time twenty years ago, kissing her many times in secret since—and now, finally, able to kiss her in the open, the world unrolling before them, the world they would rule together.
As they kissed, as her fingers stroked him, Tirus felt his manhood harden within his toga, and he grimaced with sudden pain. He pulled back from Julia.
"Not just yet, Julia," he said. "Let us save our passion for Aelar. It will be all the sweeter when we are emperor and empress."
The true reason he kept from her. The wound Ofeer had given him, sawing at his cock, was still healing, still red and scabbed and bled if he hardened. Yes, the wench in the Lunapar had been Ofeer Sela, daughter of his old enemy, sister of the rebel King Epheriah. Tirus was certain of that. His fists clenched at his sides. Once he returned to Aelar, he would break down every door until he found Ofeer, and then . . . then she would scream like nobody had ever screamed. He would torture her slowly, pulling out tooth by tooth, fingernail by fingernail, finger by finger, organ by organ.
"I hate waiting." Julia pouted, interrupting his thoughts. "But very well. Aelar is still three weeks away by sea, but I'll let my passion grow until we can make love in the heart of the Empire."
Tirus gazed at her, once his secret paramour, now his betrothed. Julia was everything her older sister, Tirus's slain wife, had not been. Adriana Valerius—and good riddance to her—had been a bitter woman and a bitter wife, and like his irritable bowel, she had made Tirus miserable. Always frowning, always fretting, always scolding, Adriana had seemed to him more ferret than woman. Tirus had married her to forge an alliance with her wealthy family, but he had instantly regretted it. Even back then, his eye had strayed to Adriana's sister, the wild Julia—eight years younger, eight times prettier, a woman with a mocking smile, intelligent eyes, and a fierce heart. Even so many years later, Julia was still fair, still intoxicating, and not yet forty—perhaps still young enough to give Tirus new children, to give him a son.
"You will be a glorious empress." Tirus raised his chin, staring out toward the island. "Here in Cadom we will summon the legions. Here we will raise the might to shatter the Gaelian assault, to defend Aelar, to secure our reign. A month hence, we'll be eating at Marcus's table and sitting on his throne."
Julia licked her lips. "For the first time, you will fuck me in a palace."
Tirus nodded. The past twenty years had been agonizing. Julia and he had often gone months without a kiss, barely a word, forced to love in secret whenever Adriana was away. But now that old hag was gone. It had been a stroke of genius. Tirus had paid the Zoharite brigands a mere silver coin each to assault his company, to murder his wife. Not only had the assault gotten rid of Adriana, it had infuriated Claudia—fury she'd need when besieging the walls of Beth Eloh.
"Life will be better for us now," Tirus said. "Life will be everything we've always dreamed of. Your older sister is dead and buried. Claudia is in the desert. Marcus and his madwoman of a daughter are dead. We are free to rule now. Together, you and I."
But of course, the job was not yet over. There were still enemies to vanquish. The hosts of Gael were storming across Aelar, with too many legions spread around the world to protect the homeland. Seneca had torn Nur off the Empire—its largest and wealthiest province—and ruled there alongside his new barbarian wife. Meanwhile, that pup Caelius was gaining too much power at home; in time, Tirus would have to deal with him too, to bend the boy to his will or dispose of him. Yes, there were still battles ahead and perhaps difficult years. But after two decades of languishing in the provinces, Tirus relished the fight.
Cadom was soon close enough to cover the horizon. Golden beaches led to cypress trees, piney hills, and distant chalky mountains. Zoharite ruins still lay across the hills—smashed columns, the shells of walls, a burnt temple with its roof gone, and hundreds of ravaged homes. Tombstones still rose here, and lingering hints of Zoharite ships—a rotting mast, an anchor, a figurehead—still lay half-buried in the sand. They kept sailing, the galley navigating between mossy boulders that thrust up from the water, some taller than the masts. In the afternoon, past white cliffs topped with pines, they reached a harbor.
Ten quinquereme warships anchored here, bearing the eagle standards of the Empire. Each ship was lined with a hundred oars per side, large enough to hold five hundred troops. Dozens of smaller vessels moored farther back along piers, landing craft and fishing boats and merchant cogs. Beyond the harbor rose the town of Cadomius, built upon the ruins of a Zoharite village. Columned temples, airy villas, and brick castra overlooked the sea. A legion garrisoned here—Legio XIV Luxia, Aelar's fist of the east, able to quickly deploy either to Zohar in the east, Kalintia in the north, or Nur in the south.
Yet today I take you west, Tirus thought. We return home.
They moored by a cobbled boardwalk. A colonnade stretched along the waterline, each column supporting a marble eagle. Tirus huffed his way out of the ship, along a gangplank, and onto the boardwalk. His body was stocky, powerful, slow, built for hammering at foes and emptying flagons of wine, not for gangplanks and mossy stones.
Julia followed him, her slaves trailing behind her. While Tirus wore a simple white toga—he had never cared much for gaudy fabrics and pomp—Julia wore a resplendent purple stola, golden bracelets, and a ruby choker. Many ladies in Aelar dyed their hair or wore elaborate wigs, but Julia, only in her midthirties, proudly sported the white streak that ran through her hair. She raised her chin, walking high and tall, as if she were already an empress landing in Aelaria Maritima. For too long, Julia had withered in the shadows of her older sister. For too long, Adriana had reigned as Tirus's wife—bickering and complaining all the while.
Here is a true empress, Tirus thought, gazing at proud Julia. She will be the true jewel of Aelar.
The handful of soldiers they had taken on their galley, all members of the Magisterian Guard, joined them on the boardwalk. Several soldiers of the local garrison approached from the town, clad in full regalia. Four slaves walked among them, bearing a palanquin on which rode a corpulent, pink-cheeked man in a toga, brown curls ringing his bald, sweaty dome.
"Good afternoon, dear Tirus Valerius!" said the man, climbing off his palanquin with a huff. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. "Blasted heat. Even in winter, it gets so hot here in the east."
Tirus didn't find the weather particularly warm, but he suspected that for a man of such girth even winter days were oppressive. He had never thought much of Laertis Luciarus, governor of Cadom, a gluttonous sycophant who had fled the capital in shame after killing a general's favorite slave—some said, perhaps seriously, by crushing her in bed.
Tirus nodded curtly. "I've come to deplete you of your troops, Laertis. We load up the galleys with men. I'll be taking the legion to Aelar at dawn tomorrow."
The man's eyes widened. "Dominus! The legion here is necessary! The traitor Seneca musters his forces only three days south across the sea, and the Zoharites rebel only several leagues away in the east, and . . ." At a stern look from Tirus—who outranked him—Laertis nodded and gulped. "Forgive me, dominus. My legion is yours."
"Not yours or mine, Laertis," said Tirus. "The legions serve only the glory of the Empire. And that Empire is now without an emperor, as you must have heard. I'm sailing to Aelar to fill that role."
Laertis's eyes widened even more, and he fell to his knees. "My emperor!"
"Stand up." Tirus grunted. He had no use for flatterers or fools. He was not an Octavius. "I'll spend the night in the town. Tell me, do you still have Zoharite slaves here?" He leaned closer as the man straightened. "Do any of the desert whores serve in the town's brothel?"
Every Aelarian town across the Empire had at least one good, expensive brothel and often several cheaper establishments. But Cadom would have something other provinces did not—Zoharite whores.
"Of course, of course." Laertis bobbed his head. "We slew most of the Zoharites when we landed here twenty years ago, but we've kept many, and we've been breeding them. They make marvelous slaves. I've tasted a few of their women myself."
Behind him, Julia heaved a sigh, and Tirus turned to see her roll her eyes. "Really, Tirus?"
He shot her a glare. He respected Julia. She was strong, brave, intelligent, more than could be said for her wretched sister. But one thing he would not allow—a woman to speak out of line.
"Come with me, Julia," he said. "Maybe you'll learn something."
They left the port behind and walked through the town. As they advanced, Tirus's men walked before him, barking orders, preparing the garrison for their upcoming deployment. It was a typical Aelarian town: cobbled roads, apartment buildings topped with red tiles, columned temples housing marble statues of the gods, aqueducts, a public bathhouse, and a theater. But what distinguished this town was the quality of its slaves. Here was no rabble from across the world. The slaves here were Zoharites—Tirus's favorite—captured in the old war, chained, collared. They moved through the town, serving their masters. That's how Tirus enjoyed seeing them. For too long, he had served as ambassador to Zohar, forced to treat the free Zoharites as people. Here they fit their true purpose, mere beasts of burden.
The brothel rose on a hilltop, overlooking the sea, its door painted azure. Several Zoharite women waited here, some young enough to have been born after Aelar's conquest of the island. On an island with a garrison of five thousand legionaries, Tirus guessed that these women worked hard.
"Goodness," said Julia, examining them. A thin smile stretched her lips. "Look at them, Tirus. I never knew brothels had women this beautiful. Perhaps I was wrong to judge you. Which should we choose?" She approached one woman, tall and well curved. "I like this one. She's beautiful, Tirus." She looked over her shoulder at him. "You're truly willing to share this with me?"
