Lest forced stop, a halt by hand

Till released to swing again.

The city of Carxandria sat in desolation. Weeks had passed and still a haze of smoke hung in the air. People left their homes only out of desperation for food or to find out if loved ones survived. The whistling of the wind between the ruined homes, burnt towers, and bloodstained fortresses was the loudest sound that could often be heard. “Not today,” muttered Catonus Conditius as he stood atop the acropolis and looked over the city in the failing evening light.

In the streets below, leading up to the acropolis, a party made its way along, dancing wildly, whooping, and cheering as they waved pitchers of wine and pendants. Catonus frowned in annoyance and turned to the golden-masked figure that approached him from behind. “It is unwise for them to be out in the open so flagrantly. I can only hold the Aquillan guards back for so long without drawing suspicion.”

“It is a righteous celebration,” said the cult leader. “We have waited almost a century for this. The city is ours and from it, change will spread to the rest of the world.”

“How is that possible,” said Catonus, still frowning at the crowd below. “There is so much to be done.”

“Less than you think,” was the response. “Our contacts in the north will bring in shipments of the gems as we speak. There are agents in all Omnibus, worshippers of the Lord of Change, who will act in accordance with our interests. They will work for us or fall. Soon magic will return in force to the world and we will be the greatest ones to wield it. With it, we will bring about the change this world needs.”

Catonus felt a chill run through him. Not for the first time, he questioned whether joining them had been the right choice. But there was no turning back now. Better to rule the world of daemones and monsters than to be served in the coming feast. “Glorious. What is our next move?”

***

In Carxandria, the darkness of twilight always reached the canals first. Hooded figures moved along the banks, searching the water lanes for the dead, either to rob or bury. One such group of men, dressed in ragged tunics and old leather armor, searched the canals around the ruined southern fort. “There aren’t anymore,” said one of the men, “The last one was weeks ago.”

“It is only right to bury the dead,” said the leader. “Commander Humilius would expect nothing less.”

“He still hasn’t woken,” responded the same man. “We aren’t even sure he will.”

“And if he doesn’t?” asked another, “What will we do?”

The leader shook his head. “He will survive. You will see.”

They retreated soon after to make their way to the docks on the lakeside and around to the poor district. In a small, adobe, fishing shack, one of many, a figure wrapped in bandages lay in a bed, sleeping restlessly. Orin Humilus was still fighting for his life and his nation.

***

Lumina sat on the bow of a ship, forlorn and holding her wounded shoulder as it twinged again. She had reached the port of Ostium and, using the money given to her by Justinius, had bartered her way onto an independent trade ship. She had tried to select a ship carefully but felt rushed, unwilling to spend more than a single night in town. It was Aquillan territory and the port itself was dangerous and dirty.

The captain, a clean-cut, tall man with a new tunic, looked her up and down. Her wounds couldn't entirely be hidden and she struggled to hide the pain. The act likely didn’t fool him but he didn’t seem to care. “Can you pay?”

“I can,” she said. “But I need rations as well. No room is necessary.”

“It will cost you extra.”

She realized, with some trepidation, that once she finished paying her passage, she would have almost no coin left when she reached Mecarta. And she had no clue where Justinius’s brother lived. Her thoughts wandered back to him wistfully. She still felt conflicted but, with time and distance, she felt more pain than anger. She couldn’t deny it. She wished he was here with her, now, on this voyage.

The captain took her money and, before long, the ship left the harbor and was out in the open water where it bobbed on the waves. Its sail unfurled and the sunlight cast a gleam across it, making its white surface shine bright. She squinted and looked out to the water.

Nowhere else to go now.

***

Cassius traveled alone on the dusty road, his thoughts still swirling darkly as he swayed on his horse. The vast emptiness of the plains around him weighed heavily upon his spirit. The rapidly approaching dark would do nothing to help his uneasiness that had remained, ever since the death of Rufus Ambitius.

He could not help but feel the weight of failure. He remembered the savage creature that had attacked them and slaughtered his fellow soldiers and commander. His consul. The blood and the teeth and the howl it made after it gutted his consul. Rufus had been around his age. He had been so idealistic, full of passion. So much life left. All ended at the brutal hands of a monster. He still saw the eyes, the blood, and the dead in his sleep.

There was no denying it. Whatever that thing had been, magic had created it. He could now recall the rumors Marius had brought to him and his father from the north. He could remember them so distinctly now. “Rumors of dark shapes in the woods and whispers of magic of the ancient times brought back to life in the hands of twisted and distorted men.”

Cassius shivered. He couldn’t get these thoughts out of his head. Men who became monsters. He would face them again. He knew it in his heart. Marius was marching north with an army, an army that he was traveling to join with even now. Who knew what dangers would be up north? Monsters and magic possibly, and definitely wild Northmen.

“Ho there!”

Cassius started from his reverie at the call from behind him. He turned quickly, his hand reaching for his sword hilt. It was a young man, about his age, dressed in a fine tunic and with a sword of his own, a noble Aquillan. He rode up next to him. “I mean no harm, friend. I’m Laurentius Conditius, noble of Aquilla.”

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“Greetings,” said Cassius. “I’m Cassius Sollicius, son of Reginux Sollicius.”

Laurentius cocked his head. “I’ve heard of him. He was a commander in the last war, was he not? Served under Marius?”

“Indeed,” said Cassius. “I didn’t think anyone besides Marius remembered him.”

“I did my research,” said Laurentius. “This is perfect. I ride to join Marius in his conquest. I was hoping my status would get me an audience but maybe you could introduce me?”

Cassius was taken aback and then nodded slowly. “Perhaps. I know I have a position with him but I’m not sure what yet.”

“Do you mind if I travel with you?”

“I would welcome the company.”

Laurentius nodded in satisfaction. “Safety in numbers.”

Cassius nodded. “So…why do you want to join him?”

“Because he will grant me the honor I deserve. He stands for building greater things, not playing useless political games. Besides, I’m supposedly dead back home. I should have thought to do this as soon as they lied about my death.”

“Sounds like a story,” said Cassius.

He was glad Laurentius Conditius had joined him on the road. It was better than sitting alone with his dark thoughts. And, at the very least, there was another who would stand with him in the coming darkness.

***

Justinius had sent a note to Virgilus when he delivered the letter for his father. The note simply read, “If you want something to write about, come to the next senate meeting.”

He saw Virgilus enter the senate and walk up the steps to the guest seats. He caught his gaze and the old man smiled and nodded. Justinius didn’t feel much like returning it. His stomach was upset. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. The thought of what was coming filled him with dread and he glanced at Corbenus to see if he felt the same. His brother was stone faced and his jaw was clenched tightly. He felt it too. The whole room seemed to feel what was to come.

The room was filled with mutters and shifting glances. No one seemed eager to engage too loudly in any of their conversations, perhaps fearful of being overheard to have an opinion on something. The double doors opened and Horatius Honerius entered. The entire room fell silent in a wave, all eyes flicking to him. The evening light seemed to strike him particularly forcefully for he glowed as he stood in front of his consul seat. Upon sitting, he was followed by the rest of the senate who had bothered to stand in the first place at his entrance. The doors slid close with a soft boom and the staff cracked down. “The emergency meeting of the senate, called by Consul Horatius Honerius, may now begin.”

As Horatius stood, Magnus Conditius stood with him and spoke up. “A word before you begin, Consul Honerius.”

Horatius tried to stare him down. When that failed, he nodded. “A brief word,” he said as he sat.

“I think many know why we have been called here,” said Magnus, turning to the assembly. “Not all…which is far more telling. There have been dealings going on behind the scenes, Horatius Honerius. Dealings that, if true, are an outrage to all freedom-loving Aquillans. I only ask that you think carefully on your coming choice of words. What you may or may not suggest will have severe implications on this senate and our republic that we hold dear.”

He sat down, pulling his toga into a comfortable position, and stared Horatius down with a haughty glare. Horatius nodded to him. “Thank you, Magnus Conditius, for always being indirectly clear.”

He stood and stepped down from his raised position by the Consul chair and walked to the center of the room. He did a full 180-degree turn, surveying the faces of the senators within the chamber. His arms lifted and he began his impassioned speech.

“Honorable senators. I come to you now not as your consul. Not even as a senator. But as your fellow citizen, one who loves his country. I look around at the state of our nation, our dear republic, and I weep. I weep the bitter tears of mourning that one might over a funeral pyre. How long, my fellow senators, must our republic suffer while we sit in our marble-hewn chamber and argue over matters of state; matters that are important to few but ourselves? Meanwhile, our people, those that we are sworn to serve and protect, fall into chaos and are abandoned. How long in this madness of ours will we mock them? When is there to be an end to that unbridled audacity of ours, swaggering in self-importance while that which we claim to hold dear crumbles around us?”

Justinius’s gaze remained riveted on his father, unwilling to interrupt his speech in any way. The senate chamber was completely silent save for that commanding tone. Horatius paused only long enough to adjust his toga and take a deep breath. “We have many problems to contend with. We have lost a beloved consul in the war against Carxandria and we must replace him. Our own people revolt against us in the provinces. A city needs rebuilding. Our illustrious general, Marius Montinius, turns against us. Our people are restless, full of bloodlust, and suffering from hunger and poverty. All these things require strong leadership to overcome. Yet we will sit in endless debate, searching for solutions in talk and philosophizing. But while we secure one sort of justice, in that they do no wrong to anyone, we also fall into the opposite injustice. For we are hampered in our pursuits by leaving our citizens to their fate, those whom they ought to defend.”

He turned back to his seat and, stepping toward it, turned back with a look of sternness. “I cannot sit by and watch them suffer. To watch the country tear itself apart in revolts while the senate debates who should lead our forces and take power in the position of consul. And so I will do what I must to protect our people. I resign my position as consul and leave you to sort out who shall take power next.”

A murmur ran through the senate chamber and Justinius closed his eyes, waiting for the other foot to fall. “I ask the senate to allow me to do what is necessary to save this republic. I put before the senate a vote: to give me the power of Praetor till this crisis is abated.”

Justinius flinched, waiting for the protests to hit him. He opened his eyes in astonishment when he realized that there was no outcry of astonishment, fury, or surprise. His proposal was met with dead silence. There was fury, yes. But also fear, trepidation, and resignation. Magnus stood up first and spoke clearly. “So, you are determined to take this course. Very well. Let us put it to the vote.”

The speaker seemed stunned for a moment before he cleared his throat and cracked the staff. “A vote has been called. Those in favor of having Horatius Honerius take the powers of Praetor for the interim period of 1 year, to be reelected every year until the crisis is averted.”

If Horatius was annoyed at this slight change to the wording of his vote, he did not show it.. He allowed it and stood stoically as the hands began to rise.

Justinius felt the panic rising in his chest. The moment was upon him. He knew what he had to do. He had to raise his hand. But that lingering confusion weighed upon his heart and mind. Could he really believe his father? Did he simply seek to fix the republic? Hundreds of examples throughout his readings of history told him story after story of those who couldn’t resist the call of power. Was his father any different? What was the truth?

The words of Falehiem echoed in his head. “You know truth.”

He had tried to listen. To discover what the truth was by listening and making the decision that seemed to speak most of it. But so much had occurred since that moment. And while he sat in this cursed senate chamber, he always felt unclear. But even with Lumina he hadn’t known the truth. To go with her or not. To stand up to his father or not. To stand up against the senate or not. His thoughts ran faster and faster. Magic within and without. Love of Lumina, of family. Confusion reigned within him.

But in his heart, an anger flared up. Truth or not, he would not be pushed around any more. Maybe he didn’t know what Truth was, but he would not remain in his fathers shadow, squashed to never know, never find what it was he truly wanted.

He refused to raise his hand.

His fathers eyes met his and the fury of that gaze nearly petrified him but he did not stir. Whatever his father felt, he did not show it. But it was too late, the die was cast.

It was as if at a distance, Justinius saw the hands of the lords and moderates rise. It was with a buzzing sound in his ears that he heard the speaker announce that his father would take the title of Praetor. The voices and commotion that occurred after were also a blur to him. He sat silently on the bench.

He had defied his father. He had, at last, stood up for himself and made his own choice.

End of Book I