Florianus marched back toward the village, followed by his victorious company of three hundred men. The caravan advanced, with dozens of soldiers, infantry hoplites, and battering rams. A cage-shaped carriage rolled in the middle of the caravan, like those used to transport beasts from the Southern Continents. But this time, it carried captured women and men, all bound like cattle. Instead of being killed, they were spared, their lives preserved as much as those of their own soldiers, all for a grander and more meaningful purpose, a vision so immense that it couldn’t be fully understood.

These captives were symbols of chaos, of resistance against order, and therefore, they had to be made examples of. If the circumstances had been different, Florianus would have executed them quickly and without fanfare. A simple beheading in the town square would suffice, witnessed by the condemned individuals’ relatives and friends. However, that wouldn’t be necessary. The women of Adachia, although resentful and cruel, posed no more threat than a vengeful bee. No, Florianus had grander plans. He would send some of them to the heart of the Empire, to the great Itruschia of the Thousand Pillars.

There, the traitor's son would undergo public scourging, skinning, impalement, flaying, crucifixion, or any other fate chosen by his executioner. The woman who murdered her own husband would be dispatched to a rebellious province, perhaps the one in the South that experienced annual uprisings, to be presented in the Great Circus or to be devoured by beasts or publicly dishonored. Florianus was no torturer; he would leave that to the experts.

As for the mute man who had killed three men, Florianus would keep him for himself. Perhaps, he thought, he would give him to the legionaries, those who had lost comrades at the hands of this murderous youth.

He halted his trot to check on his prisoners, pulling the reins while his company continued their slow march. Gallantly, he approached the cage. Moving too quickly caused the cheek guards of his helmet to press against his wounded ear, now covered in bandages. He passed by the cage with a smirk, and the prisoners glared at him. If only the wooden bars didn't separate them, they would have attempted to attack him. Savages. All he could do was laugh.

The woman who had fought him at the camp intrigued him. Her physical features were uncommon among Gadalians and hinted at an eastern origin. He stole a glance at her and smiled cunningly, her dark hair cascading down her chest. Her body was exquisitely shaped, and he longed to possess her. What would it feel like to be desired by such an enemy woman?

He spurred his horse onward. He had had a few mistresses before, and his late wife didn't mind. However, the image of this woman was like a drug, coursing through his veins. Florianus took a deep breath and urged his horse forward, but couldn't help looking back. And yet, he could not forgive himself. Desire was strong and overwhelmed his body. And yet, they were enemies. His mind went through different paths. He could not even take that flesh by force. He kept riding.

"Sir, Overseer. Are you okay?" Julius, the centurion, asked him.

"Yes," Florianus answered without looking back. He did not return to the front; instead, he pulled the reins, turning his horse around and rode back through the lines of riders that surrounded the carriage. He trotted toward the slave who walked next to a donkey loaded with bags of provisions.

"Sir," the slave bowed his head low.

"Avlix," Florianus muttered his name. "We have to have a talk." Avlix couldn't wait. They were already close to the borderlands. He had to issue an order as soon as possible. "We had that pending talk. Now, confirm with me that you're right."

"Yes, my lord," Avlix said. "I am certain that the woman will march back with an army. All the barbarians knew that was where she was going. Now how many men, and how long it will take, we do not yet know."

"Good," he said. But the thought remained in his mind, hammering away like a blacksmith. The slave did not know if the girl had been successful in recruiting others. That would be seen shortly, but for that, he had to prepare himself. He could not be caught off guard by a surprise attack, and the watchmen at the border wall had proven slow to carry the information.

Florianus eyed his prisoners again. Although their execution would be saved for a later date, a good interrogation wouldn't do harm when they got to the village. Florianus had made a fatal mistake; he had left no survivors except that slave. He could have gathered information on the barbarian army the girl had set out to contact.

"My lord, I . . ." The slave kept his head low, but his voice was loud, as if pleading for life. "I beg you to consider my request."

"We'll see," Florianus said. He did not trust slaves. He'd had too many bad experiences with them. No matter how sincere, how lowly and submissive they acted, Florianus knew they could turn and slaughter them in an instant, especially if they were as persistent as Avlix.

"Now tell me, Avlix. Tell me about that woman again."

"Yes . . ." Avlix lowered his voice. "They call her Kassara, and she was their commander."

"You told me that, tell me more . . . Did she talk of a family? Children? Daughters in the village?"

"I overheard them, yes," the slave said. "She had a husband and a child or two. The husband was a warrior, the children, I don't know how old. Not very old, not yet men, it seemed."

"I see."

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"My lord, may I ask why her?"

"Slave! Do not be so insolent. You are still a slave, behave as such or I'll cut off your head, bleach your skull, and put it on my bookshelf."

"Understood," he said, his skin turning pale.

"What else do you know?" Florianus asked.

"I . . . Well, you see the man with the brown hair? The tall one?"Proofread the lightly:

"Yes, he's a traitor, and grandson of an old hexer. What about him?"

"He's a real magi."

"A magi?"

"Yes, my lord. I saw him use a spell to bring her back to life. The woman died. She stopped breathing. We were all held as prisoners when it happened. She . . . died. And he did some enchantment and she came back to life."

Florianus narrowed his eyes, staring at the carriage and the head of the young traitor. His shoulder and the side of his head leaned against the wooden beams. He was muttering something, like a prayer or a spell. Florianus believed in magic, and those barbarians were famous for summoning evil demons and dragon spirits that brought havoc to the world. He had to be careful. Then, he caught a glimpse of something else. The young dark-haired boy remained hidden between the two women. His back hunched, looking down.

"Sire . . ." Avlix continued. "Any information, anything you require of me. I will let you know. And please, when . . . When it is your will, please grant me my freedom."

Florianus couldn't help but laugh.

"I told you, Avlix. We'll see."

Florianus trotted toward the chariot.

"Stop! Stop!" he yelled at the soldier who was driving the carriage. He glanced back, confused, and halted his vehicle. Florianus advanced and situated his horse next to it. He clapped his hands, calling the attention of his prisoners.

"Hey, boy, what do you have in there!" he yelled. The entire group looked at him through the bars, their necks and hands all bound with chains. The boy's frown was prominent. "Yes, you, little scoundrel, I'm talking to your ugly face. Now, get up and show me what you were doing!" he said.

The boy stared at him with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, pure hatred emanating from his pupils.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Now get up or I'll make the boys put you on the rack."

The boy pulled out his hand, showing a small die.

"You lying bastard. Boys!" He pointed at two soldiers who were marching closely, taking the key out of his pocket. "I want you to go inside and register the boy."

The entire company halted, and the chatter of soldiers ceased immediately. Four soldiers stood behind him, and Florianus opened the cell with a creak.

"Nobody move!" he shouted, pulling himself into the carriage. The prisoners remained pressed against the bars, while he and two guards made their way in. Each step creaked under his sandals. He stood before the child. "Come on!" Both guards grabbed the child by the arm. He contorted violently and stepped hard on the floor, his foot above an old blanket.

"Move, you scum of the earth!" The soldiers pulled him.

"Leave him!" Florianus heard a female voice ring through. He turned and saw one of the murderous rebels, a woman with dark blonde hair holding a baby in her arms. He looked at her with disgust. "What is this woman saying?" Florianus asked, his voice filled with hate. He strode forward, with the men and women in the chariot staring at him in awe. The woman turned slightly, protecting her baby.

Florianus was determined, so he reached out and pulled the woman closer to him, even as she clung tightly to her baby, fear evident on her face. He grabbed the baby from her arms, gripping it by the legs.

"Stop!" he heard her allies scream, both men and women, as the sound of metal chains clanking filled the air. The baby began to cry. Florianus glanced at the infant, his eyes sparkling blue, noting its small and seemingly inconsequential body.

"Let the baby go or you will regret it!" a voice he recognized declared. It was the woman who fought. Florianus tightened his hold on the baby. The prisoners struggled to get closer, but their movements were restricted by the chains around their necks and hands. With both arms, Florianus held the baby, pulling it towards his bronze cuirass. The cries of the child grew as loud as the sound of an iron carriage on a rocky road.

"Back off!" one of the soldiers warned, brandishing his spear at the prisoners.

"Now listen carefully, all of you!" Florianus called out. "I never intended to harm this child, but if you hide things from me, he will be taken away as well."

"Leave him alone! He has done nothing!" the tall boy protested.

"Enough with your savagery!" Kassara exclaimed. Florianus stared at her, took a step back, and offered the child back to its mother. The cries gradually subsided as she held the baby against her breast and began to feed it.

"I will show mercy to your child," Florianus stated. "So stop this madness or I will change my mind. You can keep him until the last moments before your death, if you behave. So, cease your actions and listen."

He turned away again, walking towards the silent boy. The boy stared defiantly as one of the guards pointed a glistening lance at him. A patterned blanket lay on the floor, old and covered in dust. Florianus knelt down and lifted it, revealing two small books on the carriage floor.

"Ha! Who would have thought these barbarians could read?" Florianus lifted one of the books and opened it, noticing scribbles on the borders. It was all in the barbarian's language, not the Itruschian script.

"What is this? Battle plans?"

"Poetry!" the tall man exclaimed."We'll see about that," Florianus said. "This will be useful." He turned around and climbed down from the chariot. He went through the pages of the first. Most of them were empty. Then, he went for the next book, a small and thin tome of decaying pages. He opened it and felt his heart jump like a rabbit. It was written in the ancient Hellenian script. He raised an eyebrow and kept scrolling through the pages. Through the text, he saw words that made him narrow his eyes and read attentively. Talk of giants, of a sword. One of the pages had the drawing of a sword in an exotic style. Extremely long, its crosshead was wide, as if made for trapping enemy swords. Two jewels in it. Around it, a magical circle, one he recognized. Around it, scribblings made in Itruschian alphabet, in somebody else's handwriting.

But one of them made him shudder. The Circle of the Protector, the very same symbol was drawn beneath a human figure. It was not as clear nor recognizable as the one in his book, but it was the same.

He turned around. "What is this? Where did you find that?" he asked, looking back at the carriage.

"It's not your business, you fool," Kassara screamed from the cage.

"Shut it. Tell me or I'll eviscerate you." He walked toward the boy, yelling at him through the bars. "You better tell me now, you disgusting lizard."

"It's been inherited from our Elders," the tall traitor said. "Nothing to do with battles. It's just an old book on mythology."

"The sword of Ares? The bane of the Giants? I have heard of this! This is the conspiracy your people developed in order to overthrow us. We know about that . . ."

But something in the book puzzled him. What was that magical circle and why was it also on the ancient Parzian book that stood in his library?

He had no time to deal with those partisans.

"I'll take this," he said, jumping and mounting his horse. "Now let's get going, people!" he yelled, and the march started again.