PROLOGUE

775DY

Morndas, 26th of Anovo, Spring

The omens hung red in the sky, the glowing algae clinging to the clouds, as a Senator stood on the windy balcony of the Basilikon. He was well past forty, with deep-set eyes, sharp cheekbones and nose, wisps of black and grey hairs on his head. He looked down to the streets below, the mass of people seeming like some great living organism, writhing, and moving like the tide. The stone bannister was cool and wet against his hands. The rains of late spring threatened to return. This view once belonged to the King of Doros and his family, yet now it was before him and all the elected servants of the people. Severus smiled. It was a useful fiction. Sometimes he pretended it was true - that the Republic was just, reasonable, true of heart. But he could scarcely remember the last vote, election, or senate meeting where money hadn’t changed hands somewhere. What was democracy to a purse of gold?

His toga tugged against him, flapping in the rising wind, its fine material red-hemmed and white as snow. His eyes couldn’t help but wander to the Spire. It dominated the skyline of the city, dark and terrible. It was where the mages did their work, and your children might be imprisoned if they are found to have that magical spark. He wondered where his son might be today, among this twisting mass of people, and what news he might bring when he comes home tonight. The boy was almost a grown man, soon turning twenty-one, and Severus became more fearful for him by the day. He had always been quick to worry. But his son was not all that gave him fear. The new Consul, Corvinus Gravius, was far worse. He tapped the stone bannister with his fingers and wondered what fresh madness the Consul would bring today.

He turned, walked back to the door, and re-entered the Basilikon. The guards stood abreast, shining in red steel breastplates and half-helms. No weapons were at their side – to bring a weapon into the Basilikon was a grave sin. Severus hoped he never needed their help, since all they had to offer was their mailed fists. He found his way through the winding corridor, the light of an overcast sky glaring through each high window.

When he found the Senate Hall, it was filling quickly. He wondered what it had looked like as a throne room, hundreds of years past. Sometimes it looked like one now, since a consul had insisted on that ridiculous golden chair some twenty years ago. The room was long, with marble floors and vaulted ceilings, adorned with beautiful tapestries depicting each of the gods, and Dorans had some two dozen of them. The high stone walls were covered in vines woven intentionally to create a strange pattern that made the eyes wander. He took his place on the right side of the room and sat amongst his faction, informally, but his faction, the moderates, nonetheless. Severus lowered himself onto the hard bench beside Maleos, an old friend to him.

The seat they sat upon was hardwood laid over bare stone, and he shifted uncomfortably. The idea was that matters of the state should not be discussed in comfort, yet the yellow throne of the consul broke that rule. The new Consul was only 60 days into his year-long reign, yet he slouched as if he were lounging in his solar.

The day's business was dull, with tedious arguments and debates filling the hall like a thick fog. There were mutterings of a new law to be proposed by the consul, though they had yet to reach the ears of Severus. Maleos, next to him, was an older man, his mentor in a sense, past 60 years old and not a hair remained on his head. He wore a beard too, which was rare in Doros, where it is commonly believed that beards denote savagery. His bulbous nose and pale blue eyes turned to Severus.

“Good to see you, Severus. Are you feeling well now?” Maleos asked, smiling with yellowed teeth. Severus had been missing from Senate meetings for two weeks, taken by the Bloody Flux, said to come from dirty water.

“Indeed I am, old friend, much better. Did I miss anything important, or at the very least entertaining.” He said, smiling back.

“Aye, you would’ve laughed last Thurdas, old Pethon proposed banning brothels. Then that all known whores be whipped through the bloody streets!” The older man guffawed. Pethon was once highly respected, but is in his seventies now, and his mind is growing feeble. Some likened him to the Senate’s jester these days, which saddened Severus, but he could not deny the humour of his rambling proposals.

“Gods be good. The man’s a maniac.” Severus laughed. “Perhaps it's wise if he wants a bloody rebellion.”

“Sometimes, I suspect some in the Senate would welcome it,” Maleos replied. “The disdain they have for the common man grows by the hour. Especially the older ones like me. If only the Senate weren’t for bloody life, I’d be retired and eating barrels of figs at a villa in Arabona.” He folded his arms and smiled.

“You can always eat barrels of figs in Doros, my friend,” Severus replied.

“What do you think I’ve been bloody doing!” He laughed, patting his round stomach.

“There was another thing you’ll want to know; there will be a vote soon. The consul’s new law, he’s s announcing it soon- “

He stopped, as the consul had risen from his seat, saying, “My friends,” with a smile. The room fell silent. He scanned the room, looking for those who did not smile back. Severus and Maleos were among them, staring back hard. Matters of state weren’t to be said with smiles and lovely words. That was the domain of lighter conversation. Severus despised the Consul’s manner, acting like they were all good friends playing a game of dice over some wine.

“I shall put forward my proposal now. I’m sure many good men have heard and been gladdened by its prudence.” He stepped further into the hall, clasping his hands together, smiling like he was about to announce that his wife was pregnant.

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“The law concerns the many slaves of Doros. I say many, but in recent times their number has dwindled. You may wonder why, my friends. But I can tell you why.” He paused and scanned the room again. Maleos cleared his throat as disrespectfully as he could manage, and Severus couldn’t help but grin. The echo followed with silence, and when the Senate Hall was silent, it grew cold. “Far too many slaves are freed by their masters, whether because they have the soft hearts of women or they are being freed upon their master’s death. In the long term, this will not do.” The consul said. Severus frowned, and Maleos rose from his seat and began to speak.

“A man’s property is his own, to do with as he wishes, whether to free him or whip him. Who are we to infringe upon this ancient right?” He said, booming yet hoarse. He had lost the quality of his voice in his older years. The consul nodded at him and smiled again.

“You speak truly, my honourable friend. It is a man’s right. Indeed it is. But for how long can we allow the rights of men to take precedence over the security of our great republic?” He stepped toward the benches. “Our slave numbers are dwindling, and money is being spent loosely on expensive labour, foreigners and the like taking their place. Once you could build a palace with slaves and pay only for the materials, now you have pug-nosed men with their hands out, demanding extortionate gold.” He paused again, his face falling suddenly grim. “That is why my friends, I propose that we outlaw the freeing of slaves. That slaves shall be in service for life, even on the death of their masters, to either be passed down to their family or returned to the markets for sale.”

The hall began to stir, and before long, the mutterings grew to bellowing. Many people shouted derision, and others replied by shouting at those disagreeing. Severus went cold. He already knew what the consul would say by then, but hearing it spoken plainly made him shudder. Maleos was standing, shouting insults across the hall, roaring over the cacophony. Severus said nothing. Chained for life. He thought. Who would choose that over death? I would slit my throat and be done with it. And what for? The economy? Hundreds of thousands shall never taste freedom for the economy’s benefit. He buried his head in his hands, peering through his fingers at the opposite benches. From what he knew of the factions, he tried to count how many were in favour. Did they have a majority? And what would the people say? The vote was divided, half of its weight given by the Senate’s final vote and the other half by the people.

When the clamour had finally begun to die down, the consul spoke again, louder this time. “As consul, my proposal is binding. The law shall be voted on in 8 days, with ballot boxes in the Oratio for the people, while we shall meet here to make a tally of us all. I pray you are wise, my friends, and make the right choice.” He adjusted his red-hemmed toga and bowed his head to them all, smiling. With that, the Pronouncer declared the meeting adjourned, and Senators rose to their feet, some continuing their arguments on the floor, many leaving, grumbling, and shaking their heads. Severus desperately hoped they were complaining about the consul, not those who opposed him.

As Severus stepped into the streets, the setting sun painted the sky hues of orange and purple. The omens remained red, and the common belief was that meant bloodshed was coming. He was in a stupor, walking with Maleos down the cobbled street. His friend patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid old friend. The law won’t pass.” He spoke. “It’s a bloody affront to the gods, is what it is. I’ve a young slave, a girl of 16, I treat her well, and she smiles at me every day. To think that sweet girl would have 50 years, or more, of slavery ahead of her is madness.” Maleos rubbed at his beard, as he always did when uncertain. Severus felt a pit in his stomach, filled with dread.

“If this law passes, we’ll have a real rebellion. I’ve half a mind to free mine before it happens, give them some money, and tell them to leave the city. I’d follow them. If I could afford to.” He said, shivering. “Any man would slit his master’s throat and flee than accept this. And what of those in slavery because of mere debt? You lose a game of dice, enter service to pay your debts, and you’re a slave for bloody life? What madness possesses Gravius now? Is he under some spell?” He steadied himself on a wall and stopped in the street. His mind was on his son, Aquila, a mere boy, and not ready for what lay ahead.

“It won’t pass.” Maleos repeated himself, looking at his friend with sad eyes.

“It very well might. Do you know how rich the fool is? He could buy over half the Senate with less than a tenth of his funds. And he will, you know as well as I.” Severus spat, turning back to Maleos.

“Then the people will stop it. Or one of his slaves will beat him to death. Now that’d be a blessing.” He replied.

“And when was the last time the people’s vote took precedence over the Senate? You can always pay the tally, too.” Severus said, walking on with clenched fists and a hard stare.

Maleos followed behind him, and they walked silently through the dimming streets. A light rain had begun to fall from the clouds, still glowing red in the orange sky—a crier called out, announcing the vote to the few still outside. Most were either at home or in the taverns. Severus marched on, not wanting to hear more about the vote. Eventually, they reach his home, a large one-story building at the end of a winding street. Maleos looked at him with those sad eyes once again.

“Whatever happens, brother, we’ll get through this. We’ve seen worse. What’s a pithy law to the things we saw on the field, the death we stared in the face, standing on the corpses of our friends? This is nothing. We’ll survive like we always did.” He declared, eyes shining with welling tears. Severus looked at him, lip trembling.

“I hope you're right, old friend. Truly I do.” He replied. He had not thought about their days as soldiers in a long time. They were part of the same Contubernium, a tight-knit unit of 10 men, and Maleos, the most senior, had been their leader. The thought of those days still made Severus’s lip quiver, his old stutter threatening to return.

They embraced on the steps of the house, and Maleos bade him good night. For a few moments, Severus stood on the steps, staring up into the sky. He had bled in the mud for the Republic, and now the Republic may bleed itself. He turned and opened the door, entering his home. His slave, Cyrus, greeted him at the door with a smile. Severus looked at him, filled with sadness, and he spoke.

“My friend, I am so sorry.”