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Chapter 3:

Monsters on the Shore

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I


Tens of thousands of the little crabs scuttled out of the foaming surf in the half hour before dawn, their hard white bodies radiant with phosphorescence. As they frenzied across the dark sands, their tiny glowing claws waved warning to rivals and enticement to mates.

Ciprion had never seen anything like it, and watched with interest greater than he’d anticipated, though it could not approach the awed regard of his granddaughter, nine-year-old Calvia, or of her young companion, Delmar, the son of her tutor. The two children gabbled at one another excitedly and stared and pointed to various features of the tableau that confirmed their previous learning or sparked new lines of inquiry. Even Ciprion’s guards, who’d risen in foul spirits for the early hour walk into darkness, watched with undisguised curiosity.

This portion of the coast was reputedly home to monsters, and while Ciprion didn’t have any particular anxiety about Oscani legends, his wife Amelia had insisted he be wary for any danger, including assassins, so he’d brought a quartet of sturdy veterans. Ciprion was glad for the extra eyes so he could appreciate the delight of his young charges.

Calvia and Delmar were on loan from his daughter Cornelia’s household. Amelia had suggested Calvia visit them at the coastal property while the little girl’s younger brother was on a trip with their father. Calvia had arrived with her tutor, Silenus, and a trio of large chests mostly filled with scrolls she frequently consulted. She didn’t avoid her tutor like most children, instead treating him like a walking reference library she queried constantly. It was Silenus who’d proposed the morning’s expedition, but a bad stomach had laid him low last night after dinner, probably owing to the immense number of oysters he’d downed.

Ciprion’s granddaughter considered Silenus’ amiable son an assistant scholar, and over the last two days the pair had inspected rocks to compare types of moist vegetation and waded into pools to examine the slippery or scuttley little creatures that dwelt there. The little boy was a surprisingly capable artist, and one of Calvia’s chests was stuffed with his sketches of leaves and tree trunks annotated with her meticulous observations.

The curly-haired boy was staring off to the right while Calvia declaimed about the crabs in a rapturous voice. “Grandfather, look how the males’ luminescence pattern diminishes along their echinated carapaces, enhancing the radiance of their smoother chelae!”

His granddaughter’s fascination with large words had less to do with attempts to impress and more to do with her desire for precision. He approved of the latter. “The claws certainly are the brightest body part,” he said. “Do you think the females prefer the little fellows with the greatest contrast?”

She nodded enthusiastically and leaned against the tall walking staff she’d brought with her. The staff was an affectation8 of her tutor, but she had declared herself the scientific leader of the expedition in his place and he had indulgently waved his permission to take it as her sign of office as he shuffled back to his sickroom. “Silenus predicts their larger cousins will emerge from the estuaries later this week to burrow here. Can we come back? He said they sometimes attract larger sea predators. I should like to observe those too.”

Ciprion readied himself to argue that idea down; he didn’t wish to convince Amelia about the safety of a follow-up journey that would expressly bring the monsters that had worried her about this one.

Delmar wandered further to the right, near a heavy boulder just beyond the scurrying crabs.

“What’s this?” he asked, and crouched down. He then let out a mouselike squeak and straightened.

A dark man-shape heaved up from the sand beside the boy. Fear must have frozen Delmar to the spot, for he could easily have sprinted clear. The figure’s hand landed on his shoulder and tightened there.

Ciprion was already in motion, two men flanking him, hands on swords. “Easy,” he told them. He didn’t want the boy endangered. Calvia had stiffened anxiously.

It was hard to see much detail of the person who held Delmar; Ciprion made out a lean figure with long hair. It spoke with a woman’s voice. Her Dervan had a thick Volani accent. “Leave me now,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt the boy.”

“Let him go,” Ciprion ordered, “and then we can talk.”

Almost on the instant, the boy wriggled loose and dashed toward Calvia. The woman snatched after him, but her two steps were wobbly. Ciprion’s guards started for her but he hissed them back, because they were drawing swords. “Hold!”

They stopped just out of weapon range. The stranger had brandished something as well, a small blade she shifted from target to target as she swayed. She was either drunk or injured, and her voice was not slurred, so Ciprion judged the latter.

“Lower your weapon,” he ordered.

Whatever she said then was low voiced and he could not understand it. He trotted to Calvia, put hand to her walking staff, received her nod of approval, and took it. He returned to the woman.

Her attention shifted constantly between the two warriors, one to either side of her.

“I think you need help,” Ciprion said. “But we can’t help so long as you’re threatening us.”

She said something about Dervans in Volani that sounded like a curse, and waved her knife.

Ciprion moved toward her himself, imagining what his wife would say to see him walking toward a knife-bearing lunatic. But he had judged his opponent’s condition aptly. She staggered as she tried to face him, and then he struck with the walking staff.

She saw his attack coming, but could not shift out of the way quickly enough. The blow slammed her calf, and, unsteady as she was, she dropped on the instant. When she hit the ground she lost hold of her knife, which flew backward to strike a boulder and ricocheted into the darkness.

In an instant his men were on her.

Ciprion urged them to be gentle. “She’s wounded,” he said, “and may be addled.”

“She sounded Volani,” Horatius said. He’d served with Ciprion since the invasion of Biranus.

“We’ll see.”

The woman offered no resistance as Horatius reached her and put hand to her weapon arm. She only groaned. It wasn’t until they brought her nearer the lantern that he saw she was in her midtwenties, an athletic young woman in a sky blue garment more tunic than stola length, with soldier’s boots. Her forehead was flush, though her limbs were icy, and her face was bruised. A blood-stained cloth bound one bicep.

“We’ll carry her back to the villa to tend her. Calvia, I’m afraid the expedition’s over. This woman needs our help.”

His granddaughter watched the events too intently to bother with a response, although she accepted the return of the walking staff. Delmar stood stock still beside her, and Ciprion patted the little boy’s head. “Are you all right?”

Delmar looked up with shining eyes. His voice was small. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t think she really meant to hurt anyone,” Ciprion told him. “She was just frightened. You were a brave lad.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Delmar asked.

“Hopefully she’ll be on the mend soon,” Ciprion said. “We will call for a physician.” And, he thought, for Hanuvar.



II


The woman lay on a pallet in a windowed room off the courtyard of a villa owned by an uncle of Ciprion’s son-in-law. By the time Hanuvar arrived, evening was well on its way to night, and tapers lit the space. One burned in a sconce just to the right of her bed, throwing his shadow on the wall, where it merged with that of Antires, beside him so that they seemed one body with two heads.

She had been bathed and cleaned and combed and dressed in a simple sleeveless gown of the sort worn by many women her age across the Inner Sea. A nasty wound had sliced deep into her left upper arm. Ciprion said it had been cleaned, and that it was too late to sew it closed, though Hanuvar could see the latter from the swelling and bruising when he inspected the bandage. He had also seen an Eltyr tattoo upon her other arm, which identified her as a member of the warrior order even if he hadn’t recognized her on sight.9

He would have liked to have asked her what she was doing here, but her eyes were closed and Ciprion reported she had not yet regained consciousness, at least not to do much more than mumble unintelligibly as she had been washed.

Hanuvar reached out to feel her forehead. The old Herrene who’d left when Hanuvar entered the room had lifted a wet cloth from her hairline, and it had left her moist. “She was alone?” Hanuvar asked.

“Yes. Additional footmarks would have been obvious on that stretch of beach.” Ciprion had been watching him carefully. “You know her, don’t you.”

“I do.”

“Who is she?”

“Elistala Laecanlis, an Eltyr officer.” He took his hand from the wounded woman. “But she sailed with me to New Volanus before the last war. I haven’t seen her since and she shouldn’t be here.” Though fairly certain they could not be overheard, as Ciprion had assured the young woman was tended in the most secure part of the house suitable for an invalid, he kept his voice soft.

Ciprion’s heavy eyebrows drew together. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and waited. His health had improved since Hanuvar had encountered him in the provinces last year, when it seemed difficulties had prematurely aged him. His life was hardly without worries at present, for he was now one of the emperor’s closest advisors. But the responsibilities seemed to have invigorated him. He even carried himself like a slightly younger man. His thick crop of dark brown hair and prominent eyebrows were only lightly dusted with gray, and he retained his athletic build.

Hanuvar glanced to the door, which remained closed, then shifted his attention to the sturdy latticed window permitting fresh air from the grounds. The sky beyond was fading to violet.

“What was she doing on an Oscani beach, alone?” Antires asked. He’d surely known Hanuvar would explain that, but unlike Ciprion, he hadn’t been able to restrain his eagerness.

“I can only speculate.” He provided details mostly for Ciprion’s sake, for Antires knew much of what he was about to say. “I was on board a ship returning to Volanus when I learned the city was under attack. I went to help; I ordered the ship to turn back. It would have taken news to New Volanus of what our scout told us.” He did not explain further that the scout had been Eledeva, the great asalda who had borne him through the air to their dying city while the vessel turned to reverse course.

Ciprion and Antires waited.

Hanuvar continued. “Long weeks passed before I sent the first ship of freed people back to New Volanus. I sent another vessel a little later, with a band of Eltyr. I instructed the crews of both to avoid the empire until I sent further word.”

“You didn’t want their help?” Ciprion’s eyebrows rose.

“I needed far more help than they could give, and of a different sort.”

Ciprion nodded. “You think this young woman returned on a ship trying to find you.”10

“I doubt it.”

Ciprion rubbed at the beard hairs stubbling his chin. “There’s been an increase in pirate activity in the region. I don’t know if you’ve heard. Some of their raids have freed slaves.” He did not ask if Hanuvar was involved, although there was a question in his look.

“It’s interfered with some of our own recovery efforts,” Hanuvar replied.

Ciprion nodded in confirmation and said nothing more. He never inquired deeply into Hanuvar’s activities.

“Do you think she was involved in those raids?” Antires asked. “Some of the ones who vanished were Volani.”

Hanuvar thought it likely, but there was no way to know for certain. “It might be.”

Ciprion frowned down at the battered young woman as if she were a puzzle he hoped to solve. It was not that he lacked compassion, but Hanuvar understood his friend was ever seeking answers to the next challenges that might arise, a quality they shared.

“I know the physician said she might not make it, but she looks like a survivor to me,” Ciprion said. “I’d bet we’ll have answers by tomorrow.” The healer had actually given Elistala a fair chance of recovery, but conveyed that he would feel better about her odds if her fever broke.

“Good physicians never over promise,” Antires said. It was a Herrenic saying.

“Do you think she might have something to do with your daughter?”

Hanuvar had wondered about it. There were various possible scenarios, but not enough information necessary to inform likelihood. “I’m not sure I can hope for that.”

“We’ll care for her as best we can,” Ciprion assured him. “Why not guest with us tonight? Our conversation would have to be discreet over dinner; many of the staff here are my son-in-law’s people. But we could speak more openly in the library after we eat.”

“Fine company among fine books,” Hanuvar said. “It will be a pleasure.”

“Before we can move to more pleasant activities, I’m afraid I’ve bad tidings.” Ciprion paused, and continued with regret. “Legate Aquilius of the revenants has grown obsessed with finding you. He means to restore Enarius’ faith in his corps by proving the reports of your survival have been true. He’s gotten hold of special hounds he means to use to track you.”

Hanuvar didn’t like the sound of that.

“How special?” Antires asked.

“He was smugly vague, and Enarius cut him off before I could learn any details. The emperor told him he’d see the revenants disbanded unless they focus their efforts upon the Cerdians, like he’d ordered, but I don’t think Aquilius will heed him. Three young men in charge of a large dog were travelling south on the same ship with me. It didn’t take much effort to get them boasting about its prowess and their honor as newly inducted revenants to be delivering the animal to their superiors here in the Oscanus region. I worried that the revenants might somehow have been alerted to your presence, but apparently such hounds are being sent to revenant groups throughout Tyvol.”

Hanuvar would have liked to have learned more about the capabilities of the animals, but knew Ciprion had shared all he knew. “I thank you for the warning.”

“This region’s revenants lack a reputation for results, so I don’t know that you’ll have much trouble from them.”

Hanuvar’s own sources had reported much the same information.

“What brought you to Apicius, Senator?” Antires asked. “I thought you’d be helping plan for the war with Cerdia.”

“I am. The emperor wants me to inspect our port fortifications here.”

“Surely he doesn’t think the Cerdians will try a sea invasion.”

“He’s not sure what they’ll try, but our naval security has been neglected for the last decade as our forces scattered to the provinces.” He didn’t mention that their defeat of the great Volani sea power had diminished perceived need for strong maritime defenses.

“Will he be sending you to the front?”

“My wife has requested otherwise, through her own formidable channels, and for now the emperor seems content to leave Aminius in charge.” Ciprion’s mouth twisted dourly.

It was easy for Hanuvar to guess why his friend may be unhappy with that state of affairs: “Aminius will use any success to bolster his reputation with the army, and the people of your empire.”

His friend bobbed his head in agreement. “I don’t want to see Aminius succeed in any way, and neither does Amelia. But then we don’t want the legions led to their deaths, either. My brother and my old friend Laelius are on Aminius’ staff, and both have sound judgment. Laelius has a good head for tactics if Aminius is willing to hear him out.”

“Probably he won’t be,” Hanuvar said. “Everyone knows how loyal Laelius is to you.”

“Yes. But maybe the Cerdians will—”

Ciprion fell silent as sandaled footsteps drew close through the courtyard. He looked over to the door as he anticipated the loud rap delivered a moment later.

“Yes?”

Hanuvar recognized the voice of the house steward who’d conducted him into the villa. The man’s tone was pressured. “Senator, some revenants are here. They’re in the atrium.”

“You let them in?” Ciprion’s voice rose in approbation.

“They forced their way once I opened the door, Senator,” the man objected apologetically.

“Keep them there.” Ciprion scowled. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, Senator.”

Ciprion listened to his retreating footsteps, then faced Hanuvar and Antires. “You should leave. I must have an informant in the household.”

“An informant who knows who I am?” Hanuvar asked.

“Impossible. Amelia and I never speak of it.”

“Then we should stay. Because if there’s an informant, they’ll tell the revenants we were here, and our departure will be more suspicious.” His eyes dropped to Elistala. “They’ve come for her.”

Ciprion’s voice was clipped with anger. “They shall not have her.”

Hanuvar appreciated his sentiment.

“Let’s go meet the vipers.” Ciprion opened the doors and strode through the courtyard for the main entrance.

Antires arched his eyebrows. Though he too appeared uneasy, it was easy to see that the younger man was excited to be present. He followed Hanuvar after Ciprion.

Three of the dreaded witch hunters stood inside the atrium facing the rangy, nervous steward, each garbed in their full accoutrements, with black lacquer breastplates over dark tunics. Skull-faced emblems shone on the front plate of their ebon-plumed helms, and a nearby lantern raised bloody glints from the grinning skulls on their signet rings. Short swords in black sheaths hung at their waists. Likely for dramatic effect they had placed the tallest and most broad shouldered member of their band to their rear, where he towered over the two average-sized men in front.

Neither of the giant’s jowly companions would have looked especially impressive or threatening without their uniforms. Hanuvar recognized the pair from his reports as Eprius and Casca, both said to rarely be glimpsed in their armor. He’d heard these two had little interest in their avowed duties and preferred to wax fat on food, guzzle wine, and loll about in a rent-free million sesterce villa with a sea view ostensibly provided by the magistrate in thanks for their service. They had to have known the gifts were bribes, but seemed perfectly pleased to return the abundant favors by rarely intruding into local affairs.

Apparently today was different. The two smiled effusively at Ciprion’s gruff greeting.

“Ah, Senator, it is such an honor.” Eprius’ voice was almost lilting. His smile crinkled toward the black mole on his cheek.

“Indeed,” Casca agreed. His lips were large, wide, and somehow frog-like, though his voice was smooth as a Ceori bard’s. “We had heard of your recent arrival. It is truly humbling to be in your presence.”

“We hope that you will convey our regards to the emperor.” Eprius turned his smile to Hanuvar. “And who might you be?”

“This is a security consultant,” Ciprion said.

“How curious,” Eprius said, turning to his companion. “Don’t you think it’s curious that Ciprion requires a security consultant?”

“These are dangerous times,” Casca allowed smoothly. “And who is this other fellow?”

“A secretary,” Ciprion replied. “What brings you here today?”

Eprius’ smile had not dimmed in the least. “We’ve grown aware that you have a prisoner in your household.”

“I have no prisoners.”

Casca chuckled indulgently. “Come, Senator. We’ve learned that your granddaughter was menaced by a woman speaking Volani, and that you subdued her.”

Eprius lifted his hands as if offering a trophy. “How appropriate that the conqueror of Hanuvar be on hand to defeat another Volani threat!”

He and Casca laughed together. The third revenant was solemn as stone, and had not yet shown a single reaction to the conversation. Hanuvar kept his expression carefully bland. He trusted his friend to manage the revenants.

“The horse gains feathers and wings as it flees the stable,” Ciprion said. To the blank look from the revenants he added: “It’s a Nuvaran proverb.”

“He’s well read, too,” Eprius said to Casca.

“Isn’t he, though?”

“The incident has grown in the telling,” Ciprion explained crisply. “The woman didn’t menace my granddaughter; she could scarcely stand upright because she’s ill. In her fever she has mumbled many times, with some utterances sounding like Volani. She is in poor shape, and may not live.”

“All the more reason for us to take possession of her now,” Eprius said reasonably. “While we might still get information from her.”

Casca’s eyes were suddenly cool. “If Ciprion wasn’t concerned about her, what were you called in for, consultant? Decius, isn’t it? My guess is that it’s because you handle security for the emperor’s Volani darling in Apicius.”

Casca had expected to alarm with that statement, but Hanuvar was actually reassured that his cover identity as Izivar’s security officer remained intact. The informer in this household might well have learned Ciprion had dispatched a messenger to Izivar’s household. So Hanuvar answered as a Dervan who was unimpressed with the revenant’s level of knowledge. “The senator told me his own Volani was rusty and asked for someone with a deeper knowledge of the language.”

Casca addressed his companion. “It’s curious he did not ask for Izivar Lenereva herself.”

“Decius came with her recommendation,” Ciprion said.

“That fact that you were curious about her words suggests that the woman spoke more Volani than you implied,” Eprius said.

“She also addressed me in Dervan, and when she was more lucid,” Ciprion said.

“She must not be one of the Lenereva hangers-on or the Lady Izivar would already have claimed her,” Casca speculated. “Surely the woman would have noted if one of her household had wandered off.”

“So that means she is most likely an escaped slave, or something worse,” Eprius said. “Possibly an Eltyr.”

“Perhaps noble Ciprion hadn’t considered that.” Casca’s tone remained respectful but his eyes mocked. Hanuvar wondered how far they would dare to challenge one of the emperor’s advisors.

Eprius spoke to his colleague. “I have heard he assumes the best in everyone because he is so honorable himself.”

“Indeed. He was even kind to Hanuvar, I hear.” Casca faced Ciprion. “Are you aware that Hanuvar’s own daughter is alive and on the run?”

Eprius shook his head with exaggerated remorse. “Your prisoner may even be the Cabera woman. A matter of grave national security.”

“I doubt that,” Ciprion said. “And she’s not a prisoner.”

“Perhaps in your compassion you have missed some telltale sign of threat. Many of the Eltyr have a tattoo, you know. Sort of an involved half-circle thing, on the shoulder.” The way Casca’s eyes sparkled as he said this signaled his delight in knowing that Elistala possessed precisely such a marking.

Ciprion did not deny it. “I’m well aware that my guest possesses one. I look forward to finding out more about her connections to the Eltyr, should she recover.”

Eprius shrugged. “We will take her with us and learn the truth, regardless of her condition.”

Ciprion’s heavy brows lifted quickly. He recovered, then shook his head gravely, with a faint air of disappointment in the man before him. “That’s contrary to the standards of hospitality. I will not, in good conscience, allow her to be removed from my premises. I found her. I am responsible for her well-being.”

“Did you know he was so old-fashioned?” Casca asked his companion.

But Eprius’ expression had darkened. He was no longer playing a game. “I have personal experience with Eltyr.” For the first time there was true passion in his voice. “They are treacherous, even for Volani, unwomanly snakes.” Hanuvar had not yet heard steel in his delivery, but he heard it now. “We will take custody of her.”

Hanuvar did not let his visceral reaction to this speech show in his demeanor, and merely watched Ciprion for reaction.

His friend did not yield. “She will remain. When I send my weekly dispatch to the emperor tomorrow I’m sure he’ll concur with my decision.”

Eprius shot his companion a look, as if to say he had predicted such a threat.

“The emperor would wish you to be safe,” Casca said, a false pleading note evident in his delivery. “He has entrusted the revenants with seeing to all of the—”

“I do not require assistance to maintain my safety.”

“Certainly,” Casca agreed. “But surely you will not mind if we ourselves confirm the security of the situation. Come, Senator. It is only common sense. Let us see the woman.”

Hanuvar saw Ciprion drawing in a breath, and his eyes narrowing, and knew the revenants were about to be forcefully expelled.

But anything his friend might have said went unheard, for a man deeper within the villa shouted “fire,” and other voices repeated it frantically.

“Your doing?” Ciprion demanded of the revenants.

But Eprius’ and Casca’s surprise lacked the coy amusement so prominent previously. Their hulking companion’s face wrinkled in confusion.

Eprius shook his head. “No, Senator.”

The cry of fire continued, and a young Ceori slave ran forward, leading two children by the hand. One Hanuvar recognized for Calvia, Ciprion’s perspicacious granddaughter, and she was protesting volubly about her papers and how they absolutely could not be abandoned.

Other household members dashed in, and Ciprion learned from one that a blaze had started in the rear garden, that his wife was organizing a bucket brigade, and that flames were spreading along the villa’s back wall. The slaves already seemed to be caring for the children’s safety, but Ciprion ordered them to see to their belongings and the scrolls in the library. He then instructed his guests to either help or get out, arching an eyebrow at Hanuvar.

He meant Hanuvar to see to Elistala. That brief glance had also communicated multiple layers of skepticism and a warning to take care. Probably he’d hoped that the revenants would leave, but they followed Ciprion across the courtyard, against the flow of slaves bearing chests of clothing, pottery, and bundles of scrolls both to the servant’s exit and the front. A line of men extended from the large ornamental pool and on into the villa’s back rooms. A scarred man of early middle age who had the haircut, hard-eyed manner, and musculature of a legion veteran was passing a bucket forward up the chain.

Hanuvar urged Antires on with Ciprion and the revenants and hurried to the right side of the courtyard and the guest rooms. He was only a few steps out when the shouting from the servant’s exit resolved into something entirely different. Frightened slaves dropped household goods and fled before a band of weathered men waving swords.

The helmeted warrior in the lead shouted that no one would be harmed, and demanded he be taken to the woman. His voice had a pronounced Volani accent, and Hanuvar recognized it on the instant, though he could scarce believe it.

This was Bomilcar, one of the naval officers of New Volanus’ tiny fleet. The young ship captain had accompanied Hanuvar to New Volanus, where he should have remained. In another reality, Bomilcar had become husband to Narisia, and father to Hanuvar’s grandchildren.

Bomilcar brandished the long curving blade perfected by Volani, the falcata, and waved his people forward.

Hanuvar’s sword, a gladius, was already to hand. He’d grasped it during the first glimpse of arms. He backpedaled as one of the invaders ran at him, parrying each deadly slash and ignoring an opening that would have killed his foe, for he recognized that squat, powerful form for one of the sailors who had manned the lead vessel he’d sailed to found New Volanus.

Even as he maintained a defense Hanuvar reasoned out his options. He could not speak in Volani to explain himself, for the odds were fair one of Ciprion’s veterans or the revenants nearby understood the language.

Already the big revenant ran to the fight, and the other two were a few steps after. Against them were some dozen men in light armor of mixed Volani and Dervan make.

The big revenant charged Hanuvar’s opponent, allowing Hanuvar himself to fall back and assess the environment. Ciprion’s veteran and another much like him had set down their buckets to run forward with weapons of their own, stopping the momentum of the front rank of Volani even as their commander shouted orders, telling them to hold the line while detailing a trio to search the rooms.

Bomilcar faced the tall revenant. His falcata struck his opponent’s cuirass with a splash of blood and the revenant staggered, then took a second blow to his helmet from the first Volani. The big man stabbed nonetheless; Bomilcar caught the ringing blow with the flat of his blade as he charged in, then kicked out the revenant’s leg. Down the Dervan went, landing on his back. His companion revenants retreated, shouting for reinforcements.

Hanuvar snatched up a blue stola one of the fleeing slaves had dropped and lifted it high, then lowered it at same time he raised a second cloth with the other hand. The colors weren’t quite right, for the second flag should be black rather than dark red, but Bomilcar’s head turned toward him and froze; Hanuvar then dropped the garments.

Hanuvar felt the shock of recognition in Bomilcar’s eyes almost as a physical force. Still, the shrewd young captain’s reaction to the naval signal was almost instantaneous. “Fall back!” he cried out in Volani. “Retreat and regroup!”

He repeated his orders to his men, three of whom emerged from guest rooms without Elistala, who responded without hesitation.

“Stop them!” Eprius cried, pointing.

But neither Ciprion’s two nor Hanuvar, nor Ciprion himself, wished to advance against twelve armored men now less threatening than the spreading fire. Bomilcar’s raiders left through the servant’s entrance.

Hanuvar would gladly have followed, but swallowed an oath and turned to shout Ciprion’s countrymen back into line for the bucket brigade. Right now, he needed to help his friend save the villa. He would have to pursue the mystery appearance of Bomilcar later, though the explanation seemed clear enough—Bomilcar had journeyed from New Volanus either to seek him, or to strike back against the Dervans. He might even have come to do both things. Elistala had travelled with him, and now Bomilcar had come to rescue her.

While the revenants argued for men to follow and Ciprion snarlingly told them they would not, Hanuvar hurried to Elistala’s room, only to learn why she had not left with Bomilcar’s people. Her bed was to the wall, and the wooden grate within the window had been smashed out.

She had already made her escape.



III


Ciprion hadn’t been carrying a blade of his own, and had decided to let the revenants take the brunt of the fight. He hadn’t missed Hanuvar’s signal, and was grateful it sent the Volani running. The revenants called for all able-bodied men to join them to pursue enemy raiders, but Ciprion overruled them and got his people back in line.

All three of the revenants hurried off, Eprius promising retribution. Ciprion knew Amelia was somewhere closer to the flames, probably orchestrating a second line of buckets from the well by this point. He hurried to find her. Hanuvar and Antires followed after a brief detour.

Against all odds the fire’s starting point along the wall had been extinguished, but a tongue of flame had advanced up the back roof. Hanuvar climbed after Ciprion to the second story and then up an access ladder just shy of the fire.

The wind was with them, blowing the flames away from the house rather than deeper in, but even so it seemed to Ciprion they fought a holding action only, so little did the chain of buckets push back the blaze. Then two slaves turned up under Amelia’s direction with an old water pump. While two of Ciprion’s men provided the muscle below, Hanuvar sprayed hose water directly upon the roof. After a short while they were able, finally, to force the fire into retreat.

All that remained of the villa’s storage room and its attic was blackened timber and ashes, but the living quarters were saved, and better news, no one had perished.

Fighting the fire had felt as though it had taken hours, but once they paused to catch their breath Ciprion was surprised to discover the western horizon still pale and the moon barely aglow.

Hanuvar stood beside him, face dotted with ash. Side by side they had worked to halt the flame, the Volani general first handing bucket after bucket to him and then taking charge of the hose. Now Ciprion nodded in thanks. He could not help thinking about the inferno that had engulfed Volanus and killed thousands of prisoners, certain that Hanuvar must have thought of it too.

His friend was too fine a man to speak of it.

The two climbed down from the roof where Amelia waited beside Antires, her white stola streaked with dirt. Her hair had tumbled messily along her cheeks. She looked lovely and vital and he was reminded again how fortunate he was to have her in his life, for it was she who had masterminded the winning strategy against the blaze.

She peered skeptically at Hanuvar, but before she could challenge him about his people’s doings, the children returned with their tutor, Silenus, and a gaggle of other house slaves who’d carried valuables to safety. Amelia left to guide them to their places and arrange a meal for the hardworking slaves and retainers.

The courtyard pond was nearly drained already but Ciprion ordered a relief for his men and set others to pumping the rest of the water out, to protectively drench the regions beside the smoldering timbers.

After, Hanuvar motioned Ciprion to come with him for Elistala’s chambers.

“She’s gone?” Antires asked, seeing the empty bed and the forced window. “When?”

“She didn’t leave with the raiders,” Hanuvar said. “She must have sneaked away while we were talking with the revenants.”

“Do you think she’s found her people?” Ciprion asked.

“Let’s see if we can tell.”

Lantern in hand, they followed a few tracks in the dirt just outside the window. Neither Hanuvar nor his Herrenic friend were expert hunters, and Ciprion surely wasn’t, but the few marks they could make out headed along the side of the villa rather than out into the countryside, and Ciprion realized they led in the direction of the stables.

The Eltyr apparently had a good eye for horseflesh, because she’d taken Ciprion’s favorite white, Ghost, and galloped west.

“I’m sorry about the horse,” Hanuvar said, then sighed. “And I’m sorry about the villa.”

Ciprion held up a hand to halt any other words. He understood the Volani had meant to cause a distraction to more easily recover the woman they’d thought was being held prisoner. If they’d been aware of the presence of revenants they might even have been frightened about her safety. “I thank you for your help,” he said, then nodded at Antires. “Both of you.”

No matter a face and tunic dirt smeared and dampened, the Herrene sketched an elegant bow in response.

“I’m going to have to go after her,” Hanuvar said. “I don’t think we can count on her linking up with her crew.”

Antires stepped away; he was already lifting a saddle to his little brown horse in the nearby stall. All the stable staff were in the house, having been called in to help fight the fire.

Hanuvar moved to his own animal, a sturdy bay roan.

Ciprion helped him carry the saddle. “You knew those men?”

“I did. They’re from New Volanus. I’ve no real idea why they’re here, because I passed on orders no one was to follow me.” He stressed the last few words with some irritation.

“Not even the best subordinates obey every order,” Ciprion said. “And they may have something important they’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“I hope not. I have enough to worry about already.” Hanuvar fitted the bridle to his mount, then slipped the bit between the gelding’s teeth. He wiped his hand on his tunic edge, then offered his arm, and Ciprion clasped it. “I’m sorry for this. I will pay for damages. For now, I must ride. Please give my best to Amelia. Your family has already risked so much to protect my people, and this is the rudest form of ingratitude.”

“She will understand when she has time to think it over.” Ciprion turned to a more immediate challenge. “The revenants are off to hunt your people.”

“And for Elistala. I need a lantern so I can seek her tracks.”

“You think we can find them?” Antires asked. Ciprion thought it a good question.

“I mean to try. It’s a lot easier to follow traces of horse movements, especially for one that’s galloping. And I don’t think she’s going to get too far. She might have been pretending more weakness than she actually had, but she’s still feverish.”

Ciprion hesitated only a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

Hanuvar’s features were drawn. “Are you sure?”

“I think you could probably use some more help.”

“So could your wife.”

“She has an entire household to assist. There are only two of you.”

Hanuvar nodded once.

Antires chuckled. “Then let’s ride, Senator!”



IV


Most of the time the Eltyr’s passage through the sand and sparse grass was clear. If she had found a road, she could have lost them, but she headed for the coast, only a quarter mile away. They already saw the waters of the bay heaving into gleaming white peaks, shining in the moonlight before collapsing into dark troughs. Many miles on, the dark shape of a distant fishing boat struggled toward the shore, and Hanuvar, with the instinct of a seaborne people, wished them luck, for the currents were against them and the wind roamed wild and chill.

They found a riderless horse less than an hour after they began their search. Ciprion recognized his white. Elistala had fitted him with a bit but not bothered with a saddle. The animal now wandered, browsing along the way, in the general direction of home. He whickered in recognition of his fellows as they gathered him up.

The horse’s recent course through the grass was clear enough, and led straight on for a little rocky rise. Nothing but the shore lay below, and they had no trouble finding Elistala’s footprints in the sandy hill. Maybe she headed for a prearranged rendezvous point, should they become separated in some action. Right now, though, there was no sign that anyone else had come near it.

Hanuvar ground-tied his horse while the other two hitched theirs to scrub trees, then they started down the hillside, their cloaks belling in their wakes. Steep and initially rock studded, the slope terminated at a run of dark sand that stretched on for some forty feet before disappearing at the crashing surf. The scent of the sea was heavy in the air; salty, moist, thick with the odor of kelp and fish and lost things.

Though the Eltyr was not in sight, they were not alone, for a mass of crabs the size of breastplates scrabbled along the wet shoreline, their carapaces faintly glowing through some strange source of their own. Hanuvar had never seen the like and looked to Ciprion for explanation.

“Silenus said the big ones would not turn up to mate until next week,” he said, his voice lifted to be heard over the surf. He’d explained how the Herrenic tutor had inspired him to take his granddaughter to see smaller ones that morning.

“There’s much yet we don’t know about the habits of animals,” Antires remarked.

“Now you sound like Calvia,” Ciprion said lightly. After a moment, he added: “Whoever marries her is going to end up taking a lot of nature hikes.”

The cave at the bottom of the slope was invisible at first, but even in the moonlight they eventually spotted a line of greater darkness scarred into the hillside facing the beach. Hanuvar trod towards it and stopped. No fire shone within, and it came to him that the woman had fled with very little. She could not last long, and was likely to be feeling desperate.

He raised his voice and called to her, in Volani. “Elistala, we’re here to help you. Are you inside?”

There was no answer. Scanning from right to left, Hanuvar advanced a single step into the dim recesses, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Ciprion and Antires remained outside.

It was the scrape of her sandal on a rock that alerted him to her charge even before her roar of defiance. He caught her sword arm as she raised the weapon for an overhead blow, then blocked a knee to the groin by raising his own leg. Her arm shook from fatigue or illness but she was not yet ready to give in. She punched at his throat with her balled left fist. He deflected but it still hit the side of his neck.

“Eltyr, at attention!” he barked.

She pulled at her weakening sword arm. When she saw Ciprion enter she tried hammering his throat again, but this time Hanuvar caught the blow with his hand, wrenched the sword away from her other, and dropped it to the cave floor. It landed with a clang against rock.

“Elistala,” he said. “Stand down. It is your commander.”

“It cannot be.” Her voice was whisper soft. “You cannot trick me. That is the enemy. You would not stand with Ciprion.”

“I would. He brought me to help you.”

He felt more than saw her eyes upon them. She again attempted to free her arm, still held in his grip, so he released it.

“You’re freezing.” Hanuvar handed her his cloak.

After a moment, she took it, and wrapped her shoulders with it. “What’s to be done?”

“I will reunite you with Bomilcar. But first we’ll tend to you.” He stooped to lift her sword, then passed it off to Antires and offered his arm to her. Hesitantly, she accepted his help, then fully leaned into him.

“You truly are the general?” she said. “This is no trick? I’m not dreaming?”

“It’s me, Elistala. Come. We’ve a short ride, and then we’ll get you taken care of.”

They left together, Ciprion walking ahead. The wind was a low whistle now, and the waves rolled out at sea. The lumbering crabs upon the shore around them showed no more interest in their presence than that of the moon above.

But a huge black mastiff with shining eyes was fixated on them from the sands only ten feet off. Its ruff bristled and perhaps there was some strange quality of the light, but its fur seemed to emit a sheen of phosphorescence almost as bright as the claw-waving creatures that were giving it a wide berth.

The dog circled to their left, to higher ground. It growled.

Eprius and Casca emerged from the gloom, and the big revenant stood behind them at the head of three additional cloaked figures. Hanuvar was a little surprised to see the larger man moving around after the wounds he’d taken from Bomilcar, and was concerned he might be enhanced in some way by magics. The revenants did not just hunt sorcery to stamp it out. They also acquired and employed it.

“Ciprion and Decius!” Casca’s voice cut through the wind. “You found the woman again! Who somehow escaped in your care!” He no longer bothered even to partially veil his sarcasm.

“We followed the horse tracks,” Ciprion said. “It wasn’t difficult.”

“Is that what they did?” Eprius asked his companion.

Casca opened his arms as though lauding them. “However it was done, we owe you our thanks. We’ll secure her now, and we then will find the pirates.”

“Give me your knife, General,” Elistala said in Volani to Hanuvar’s ear, “And I will kill one before I slay myself.”

“You will not die here,” he vowed.

“It’s strange that you’re companionable with a man who’s so obviously working with those pirates, Senator,” Casca said. “Volani pirates.” He turned a smug smile on Hanuvar. “Oh, we saw you signal to them. And we know the Herrene works with you. Strange, isn’t it, Senator, that he works for a Volani? That you help an Eltyr? Why if I didn’t know Senator Ciprion would never betray his people, I’d wonder if this might be Hanuvar!”

“Wasn’t Ciprion always courteous to that murdering scum?” Eprius asked with mock curiosity.

Casca answered with exaggerated surprise. “You’re right! Do you think this—”

At first the thing looming up from the sea seemed a cloud-cast shadow, or the dark prow of a ship. But as the dog wheeled and the revenants scattered Hanuvar saw an immense finned serpent’s head at the end of a neck thick as an oak. It arched toward the large scurrying crabs a few yards away like a lightning bolt, then rose, masticating as little bits of crustacean fell away, the bulky creatures tiny in its huge maw.

There would be no better moment. Hanuvar sent a throwing knife toward the big man’s throat. He swayed aside but it caught the face of the nearest follower. The man shrieked and fumbled with the hilt protruding from his cheek.

“I want Ciprion and Hanuvar alive!” Casca screamed. The junior revenant yelped in pain as he yanked Hanuvar’s knife clear. The others pushed cloaks back as they advanced with drawn weapons.

“Kill,” Eprius shouted, lifting his hand. “Kill the Eltyr!” An opal ring glowed upon it. The mastiff surged for Elistala even as Antires stepped in to intercede, slicing ferociously to keep the beast at bay. The thing danced side to side, snarling. The edges of its body were oddly blurred, as though it moved so rapidly that its image was sometimes left behind.

Hanuvar and Ciprion sprang into action at the same moment, one going left while the other went right. And as Hanuvar had suspected, Ciprion had no compunction about killing revenants, for his connection to Hanuvar, if exposed, endangered not just himself, but everyone he loved. His strike was swift and true and punched with such force that it split through one young revenant’s cuirass. Blood spattered as Ciprion pulled his weapon free.

Hanuvar had no time to watch his friend’s battle. Eprius fled behind the slim, wounded junior revenant and his pug-nosed, muscular companion. The wounded one had his blade only half drawn when Hanuvar slashed through his arm. He cut the scream off with a slice to his adversary’s helmeted head, then pivoted and leaned away as pug-nose lunged. Hanuvar struck the weapon down and stabbed through his attacker’s lower chest armor, twisting as he pulled his sword free. An explosion of stink wafted up when the man dropped gasping.

Intimidating hedge wizards and midwives was very different from engaging two of the world’s finest generals.

A quick glance showed him Antires and Elistala back to back, each with a blade, the woman moving weakly but determined. The mastiff circled, growling and gnashing its teeth. The big revenant dueled Ciprion, who ducked a powerful flat-bladed strike for his head to drive his own blade into the revenant’s side. The man seemed scarcely to note it.

Eprius, following behind, gleefully shouted: “Just wear him out, Septimus! He’s already winded.”

Casca had taken note that Hanuvar’s opponents were dead or dying, and that nothing lay between him and the general’s blade.

“To me, Eprius!” he cried, his voice rising in fear.

Hanuvar leapt pug-nose’s body. Casca couldn’t decide whether to worry about Hanuvar or the serpent, toward whom he backed. The wind was too loud for Hanuvar to hear the hiss of the revenant’s blade, but steam rose from its edge. It had been drawn from a high-ranking revenant’s sheath, which coated it in poison.

He lobbed his other knife underhand. Casca saw it coming and grunted. His wild swing caught it and sent it arcing away but left him out of line when Hanuvar leapt, sword borne high. The weapon tore down through Casca’s neck and deep into his breast bone. He fell, screaming, the deadly blade falling from limp fingers.

He was still screaming as Hanuvar slashed down across the dying man’s wrist. The hand plopped free from the spurting stump and Hanuvar lifted it, pointing at the big revenent Septimus. “Kill!”

On the instant the mastiff spun from Elistala and Antires and darted for the big revenant. The silent man turned at the last moment, and then the animal struck his side and bore him down. He drove a sword into its side as he dropped, but the hound was not deterred, and buried its muzzle in his neck. Septimus thrust his blade into its side more and more weakly as the animal chewed through his throat. He stilled at last, arm going limp. The dog gnawed for a moment more then slumped across him, as though they were close companions down for a nap.

That left only Eprius. Even the sea serpent had retreated further down the beach, perhaps troubled by so many predators nearby. It had come for an easy meal, not a fight.

Ciprion flanked the revenant from the right, along the fringe of milling crabs, his expression determined and indomitable. His sword dripped blood.

“Spare me,” Eprius cried. “I can keep your secret safe.”

“I’m going to bet you haven’t had time to write any report yet,” Ciprion said.

“I have written one,” Eprius admitted, “but it’s not yet been sent.”

“And it never will be,” Ciprion promised.

Too late Eprius noticed a movement on his right. Summoning the last dregs of her energy, Elistala split the air with the ululating cry of the Eltyr. The revenant was only half turned when she leapt, driving her blade down through his helmet and deep into his skull. His body hit the sand with the thud a moment before she landed wobbily and sank to a knee.

After a long moment, she wrenched her sword free with a spatter of gore, then staggered upright, leaving a still body behind. She laughed softly from deep in her throat.

Antires swore in admiration.

Hanuvar tore the ring from the dead hand and pocketed it, then stepped to his friends. Antires’ leg bled from a long claw scratch, and to Hanuvar’s questioning look he shook his head. “I’m fine.”

The Eltyr was winded, and covered with blood, but she smiled. “None of it’s mine,” she said. Antires was already advancing to offer Hanuvar’s cloak to her once more.

Hanuvar eyed the serpent, leaning over the crabs further north. Closer crustaceans were already clambering over the dead. “What do you want to do about the bodies?”

“We’re going to leave them to the tide,” Ciprion said grimly. After a moment of contemplation he faced Hanuvar. “It won’t be hard for me, with my position, to demand entrance to the home and offices of Eprius and Casca. I think I can arrange for a very interesting report for the emperor about their doings, as well as how their attempt to blackmail me turned violent.”

Hanuvar imagined he could. After he recovered his knives, they cleaned and sheathed their weapons and left the beach and all the monsters, living and dead, in the darkness behind them.



V


They were nearly to their horses when a new band of figures stalked out of the night, closing from right and left. Ciprion lifted his sword even as a voice called out, addressing them in Dervan with a Volani accent. They were commanded to halt, and warned to lower weapons.

Hanuvar responded immediately in fluent Volani. Ciprion’s own facility with the language had waned through years of disuse, although he was able to follow the flow of conversation and infer much of what was said. Hanuvar greeted the speaker as Bomilcar and told him to stand down, saying that Elistala had been recovered but was weak and still feverish and would need care. He also expressed pleasure in seeing the captain and his people.

In their turn, they clustered about Hanuvar, smiling with delight. Their leader removed his helm then contemplated his commanding officer with pleasure so profound it approached veneration. His hair was dark and tightly curling. His plain, square face was dominated by a strong brow ridge and thick nose that must have been broken more than once. Bomilcar then laughed and offered his arm, and Hanuvar smiled and clasped it.

After that the rest of the band lined up to greet Hanuvar, their words flowing so quickly Ciprion could not follow much of what they said. He was surprised to see a number of very capable-looking women in the group. They stayed close, ringing Hanuvar. They nodded genially to Antires, and embraced then tended Elistala, but seemed uncertain how to engage with Ciprion, an enemy Dervan. He understood that they knew his identity, for he heard his name on their lips.

Bomilcar regarded him even now with carefully banked hostility, like a guard dog waiting for an attack command. He half turned his head and asked a question of Hanuvar about revenants, though he kept his eyes upon Ciprion.

“No,” Hanuvar said, and Bomilcar’s brows rose questioningly. Hanuvar then spoke in Dervan, slowly. “Ciprion has risked his life for me, and you.”

While Bomilcar puzzled that over and those who apparently understood Dervan explained to the Volani who did not, Hanuvar looked regretfully between Bomilcar and Ciprion. “For our joint safety, the less you two know about one another, the better.” He faced the Volani leader. “There’s something you must understand, though. Ciprion found Elistala and helped her. Without him she might already be dead. While you acted decisively to recover your soldier, you attacked the villa where Ciprion’s wife and grandchildren are staying.”

A glimmer of understanding at last reached Bomilcar’s eyes. He frowned, then considered Ciprion again. His Dervan was halting. “I have heard the general speak of you with respect, but I did not guess your plans. When my scouts learned you had found Elistala, and then we saw the coming of revenants, I feared she would be questioned with pains. I had to stop watching, and act. Your family is well?”

“They are.”

“If my actions harmed . . .” Bomilcar’s voice faltered and his mouth twisted into a scowl. He spoke sharply to Hanuvar in Volani and Ciprion understood enough to parse that he demanded why he should apologize for damage done to a Dervan patrician’s home when so many of his had been killed by Dervans.

Hanuvar’s answer was brusque, and Ciprion could not follow the rapid-fire sentences, despite their brevity. When he finished, Bomilcar’s head was bowed in discomfort. After he collected himself he faced Ciprion again. “I regret the worry I brought your wife and family, and yourself. I did not hope to cause them injury, and I am glad that they are well.”

“I appreciate that,” Ciprion replied gravely. “And I accept your apology.”

At mention of the fire they had faced, he once again could not suppress the thought of flames racing through the buildings of the great coastal city, and the holdings where thousands of prisoners had been kept after its fall, and the screams as they burned alive. He had not been involved; he had spoken against the war, to his own detriment. But he was a part of the machine that had brought their city’s end. How should he speak of Derva’s war against a weakened Volanus, the destruction of its society, the death of its people? Words and phrases conveying regret tumbled uselessly through his mind but did not cross his lips, for they were hopelessly inadequate.

Hanuvar seemed to understand, for he again addressed Bomilcar, this time in Dervan. “Tell him about the steward.”

“Your servant spied for revenants,” Bomilcar returned with a heavy accent. “One of my scouts followed the revenants after my general ordered withdrawal, and the man came to find them. They meant to chase us, until your steward came and told them of our Eltyr escaped.”

The steward was not Ciprion’s, but that of his in-laws. “Where is he now?”

Ciprion’s suspicion was confirmed by Bomilcar’s dark look. “With his ancestors. My scout heard from him and ran to get us. We followed the revenants.” He turned over a hand. “I was wrong on many thoughts. You fought them together didn’t you?”

Ciprion nodded once.

“You know too much for Ciprion’s safety,” Hanuvar said. “Our connection must never be spoken of.”

“It will not be,” Bomilcar vowed. He then bowed his head to Ciprion. “I thank you.”

Elistala, bundled now in a heavy cloak, had come silently up beside Bomilcar, and formally bowed her own head. “I give thanks as well,” she said in Dervan. “Perhaps . . . there is hope if people of honor still work together.”

Ciprion thought that a charming sentiment, though an unlikely one. “May your recovery be swift.”

Hanuvar extended his hand, and he and Ciprion clasped forearms. “We should part,” Hanuvar told him. “I thank you, for everything. Please convey my apologies to Amelia. I shall reimburse you for the damages as soon as I am able.”

Ciprion shook his head. “I will not take money you need for your rescue operations. The emperor’s always foisting rewards on us—I will accept one. I trust we shall meet again, and perhaps over that meal I had hoped for.”

“I would like that,” Hanuvar said.

There was much more to be said. There was always more that might be said between them, but now was not the time. Ciprion bade them all farewell, mounted his horse, and took the lead line of Ghost. He left Hanuvar, Antires, their two horses, and the Volani heading north along the coast.



VI


Bomilcar walked with Hanuvar at the head of the procession, so they could speak without being overheard by anyone but Antires. Hanuvar had introduced the playwright as his advisor, which seemed to startle and delight the younger man in equal measure.

The joy at travelling among so many of his own people was marred by Hanuvar’s fear for them, and before even asking about Bomilcar’s goals or their lives, Hanuvar asked where the captain was beached and how he’d avoided the Dervans.

Bomilcar snapped his fingers at the efficacy of the Dervan coastal patrols. “They’re all landlubbers at heart. We’re only about a mile north, in a safe little cove.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“I’m probing the coast to assess its weaknesses. I’m in contact with Icilian pirates and some renegades east of Hadira and we expect to make things very tricky for the Dervans later this summer. Right when they need to trust the sea lanes to keep them supplied against Cerdia.”

Hanuvar wasn’t delighted to hear that, but at least Bomilcar hadn’t been hunting him to report some dire news about the colony. “What’s your objective?”

“My objective?” Bomilcar puzzled over the question. “To hurt Derva. To strike a retaliatory blow.” He struggled to find the right words even in his own language. “Vengeance!” he managed finally.

Hanuvar understood. “The best thing you’ve done is free some of our people in your raids. How many have you recovered?”

“Eight.”

“Well done,” Hanuvar said. “But your presence here is going to stir up even more attention, and I can’t afford it just now.”

“No?” Bomilcar asked. “But our people require justice.”

“No,” Hanuvar insisted. “We can’t be wasting our efforts on revenge. I’m trying to find and free all of our captured people, and nothing else matters half as much.”

The sea captain did not seem happy about this disagreement, but his loyalty was unquestioning. “As you say, General, I will abandon the plan.” He changed topics with a shift of broad shoulders. “We kept hearing rumors you were alive, but we couldn’t really believe you’d escaped. Yet here you are! Deep under disguise in the Dervan countryside. What are you doing?” He drew in a breath. “Were you behind the emperor’s death?”

The blunt inquiry returned him unbidden to the long months when he had feared his daughters’ rage had warped her into a murderer of children, culminating in his discovery of the dying emperor, slain by a counterfeit Eltyr. A moment passed before he responded softly. “I was nearby, but no.”

Bomilcar nodded soberly but did not ask for detail.

Hanuvar returned a question of his own. “How long have you been in the Inner Sea?”

“More than a year now. I left as soon as your ship came back from Volanus with the terrible news. And without you.”

“So you haven’t been back?”

“No, sir. I’ve been careful. It’s taken some doing to set up the attacks you want me to cancel.” He studied Hanuvar hopefully for signs he’d change his mind.

“It sounds like it would have been a very effective strategy for a more propitious time,” Hanuvar said.

“Thank you, sir. We’ve also made contact with Volani enclaves in a number of provinces. Some of them have made the journey to New Volanus.”

Hanuvar had eventually wished to reach out to the free Volani living in the provinces and beyond the borders of empire. But he’d hoped to finish his liberation campaign first. If the revenants learned there was a New Volanus, they might start noticing that all the Volani slaves were disappearing, and become more troublesome to Hanuvar’s true aims.

There was nothing he could do now about actions Bomilcar had already taken. Assuming Hanuvar was dead and unaware of his plans, he had acted as he had thought best. “You’ve done well,” Hanuvar said. “How are you? You and your people?”

“Fine, general. And we’re in high spirits. It’s felt good to strike back against Derva.”

“How many ships do you have?”

“Three.”

If Bomilcar had been busy in the Inner Sea seeking Volani, there was a faint chance he’d been successful with an important objective Hanuvar had so far failed to make any real progress toward. “Have you had any word of my daughter?”

The captain shook his head, speaking with grim forbearance. “Only that she had been captured. And presumably killed.”

“Narisia escaped with several Eltyr and I have not found her.”

Bomilcar sucked in a breath and blinked in surprise. Hanuvar knew he had always admired her.

Antires remained silent, listening, and Hanuvar felt his scrutiny intensify.

“Finding our people has to be the highest priority,” Hanuvar said. “I applaud your efforts, but let’s hold off on coodinated actions with the pirates until it can do us some greater good. Right now such raids would interfere with Derva’s usual activities, complicate our ability to track the Volani left, and upend our efforts to recover all those sold into slavery.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dispatch two of your ships to Selanto, where they can be deployed to transport the groups we’ve freed to New Volanus.” Evacuating them sooner would decrease the risk of waiting for the purpose-built ships to return for them from New Volanus. “Have their captains report to Himli. He will provide you with paperwork to legitimize the vessels and their cargo. I want you to take your fastest ship to Surru. We’ve heard rumors of an underground Volani movement there, and think Narisia and the escaped Eltyr might have been in touch with them. Find them.”

“We will,” Bomilcar vowed. “But when I do, where shall I find you?”

It was a fair question. “I will tell you, but you must be exceptionally discreet. For the next few months I am hiding in plain sight, in the Apicius villa of Izivar Lenereva.”

“The Lenereva?” Bomilcar spat.

“Her father is dead and Izivar has risked her life and her fortune to aid her people. She can be trusted. If you don’t return before early autumn, seek me in Selanto, at the Lenereva holdings there, where we’ve expanded the port. Otherwise I’ll be nearby Apicius.”

“You can depend upon me. If Narisia’s out there, I will find her.”

“I know. Bomilcar, we have lost too many people already. Take great care of those with you. We need warriors and sailors to keep our new homeland safe.” He felt the younger man readying objection, and cut him off. “These veteran lives are a resource we cannot afford to lose. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” While there was reluctance in Bomilcar’s voice, Hanuvar thought he heard comprehension as well. The captain was far from stupid. He but lacked perspective. Hanuvar hoped he could be made to live long enough to gain it.

For the next quarter hour he visited with his people, asking after their health and their doings. One he was able to tell about a cousin rescued from a stone quarry, and another of a brother they hoped to free from a dye maker in the coming week. That there were lives still to be saved was solace to these brave souls, who had planned solely to drown their rage in blood. He spoke to them of the dream of New Volanus, and of how fragile it remained, and how much it needed skilled guardians.

Elistala thanked him again formally, telling him how honored she was to have gone into battle at his side.

“Rest up and heal fast,” he told her. “Your captain will need help on his new assignment.” Weary and sick though she was, the young woman’s eyes shone in curiosity.

Hanuvar and Antires stopped on a hillock while the others descended to a sheltered cove where a little sailboat was beached. Bomilcar’s larger ship was anchored among some islands a mile out to sea. The wind would be with them as they sailed east. Hanuvar and Antires stood with their horses as the Volani boarded and pushed off, and even watched awhile as the wind caught their sail and sent them skirting away.

The wind was cold, but he watched their silhouettes against the moon-brightened sea for a time, hoping they would find his daughter but hoping even more they would understand his counsel.

“What are you thinking about?” Antires asked him.

He would rather not have said, but he had promised to share his thoughts with the writer, and so he did. “I’m afraid for them.” He’d found their adoration disconcerting and their hunger for revenge tiresome even though he understood it.

“Are you really going to send pirates against Tyvol some time?”

He shook his head no. “Bomilcar and his crew might claim that the shades of our people cried for reprisal, but their goal is fundamentally selfish, and self-destructive. A raid wouldn’t attack those who’d guided the war or profited from it. It would kill hundreds of people who’d had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Antires said. “I’d hate to see anyone raid the Oscanus region—there are a lot of nice people here.”

The thirst for revenge could blind a person to basic commonalities. Bomilcar’s devotion to it had made him seem almost a different person than Hanuvar had known prior. And he and all of his followers had seemed very young. Younger even than Antires, though most had as many years or more.

And yet, once he turned his back upon them and rode into the dark countryside, he felt loneliness as he had not known for long weeks, as though he were soaked clean through by it. Even Antires’ company was poor solace. Not until he lay warm in bed, Izivar’s arm thrown across his chest, his left hand clasping her right, did he know a sense of comfort, and he counted himself fortunate to have any in a world where so many remained bereft.

decorative stars

In those weeks I found myself sometimes assisting the capable Izivar with either the transfer of the rescued or the management of her small shipping firm, for it must be remembered that her business had to prosper for at least a little while longer, both as a cover and because our monetary resources were hardly endless. At this remove I barely recall the daily challenges, and my notes are incomplete, for I sulked that I could not be involved in every moment of Hanuvar’s own efforts. I remember the calm way Izivar addressed problems, and the day she discovered one of her ships had sent a huge cargo of fruit south rather than north to Ostra, and how she then had to scramble to find a different market or lose money upon the entire shipment. I recall the loyalty of her staff in the harbor office, and how quietly and efficiently they carried out their tasks. I think to them I must have seemed bumbling and overeager to prove myself, and probably I was.

Ciprion’s report to the emperor on the doings of the revenants had the desired effect: the standing of the revenant legate himself grew even more perilous, and he was ordered in no uncertain terms to focus entirely upon Cerdia. He was forced to recall his hounds and redistribute his personnel to other duties, which he did, although he did not fully abandon his search, as we were soon to learn.

More and more Hanuvar deployed me as a scout, and twice I even handled the negotiations for some slaves all on my own. Successfully, I might add. I acted as his secretary, even suggesting the wording in some of the contact letters we sent landholders. And, under his tutelage, I had begun to refine my sword skill, practicing nearly every day, and often exercising with him. Unless in disguise in the midst of some assignment, Hanuvar never failed to perform his morning and evening drills.

On one memorable occasion I rode south and west with him into the hinterland, thinking we would return in a few days with a small band of Volani vintners. What we did not know is that the revenant legate had maneuvered Calenius into assisting him with a new scheme. Their actions were to have a lasting impact upon the entire region.

—Sosilos, Book Thirteen




8. “Affectation” is inaccurate and somewhat unkind of Antires, given that he knew the elder Silenus and the unpredictable timing of his recurring foot pains. It is possible Antires sought concision over precision in this instance.—Silenus

9. The Eltyr corps is often represented by the symbol of a half-circle above a horizontal line, contained within an arch, symbolic of an ocean moonrise viewed though the Volanus River Gate, where the Eltyr were originally stationed.—Silenus

10. You will note that neither Ciprion nor Hanuvar speculated that Elistala’s presence here had been prompted by either of the the two Volani ships dispatched to New Volanus earlier that summer. It would have been obvious to Hanuvar that not enough time had passed for this woman to have arrived from New Volanus in response to those more recent emigrees. He had not confided to Ciprion the coordinates of New Volanus, but their level of trust and the almost uncanny understanding between the two men—both of them geniuses in the same field—translated into an unspoken confidence in providing information necessary for, as Ciprion once described it to me, knowing the lay of a battlefield. Since Hanuvar did not offer that condition as a possibility, Ciprion apparently understood that it did not merit inquiry.—Silenus


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