Authors: L. M. Roth
Lucius exhaled
long and deeply when they at last left the forest behind them and found
themselves in civilization once more. He did not relish adventure as his sister
did, and the encounter with the barbarians did nothing to change his attitude
on that matter.
They were
entering the city of Golida, situated most pleasingly on the golden sands that
stretched to the shores of the great Sea. This was the outermost post of the
Valeriun Empire, and Lucius felt a sudden thrill of pride as he beheld it. For
Golida was not a city built of iron to protect its power as was the Imperial
capital Potentus, nor a city where commerce mingled with culture like Lycenium.
Golida was
constructed entirely of the purest pink marble, built on the whim of the
Emperor Herminius to please his wife, Iulia. She loved the sea more than
anything in the world, but fretted at the mean quarters she was forced to
endure when they traveled to the shore on holiday. Herminius loved her deeply
and wished to cheer her.
He engaged the
finest workmen in the Empire to transform the dreary little seaport of Golida
into a place of exquisite beauty. For two years they carved towering edifices
from the blocks of rosy marble transported over many miles from the region of
Berista, where the finest marble in the known world was to be found. Soon they
had created a place of incomparable loveliness that elicited sighs of rapture
from those who beheld it for the first time.
As they
entered the gates of the city, Lucius found himself captivated at the sight
that met his eyes. Everywhere he looked the pale pink marble structures caught
the rays of the morning sun and reflected it brilliantly, adding to their own
luster as a golden glow shimmered through the rosy illumination. The streets
were cobbled with smooth black stones that proved an elegant contrast to the
pastel glory of the buildings. Walkways of black marble paved the way for the
casual stroller who might wish to explore the hidden delights of the city.
All commerce
was conducted outside the city gates; fishermen and merchants bringing goods
into the city were forbidden to hawk their wares within its walls, and those
who wished to do trade with them must do so at the stalls that dotted the
beach. Golida was a place meant for escape from the cares of everyday life.
Travelers came to savor the sun and swim in the sea, but also to soak in the
mineral waters that were abundant in the region.
Several bath
houses had been constructed for this purpose. They differed from those found in
Valerium in the fact that those in Golida were intended for healing and
refreshment and not merely for the practical use of washing away the grime of
daily living. The elite traveled to Golida for the purpose of pampering themselves
in her environs. There were bath houses, and establishments where wealthy
matrons could indulge in beautification by way of mineral masks that revived
the complexion, and take discreet exercise in the salons erected for this
purpose in a manner they could not have done in Valerium, where everyone’s
movements were quickly made known to others.
In spite of
the urgency of their task, Tullia basked in the sight of the lovely city, where
doves rested on the statue of Emperor Herminius in the city’s square. Here
fountains cast sparkling sprays into the morning light, and pink roses climbed
trellises of polished black wood around the entrances of the public buildings.
If ever there was a city created for lovers of beauty, Golida was that city.
I must have
Marcus bring me here for a holiday sometime, she thought. It would be so lovely
to get away from Mother and the children for a while.
Then she was
reminded of the urgency of her task and chided herself. How could she waste
time in idle dreaming of time spent with her husband when her husband’s legacy
had been stolen from him?
She bade
Cyriacus to hasten to the nearest inn. He obliged her, and they were soon
entering the lobby of a small but elegant establishment where she was struck by
the lazy attitudes and idle conversations of the other patrons. It was clear
that they were here on holiday, but she did not have that luxury.
She left their
bags with Cyriacus in the carriage and strode to the proprietor where she
inquired for directions to the home of Maurus and Ursula Fabius.
The villa rose
ahead of them, imposing to be sure, but no less so than their own home in
Valerium. Tullia did not send a polite note asking to call in the customary
manner, but went directly to the Fabius villa, following the directions given
by the proprietor. She left Lucius at the inn, determined to settle this matter
herself with Ursula.
She asked the
butler to see the lady of the house but did not give her own name. She knew it
was a breach of etiquette to omit her identity, but she was not going to give
Ursula warning of her presence. She merely told the servant that she had an
errand of extreme urgency and waited for the appearance of her hostess.
She did not
have long to wait. Ursula’s curiosity had been roused by the announcement of her
mysterious visitor and she hastened to the atrium to greet her guest. Tullia
had turned her back to the stairs so Ursula would not see her before entering
the atrium. She had drawn the hood of her cloak over her head to further
disguise her identity.
When Tullia
heard the approaching steps of Ursula, she turned to meet her and dropped the
hood of her cloak. When Ursula saw Tullia, she clamped her lips tightly
together and turned her back to leave; but Tullia clutched at her robe and
swung Ursula around to face her. She clamped her hand down on her wrist,
evoking a cry of pain from her hostess.
Tullia wasted
no time but plunged into the purpose of her visit.
“Where is it,
Ursula?” she demanded in a voice ragged with exhaustion and anger.
“Where is
what?” Ursula countered, as she snatched her wrist from Tullia and rubbed it.
The look she
cast on Tullia was ferocious and vindictive; it did not bode well for the
outcome of the visit.
“You know of
what I speak,” Tullia insisted. “Did you not take a Sword from my son’s room
before you left our villa so hastily?”
“
Your
villa?” Ursula repeated in a voice laden with mockery. “Pardon me, but I
thought it was your mother’s villa, your husband having lost
his
to the
government of Valerium. Again.”
She sneered
openly at Tullia, who fought the urge to slap the other woman. Not only was
violence forbidden by Dominio, it wasn’t polite, especially between ladies. She
chose to ignore the intended insult and confronted Ursula again.
“I asked you
whether you took a Sword with you on your journey. If you did, return it at
once.”
“A sword? What
ever would I want with a sword?” Ursula queried in mock bewilderment. “Why, I
would have no use for such a thing!”
“Stop toying
with me! Our household is missing a valuable Sword and it disappeared the day
you left so abruptly. As you were the last visitor to the house, you are the
most likely suspect.”
Ursula gloated
at Tullia with the triumph of a cat which has just cornered a mouse it intends
to devour. She smiled with an evil glint in her wide brown eyes, but did not
answer her interrogator.
Tullia was
losing patience and growing angrier by the second. She did not believe Ursula’s
protestations of innocence. She strode up to Ursula and thrust her own face
into hers.
“I am warning
you, Ursula,” she threatened in a low voice. “If you do not produce that Sword
I will search your house from one end to the other with my own hands!”
Ursula looked
startled at the threat, but decided to try another tack to torment her accuser.
“Poor Tullia,”
she consoled in a falsely sweet voice. “No doubt the strain of your husband’s
perpetual homelessness is wearing on your nerves. It must be very trying to be
at the mercy of the whims of the ruler; safely in your home one day and
reveling in the best society, turned out in the streets as an outcast the next.
I can understand the difficulty of such a lifestyle.”
Tullia closed
her eyes and breathed slowly and deeply. She silently prayed for patience, as
hers was wearing thin to the point of snapping completely.
“Ursula, I
will repeat this once more: either you produce the Sword, or I will search for
it myself. I will give you to the count of ten, then I will begin my search.
One, two, three, four,…”
Ursula at
first was amused, but upon seeing the fury seething in Tullia’s face she
capitulated.
“I do not have
it,” she stated. “I did not take it. I did not see it. And if you do not leave
my house at once, I will have you thrown out bodily into the street.”
Marcus was so
weary that he felt he would fall where he stood. The journey from Lycenium to
Eirinia was a long one, and he fretted at every delay that postponed his
reunion with his daughter Felicia. Although he had always loved travel and
adventures, the urgency of stopping his wayward daughter in her headlong course
was uppermost in his mind, and he counted every moment lost.
The land
journey from Lycenium to Golida had been uneventful, even dull; the landscape
an expansive vista of the great forest that covered the land for hundreds of
miles. Although peopled here and there by barbarian tribes, Marcus saw no
evidence of them. Known for attacking the unwary traveler, he counted himself
fortunate to pass unscathed through their domain.
It was a
different matter at sea. As they headed from Golida on a northwestern course to
Eirinia they encountered the full blast of the capricious spring gales. Some of
the sailors fell to their knees and invoked Aelia, the goddess of the winds, to
relent and show them mercy. But either Aelia was deaf to their pleas or unmoved
by their danger, for the storms continued.
They were
tossed about at the whim of the wind and the waves for two full days before the
wind abated and the sea fell to a dead calm. They drifted idly, waiting in vain
for a breeze to blow them on their course. Again the name of Aelia was invoked,
but to no avail.
Marcus watched
the frantic importuning of the sailors as they called on their goddess. Aelia
was believed to both send the winds that blessed voyages, and to calm the winds
that imperiled them. On this voyage, however, she appeared indifferent at best
and impotent at worst.
As the ship
continued to lie still, Marcus fretted at the delay to his arrival in Eirinia.
He had not spoken to the crew about Dominio, but observing their vain
entreaties to Aelia compelled him to speak. Was this not an opportunity to
display the power of Dominio?
The crew stood
on deck pleading with Aelia to send them on their journey. Marcus casually
strode into their center and raised a hand to capture their attention. They all
turned to look at him with eyes agog at the patrician who had kept to himself
for much of the voyage, in the expected manner of an aristocrat.
Once he had
the attention of them all, Marcus fell to his knees and raised both hands to the
sky. He bowed his head and prayed.
“O great
Dominio, it is You who rule the air, water, fire, and earth; please bring forth
a wind to send us on our way.”
The words had
barely left his lips before he felt a ruffle of air on his cheek. Then a
flapping sound was heard in the sails, and a soft whistling sound filled the
air. Suddenly they all felt a shudder as the ship beneath their feet began to
move.
The mouths of
the sailors dropped in awe, and they exulted in the breeze that impelled the
ship on its way. As one man they turned to look at Marcus, who raised his hand
in the Valerian salute and strolled from their midst as casually as he had
entered it.
It was not
long before some of the braver members of the crew found the courage to seek
Marcus out and inquire about the God who sent the providential wind. It was not
the custom for the crew to mingle with the passengers, especially the
patricians, and to do so was to invite the rebuke of the Captain. Marcus,
however, had no snobbery left within him, it having been worked out of him
through many trials by Dominio, and he gladly welcomed the exchange with the
coarse and earthy men who questioned him eagerly about his God.
He began the
custom of placing a deck chair onboard for himself, where those sailors who
were off duty could consult him. He spoke to the Captain regarding his
intentions and took full responsibility for the interaction with the crew,
being careful not to interfere with their work. Altogether, he found it a
pleasant way to pass the voyage, and the time which had hung so heavily on his
hands, now flew by as he had a limited time in which to teach these men.
Now that he
had an occupation he found the voyage exhilarating. How he had forgotten the
glory of the sunsets and sunrises at sea, each one unique and fantastic! Only
where sea met sky so completely that they seemed blended into one another did
one grasp the concept of eternity, and how temporal the world of men truly was.
Here he felt that he could glimpse the vastness of Heaven and the wonder of the
world that awaited him after death…
The ship
pulled into the harbor of Eirinia, and as always, Marcus was struck anew at the
incredible beauty of this remote outpost. If each country were a jewel, then
Eirinia would be an emerald, glowing with a soft radiance in the full light of
noon. The sea mist had lifted as the sun climbed fully overhead, divesting the
green hills of the air of mystery that clothed them in the early morn.
He prepared to
disembark, eager now to search for his daughter, and see his old friends Dag
and Cort. Irksome though the reason for the journey was, it had rejuvenated him
to spend the time with the sailors and savor the beauty of life at sea. And now
that he would be reunited with old friends once more, he was reconciled to his
daughter’s flight from Solone, and the inconvenience it had caused him.
The village of
Leith was unchanged from what it had been when Marcus first saw it at the age
of seventeen. It still revolved around seedtime and harvest, and its people
were still crude sheepherders and farmers. He knew that Cadeyrn would not be
there to greet him, and felt a pang at the passing of his old master and
friend.
He approached
the village gate and knocked for entrance. The gatekeeper spotted him, and
cried out a greeting of recognition. Although Marcus had not visited Eirinia
for several years, he had not changed much in appearance, except for a
sprinkling of silver in his dark hair and fine lines that circled his piercing
gray eyes. He still retained the physique of an athlete, with his broad
shoulders, well muscled arms, and taut waistline. He was granted admission and
hailed joyfully.
As he passed
through the village children ran from hut to hut spreading the news of his
coming. He was soon encircled by old friends who welcomed him warmly and
extracted promises to share an evening meal with them during his stay. Marcus
laughed in pure happiness, and delighted at seeing so many of the villagers he
had once tutored in the teachings of Dominio.
It was not
long before he came to the house of his old friend Dag. He was surprised that
he had not bounded out to greet him, for surely the noisy welcome he had
received should have alerted him that some excitement was afoot. He wondered at
the silence in the hut; was someone ill and the family quarantined?
It was Judoc
who answered his knock and opened the door. She gasped when she beheld Marcus
and drew him into the hut. She suddenly burst into tears that baffled Marcus,
as he saw no reason for weeping at his coming. Unless his daughter had given
the Adalbart family cause for grief…
He looked
around for any sign of her but saw none. Just then he became aware of a shadow
that loomed at the back of the hut. It was Dag, rising to his feet to greet
him. But instead of the joyful smile he expected, his old friend seemed like
one who walked in his sleep, lines of pain marring his countenance.
Dag held out a
hand in greeting in the custom of Trekur Lende, and Marcus took it warmly, and
then placed one hand on Dag’s shoulder in the manner of the men of Valerium
that was extended only to their friends and family. Dag’s eyes appeared as
tear-stained as Judoc’s, and Marcus sobered with the thought that some terrible
tragedy must have befallen the family.
And where, he
wondered, was his daughter; for there was no trace of her to be seen…
After the
first greeting was over, Marcus ventured to ask Dag and Judoc if Felicia had
arrived to visit them. The question only drew blank stares, and they shook
their heads in denial at the same moment.
“No,” Dag
stated. “I have not seen your daughter in several years. And I think you would
have sent word that she was coming.”
The great man
dropped his gaze and looked at his feet. Judoc averted her eyes as well, and a
strange silence came over the other members of the household. Marcus noted
belatedly that Cort was present, although at the back of the room with his
siblings and a few women that he did not recognize.
Finally Dag
cleared his throat and looked Marcus in the face.
“I am sorry,
my old friend; we are a house in mourning. Our son Brenus, whom you no doubt
remember, has…” Dag’s voice quavered and cracked suddenly, and he swallowed
hard.
He went on.
“…has died.”
He shut his
eyes as though he could shut out the reality of Brenus’ death. Marcus was
stunned, remembering the vibrant boy who had such a short temper and a long
memory.
“He has died,”
Dag continued with an effort. “But we do not know how. And we believe the Astra
are behind it.”