Authors: Thomas Harlan
"Fellow senators," Gregorius said, looking about with a stiff, grim expression. "We must agree, and swiftly, to give a man the power of the
custos magus imperium
. This man must be a powerful wizard and we, the Senate, as guardians of the people, must trust him to defend Rome." The old man's voice rose sharply and some of the younger men in the back rows, who had been falling asleep in the heat, jerked awake in surprise.
"In a simpler time, we would summon the magister magorum of the Thaumaturgic Legion before us and anoint him with this post. But these times are not simple. I have already spoken with old Gordius and he has declined this duty. A new man must be elevated to the
custos
."
Gregorius paused, leaning on his cane, drawing a breath. He was tiring rapidly with the effort of trying to convince so many, all at once. "Is there a man we can trust with this task? A man strong enough in the hidden arts to pit himself—with hope of victory!—against the darkness Persia has summoned up?"
One of the older senators stood up abruptly, disgusted. "Get on with it, Gregorius! We've listened and listened, while you wend and weave—get to the point! If you've a candidate, set him before us!"
Gregorius smiled genially and waved for the senator to sit down. "There is something you must see first, my friends." The old man turned, his white beard bristling out. He made a sharp motion to the Praetorians loitering at the back of the hall. "Close the doors! Clear the gallery! What now transpires is for the Senate alone."
There was a commotion in the vestibule where a huge crowd of clerks and aides lolled about, eating sausage rolls heavy with garlic and oil, chatting in low tones while the senators declaimed in the main hall. The Praetorians herded everyone out with the butts of their spears and the main doors were closed with a dull thud. More soldiers cleared the gallery; the complaints and cries of protest were muted by the marble screen. When, at last, silence had fallen and the centurion in charge of the guard detail signed to Gregorius that everyone had been herded out, the old senator turned to Maxian.
"Fellow senators, I have brought a young man before you. He has seen our true enemy and he has, by his own skill and power, lived to bring us warning. This—for those of you who have not gotten out of your wine cups enough to know—is the Caesar Maxian Atreus. My lord, would you tell us what you faced in the ruins of Constantinople?"
Maxian stood up and the unsteady roiling sensation in his stomach was gone. He felt rather light-headed and perfectly calm. At the edge of his vision was a storm of color, like blowing snowflakes in every imaginable hue and shade. With an effort, he focused on the physical reality around him, allowing the faces of the senators to become solid again.
"I will do better than tell, good Gregorius, I will show you." The prince raised his hand and at the center of the hall a mote of light sprang up over the mosaic plains and mountains of Anatolia. For a moment the little ball spun and hissed, lighting the dark corners of the Curia and throwing long shadows behind the senators. A mutter of fear and surprise rose from the assembly.
"I entered Constantinople, Senators, even as the great gates fell, broken by a power far beyond anything I have ever felt before. Something rose up out of the earth, under a baleful sky, and tore down the gates and sundered the walls. I raced across the city, hoping to forestall the doom rushing over the city, but I was too late."
The glow swelled and then passed away, leaving the hall dark. Even the light of the late afternoon sun, which should have fallen in long, slanting beams through the high windows, was absent. Only a faint spark remained, drifting over the map on the floor, illuminating—by turns—mermaids and ships and cities and mountains. The slow movement ceased, spinning slowly over the coast of Morea, and then the light unfolded, growing huge, and in its depths; fire and smoke and the distant, muted screams of the dying and the dead.
"I came into the forum of Constantine, from which the Easterners count the miles, and there, clad in night, I saw..."
...a deserted street under a black and starless sky.
Maxian steeled himself, his face settling into a tight mask as visions of defeat welled up in the light and his shadow image struggled in the broken city against an unimaginable enemy.
"...this was how I left Constantinople, in ruins, a broken wasteland." Maxian dropped his hand and the phantasm passed, light streaming in once more from the windows. A thousand throats gasped for air, for every man had been holding his breath in horror, and a complete, stunned silence filled the hall.
Maxian sat down, sweating again, his pulse racing. Even the simulacrum of his battle against the Persian was far too real. Again, he summoned up the calming meditation and settled his mind. When he was aware again, Gregorius was standing in the open space, leaning on his cane, watching the assembly slowly regain its color. A few servants were moving along the benches with wine. Not a single senator refused the offered cup, or failed to drain the thick, unwatered contents.
"That is our enemy," Gregorius said at last, when he judged his words would be understood. "This young man, our own prince Maxian, is the only wizard within the reunited Empire strong enough to confront him. I say we invest Caesar Maxian with the powers and duties of the
custos magus imperium
, so he might be our shield against this Persian monster."
There was no immediate response and many of the senators stared at Maxian with new interest and naked calculation. The prince sat up straight, meeting their gaze. Gregorius was silent as well, waiting. He seemed content to wait forever, frail old body leaning on the cane, eyes in shadow, neatly trimmed beard covering his hands. Maxian forced himself to sit patiently.
"Can we defeat this enemy?" The senator who had spoken before rose to his feet. He seemed haggard, drained, but his eyes were sharp with an indomitable will. "The prince failed to destroy it in the vision..."
"I was unprepared, Senator." Maxian stood and—again—all fear and concern faded away. "Before that instant, I had never seen our great foe, or felt his power. I was lucky to escape alive. But their advantage is lost. When next we meet, I will be ready."
"Will you?" The senator's tone was pure curiosity, but he waved the question away even as it crossed his lips. "Senator Gregorius, in truth, do we have any other choice? Ours is not a nation of sorcerers, we are not the Chaldees of old, or even Egypt in its time of power. Is this young man our best chance of victory?"
"He is, Livius," Gregorius said, nodding, though his hand was trembling and he barely squeaked out the words. Maxian moved to catch his elbow, but the old man steadied himself.
"Then," Livius said, spreading his hands in acceptance, "we must seize this reed, though it seems terribly frail... shall there be a vote?"
A rumbling chorus of "aye" answered him.
Maxian helped Gregorius sit down, filled with great relief, though a sense of inevitability seemed to surround the event. The old senator was trembling. The prince thought of his work in the hidden world, and of the grim king on the throne of stone, and an unassailable feeling of
rightness
came over him.
This is what is supposed to be.
The rear doors of the Curia opened, grinding loudly on ancient hinges, and a flood of haggard-looking senators poured out, clogging the steps down into the old Forum. Gaius Julius, with Nicholas and Vladimir in tow, waited patiently while the patricians streamed past. The old Roman was openly smirking, enjoying the deflated, defeated looks on the faces of the "powerful."
"They've seen something today," he muttered, "they won't soon forget."
Neither Nicholas nor Vladimir said anything. In Gaius' company, they had remained in the gallery and seen the prince's little show. Both men were rather pale themselves, with a pinched look around the eyes and mouth, but Gaius Julius was impressed with their reaction. Unlike many of the senators, they had not cried out or been reduced to weeping. A party of slaves with litters ran up the steps and entered the Senate hall.
"Follow me." Gaius Julius stepped in, nodding to the Praetorians standing back from the door. The guardsmen nodded in recognition—Gaius had recently struck up a profitable friendship with the two prefects of the Praetorian Cohort over the matter of some vineyards in the south whose owners had died in the eruption of Vesuvius—and let the three men pass. Inside, there was a peculiar chill in the air and the hall still seemed quite dark, though the high windows remained open.
Prince Maxian knelt at the end of the benches on the right-hand side of the hall, his young face filled with dismay. Lying on the bench, hands clasped on his chest, was Gregorius. Gaius Julius hurried forward, sandals slapping on the mosaic, and felt a growing dread.
"What happened, my lord?" Gaius bent down, eyes searching the old man's face. Gregorius met his searching gaze with a faint, weak smile. The old senator's color was very poor, and Gaius was disturbed to see the blue veins showing so clearly through the skin. "You are not well."
"I am not," Gregorius whispered. "I was... unprepared for such terrible sights and sounds. Ah!" The senator's hands trembled with a palsy, and he jerked forward. Gaius, speechless, pressed him gently back onto the bench. Nicholas, standing close, handed the old Roman his cloak, folded into a pillow. Gaius nodded in thanks, tucking the pad under Gregorius' head.
"Sir, I can help you!" Maxian's voice was a harsh whisper, and Gaius—looking sidelong at his master—saw fear and dismay and guilt war in the prince's face. "Let me exert my power upon you. I can restore your heart, your lungs... all the vital humors."
Gregorius shook his head slowly. His left hand fluttered like a bird and Maxian grasped the cold fingers. The prince was as pale as death himself. The senator tried to smile, but stiffened with pain instead.
"Lord prince," he whispered after the spasm passed, "do not anger the gods. I am very old. I should have died years ago. If nothing else, the plague should have taken me. I have done enough, I think, for any man..." Another spasm rippled across his chest and throat, muscles jumping. Maxian laid a hand on the senator's forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"No," Gregorius said, batting weakly at Maxian's hand. "Listen to me, Caesar, you must accept the finality of death. Not everyone... can be saved." The old man's eyes fluttered and then, suddenly, he lay still.
The prince, with a ghastly expression on his face, stared down at his old friend, and there was a trembling in the air, some musical note just past hearing. Gaius Julius jerked back, staring around. Many voices were singing, filling the hall with a beautiful harmony. Nicholas and Vladimir stared at Gaius in alarm. The lean northerner's blade was half-drawn from the scabbard. The old Roman shook his head in puzzlement. The hall was filled only with the muted laughter of slaves lifting those senators who fainted onto litters.
"My lord?" Gaius knelt next to Maxian, his voice low and fervent. "You must bring him back."
"I cannot." Maxian's hands moved gently on the old man's face, smoothing back the white hairs, pressing stiffening eyelids down over dead, clouded eyes. Both wrinkled hands were carefully crossed on the sunken chest. The prince was crying, though he seemed unaware of the tears streaking his cheeks. "He has already crossed over the Black River."
"My lord, we need him." Gaius Julius gripped the prince's shoulder. "Without his support in the Senate, our efforts will be stymied in discussion and argument at every turn. You saw how they are today? Can't you bring him back like... well... like..."
"Abdmachus?" Maxian turned, eyes glinting with anger. "As a puppet? As a shape without life, but something to recite the words you devise?"
"Yes," Gaius Julius said, jutting out his chin. "Please, my lord! He is the most powerful man in the Senate; a leader, your
friend
and your brother's staunchest supporter. His death means the Empire is weakened—the Emperor will have to work even harder, take more on his shoulders—which we cannot afford, not with the Persians bearing down on Egypt like a storm."
Maxian grimaced, thinking, and pushed Gaius Julius' hand away. The old Roman moved away, staring at the prince with a determined expression, but he said nothing. Maxian stood, his whole attention fixed on Gregorius' body. After a moment, he raised his hand in the beginning of a gesture, then shook his head abruptly and turned away.
"He is gone," Maxian said to Gaius Julius with a fierce look. "Do you understand?"
The old Roman started to speak, trying to marshal a new argument. Maxian continued to glare at him, and finally Gaius raised his hands in surrender. "I'll not mention it again, Lord Prince."
"Good," the prince said, smiling thinly. "Who are these men?"
Gaius rubbed his bald crown, still shaken by the unexpected death of his one-time patron. "My lord, this is Nicholas of Roskilde and Vladimir, a Walach. They are soldiers from the Eastern Empire. They too were in Constantinople... I have taken them into your service."
"My service?" Maxian was taken aback and looked at Gaius in open amusement. "What on earth do I need them for?" The prince turned to Nicholas, embarrassed. "Your pardon, Master Nicholas, and you too, Master Vladimir. I mean you no disrespect. Gaius..."
"My lord," the old Roman interjected firmly, "these men will be your bodyguards."
"My what?" Maxian seemed nonplussed, but Gaius plunged on, keeping his voice low.
"Lord Prince, you have many enemies. Have you forgotten how close you've come to death before?" Gaius paused, searching the boy's face. Maxian made to speak, then paused and Gaius sighed in relief, seeing his patron was
at last
thinking about his situation. "Yes, my lord, you have enemies—some of them, I am sure, are still in Rome. And what of the Persians? What of the
thing
you confronted in Constantinople? It will be looking for you too, and I am sure he will not balk from poison or murder sent in the night!"