Chapter 27: 26 - Audience with the Enemy

The smell of cold blood on the wind, sickly sweet and rotting, sent a shiver down Mara’s spine that had nothing to do with winter’s chill. She gripped Isbrand’s pauldrons more tightly, holding herself to the warg-rider’s back. “What is ahead?” Her voice sounded uncomfortably shaky even to her own ears. “A battle?”

Isbrand paid her no heed, whistling to a pair of his soldiers to get their attention as they rode. “Aldegar, Landric, take that hill to the south of the road quietly. I do not think it is bandits so close to Valkaldr, but it does not hurt to be cautious.”

The two warg riders saluted their sergeant crisply and broke away from the group as everyone else came to a stop, vanishing into the woodline. For such large beasts, the wargs could move with a surprising stealth. Their paws were almost soundless on the earth, a far cry from the clopping of a horse’s hooves.

As she waited, Mara felt echoes stir through her shattered mind. For days now, maybe weeks, she constantly felt unsettled as little fragments floated to the surface. Sometimes the memories were benign, but other times the unknowable horrors that woke her at night left her screaming and crying practically insensibly. The strangers with her were of little comfort, but Isbrand also hadn’t been cruel. He usually just shook her firmly and repeated over and over, “You are awake.”

She wanted Aallotar, but the wildling still had not found her. Every hour that passed without her left a cancerous worry growing in Mara’s stomach. What if the Immortal had doubled back and killed her? More often than not, Mara wished she had fought and burned herself to nothingness to protect the wildling, but a cold reason told her the current situation was their best hope of survival.

She wouldn’t have wanted you to die.

Minutes passed in silence until Aldegar and Landric returned. “It is the blood of the legion’s justice on the wind,” Landric reported. “They crucified three men at the crossroads. The condemned’s crimes decorate their necks. Beyond is Valkaldr, just as we left it.”

Isbrand adjusted his position in the saddle, jostling Mara slightly. “Barbarians?”

Landric nodded. He was lanky and tall even for a warg-rider, with eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. “Bandits seeking to take advantage of the chaos. They attacked a scouting party.”

The sergeant’s brow furrowed. “Only three?”

Aldegar shrugged. “Only three must have survived to be punished.”

“Crucified?” Mara whispered when Isbrand nodded and motioned for his men to move out.

“Crucifixion is a method of execution,” Isbrand explained as they rode down the main path. “A post is fixed into the earth and another placed horizontally above that. We nailed the condemned to it and leave them to hang until they die. If their executioner feels merciful, he will break their legs to speed the process.”

Mara shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“No worse than the offerings the people of the Red Mountains make to their war gods. At least our cruelties are meted out to the deserving.”

“Like Immortalis Aelius striking you for insubordination?” Mara muttered.

She heard Isbrand’s frown in his voice when he answered. “It is not your place to question the servant of a Divine Prince any more than it is mine, barbarian. I deserve chastisement for disobedience. That is why I will stand to account before my commander and make my case.”

In the distance, Mara caught sight of proud Valkaldr and let out a hiss of shock. The city’s famous fortifications were a blackened scar, the walls utterly demolished. Nearby, protected by a bend in the river, a second city seemed to have arisen. It stood walled in stone and surrounded by earthen works beyond that, carefully laid out in a perfectly square checkerboard encampment. Valkaldr stood a city of about 60,000—the fortification next to it could probably claim a population somewhere between a third and half the size. Every military camp Mara had ever seen was chaotic, ordered by clans and chieftains with their own ideas of discipline, but that did not seem the story with the neat rows of structures and planned, perfect avenues within the camp, the main promenades large enough for formations to form.

Only Void could explain how the enemy had dominated so much so quickly.

The chill permeating Mara’s being suddenly had nothing to do with the cold of winter. She knew there would be no escape from a camp, so ordered and huge. Dread pooled in her stomach. It would be on her own wits to survive, and she did not feel equal to the task with her mind in its current state.

Then again, when had Fate ever brought her to somewhere when she was ready for it?

The wargs and their riders made good time to the fortifications. Even the earthen walls were a good twenty feet high, surrounded by a deep channel flowing with water redirected from the Kaldr River. Ice covered the redirected river, but Mara noted many small ceramic vessels, delicate and easily breakable, layered into the ice. Not enough for the weight of the ice to shatter them, but a warrior in heavy armor treading atop likely would. They have grown more clever, her own broken mind whispered, honed in the fires of a ceaseless war.

“What are those?” she asked Isbrand.

“Do not tread upon them and you will not have to find out,” the sergeant growled out. He raised a hand and slowed his warg, taking up a position at the head of his small contingent as they reached a broad drawbridge laid down across the moat.

The guards on the earthen wall’s heights looked down with impassive eyes, alert even though they were not brandishing their weapons. “Identify yourselves!” one called down. These wore the same black armor as Immortalis Aelius, but they moved like trained warriors rather than with his strange feline grace.

Mara’s captor acquiesced immediately, bowing his head even as he kept his arm raised in a salute. “I am Sergeant Isbrand of the Third Auxiliary Cohort assigned to Fourth Legion. I serve Captain Aimeric, Commander Godric, Imperial Legate Saevia, and Divine Prince Michael.”

“You are far from your legion, Sergeant. What business brings you so far afield?”

Isbrand drew forth a scroll case from his belt, holding it aloft. “A task given by Legate Saevia herself.” The scroll case flashed in the sunlight and Mara felt a tingle of sorcery from it. She remembered seeing something similar in the possession of the auxiliaries she’d saved, though this was the first time she felt attuned enough to realize fully the significance of the sorcery bound to the scroll case. These were not only defenses to secure and potentially destroy the contents: they were markers of who had given the task.

“And the barbarian with you?” the guard said.

Isbrand shifted his weight, prompting his warg to turn in a full circle so the guards could get a better look at Mara. “A captive with answers for the Legate.”

The gate guard’s expression was unreadable behind his mask-like helm, but the grip on his spear seemed to flex and then relax slightly. “You are fortunate indeed, Sergeant Isbrand. The Imperial Legate is present here in Fifth Legion’s camp as part of an official inspection. You may proceed, but make no delays in rendering your report to her.”

Isbrand saluted again with a deferential bow as forces hidden behind the wall lowered the drawbridge for them. “Thank you, Decanus.”

Mara clung more tightly to Isbrand’s pauldron as they moved across the great slab of wood suspended by chains in a frame of stone. “Is she supposed to be here? I thought we were going to Sandgata.”

“It is unexpected,” Isbrand allowed. “Though not unheard of. Legate Saevia prefers to take an active hand in the training and shaping of those under her command. An inspection, particularly after a successful pacification of a major city, would not be out of character for her.”

“Is it not dangerous for her to leave her legion and travel the roads?” Mara pressed.

He shook his head, guiding his warg with the pressure of his knees and the occasional repositioning of his body. Behind, the rest of the contingent fell in rapid step, loping through the open gates of the stone wall and down the broad central avenue of the camp. All around, thousands of people tended to the business of an army camp: drilling, armor and weapon maintenance, shouting at each other, and cleaning. The ring of steel against steel pierced the air, but even that couldn’t distract Mara from the strange statues that lined the promenades. At least, at first she thought them inanimate figures of meshed stone and metal. Then, with a creeping horror, she realized they were demons as their eyes followed the group’s progress, gleaming like obsidian. “The legions secure their territory and their commanders well,” Isbrand explained as they made for the center of the camp.

Guards stopped them several times in camp at checkpoints along the central road, but Isbrand identified himself and presented the scroll case at each occasion, speaking with an almost hushed deference to these men–and more surprisingly, women–in black armor. All of them were taller than Mara and built far sturdier.

Mara felt as though every eye was on her as they moved, though the reaction from the soldiers varied from veiled curiosity to indifference to open disdain. No one directed any inquiries or commentary at her, however. They spoke to Isbrand, as if she was not even worth the attention one gave to a fly upon the wall.

Ahead loomed a tent slightly larger than the seemingly endless array of unit tents they’d passed, near the center of camp. The guards surrounding it wore matte black armor like the others, but accented with green paint in specific, angular patterns and silver rank markings. To one side of the doorway was a tall pole, probably twelve feet in height, bearing the figure of a humanoid woman with wings in platinum at its top. It seemed to have its own honor guard, separate from those arrayed around the door to the tent.

Stolen novel; please report.

“The vexillum is the battle-standard of each legion,” Isbrand explained for her benefit. “It is displayed here, beside Legate Valerianus’s tent, as a reminder of the glory of the Divine Prince and the faith of Fifth Legion.”

Mara sucked in a deep breath as the wargs stopped and Isbrand dismounted. He pulled her down from the seat behind his, producing a cord from a pouch around his belt. “What is that for?” she asked quietly. “I promised I would cooperate.”

Isbrand fixed her with a stern look as he grabbed her wrist. “I recall. I do not know what manner of heretic you are, but the legion will not suffer a captive barbarian to be brought before the Imperial Legate unbound. Her honor guard would gut you if they thought you capable of casting spells unopposed.”

“You saw me do it once while bound,” Mara muttered.

“This protects you from them. It will not protect you from my knife in your back if you so much as breathe wrong. Am I understood?” Isbrand bound her arms from elbow to fingertip expertly as he spoke, tying her hands and fingers with cruel knots in such a way that, had she been an actual spell knight, she would have been worthless. Fortunately for her, all sorcery required was will.

Mara wasn’t eager to test herself against demons, however, and there were a plethora of them in this camp. If even a fraction of the stories were true, even those less powerful than Sammael could bend the force to their will with ease, and she wasn’t confident she was strong enough to resist even a lesser fiend.

She took a deep breath and followed at Isbrand’s tug as they approached the tent’s flap, her pulse hammering in her chest. Whatever was on the other side of that oiled canvas would decide her destiny, whether short and bloody or something else altogether.

Spears crossed in front of Isbrand before he could enter the tent. “What do you bring with you, Sergeant?” one of the guards said, his eyes fixed on Mara and her bindings as he assessed how much of a threat she was to those within the tent. “Explain yourself or be denied entry.”

“We were on a scouting mission–”

The only part of the guard’s face that was visible behind his mask-like helm, his eyes, narrowed. “I have heard that you carry the seal of the Imperial Legate upon your orders. I am not asking you to explain your business, but I will have an explanation of the barbarian.”

“They are linked. She contains answers.”

“And magic?” The question was blunt and forceful.

Isbrand nodded. “That is why she is bound, Tesserarius.”

The guard looked down at Mara’s hands, where the knots dug cruelly into her flesh and rendered her hands utterly immobilized. “Heresy is dangerous and unpredictable. To allow it near both Legate Valerianus and the Imperial Legate at once would be foolish, even if she is bound. You and your contingent will wait here. I will relay your presence.”

Isbrand saluted with the hand holding the scroll case, never loosening his grip on Mara’s lead. “We wait at the Imperial Legate’s word, then.”

Mara felt her anxiety ratchet up as the guard vanished into the tent. “What is going to happen?”

“That depends on how cooperative you intend to be. No doubt the meeting will come to a close and Legate Valerianus will depart, so the chain of command is more insulated against a possible attack. The heretics who have tried to kill Legate Saevia in the past lived long enough to feel their regret become a thing of legend, but one must always be careful.”

“They sought to cut the head off their enemy?” Mara tested the knots on her hands, but couldn’t move her fingers or even her palms. From elbow to fingertip, she was bound impossibly tight.

Isbrand snorted. “They tried and failed. Foolish of them. Even if they were successful, the legions would simply promote another to act as commander and continue to carry out the Divine Prince’s will. Legate Saevia has ensured her command staff are all exceptional in their ability. There would be no quarrel of leadership as there would be in barbarian ranks.”

Before Mara could respond, the tent flap flicked open and the guard in black armor returned. “You and your contingent may enter, Sergeant Isbrand. The Imperial Legate is ready to hear your report.”

Isbrand saluted again and strode forward, yanking Mara along behind him. The wargs would wait outside, but the three most senior of their riders accompanied Isbrand as a guard around Mara, each one no doubt contemplating how best to cut her down if it became necessary.

The inside of the tent was considerably warmer than outside, a central fire burning in a brazier with smoke rising through a hole in the top of the oiled canvas. Simple, undyed carpets had been rolled out on either side to cover the dirt floor. A bedroll of wool blankets had been laid out to one side beside a set of black armor with elaborate green paint designs across the chest and rank markings on each shoulder as well as the helm. On the other side was a low table crafted out of a stump and a few sanded boards, covered in a partial map of the Red Mountains and a number of ledgers alongside a number of cylinders not unlike the one Isbrand held. Crackling flames and the scratch of a stylus across paper were the only sounds.

It took Mara’s eyes a moment to adjust to the firelight after standing out in the sun. She turned her head, looking towards the figure seated at the low table.

The Imperial Legate was a tall woman with cinnamon colored hair worn in a strange style, shaved on the right side with the left side of her hair carefully braided. Battle scars decorated every inch of skin showing, including her face, and her nose was slightly crooked from having been broken many times. She wore no armor, only a uniform of layered black silk reinforced at the joints by fine chain. The long sleeves were pushed up so she could write more easily and her stylus danced across a sheet of paper, far smoother and more refined than the vellum parchments used by the few literate locals.

“Ave, Imperial Legate.” Isbrand saluted sharply as he stopped before the table, scroll case clenched in his hand even as he raised it.

“Ave, Sergeant.” Legate Saevia’s voice was cool and polished like steel, her inflection far more clipped and precise than the auxiliary’s. It reminded Mara much more of Immortalis Aelius’s accent than Isbrand’s. No doubt she was a native speaker of Imperial rather than one who had learned it as a second language. The woman set aside her stylus and looked up, gaze as piercing as a lance. “You return without Immortalis Aelius. Can you account for this?”

“Immortalis Aelius learned of an apostate celestial in the area near the survey and went to investigate. I followed your directive that nothing should stay us in your task and opted to return with Haagenti’s approval.”

“I see.” Saevia’s voice was so controlled it was impossible to discern if she approved or disapproved of that answer, but her eyes measured Isbrand carefully before scanning across the rest of the group. Mara shivered under the scrutiny that Saevia directed her way. A faint frown touched the corners of the Imperial commander’s mouth.

She has seen you before, Void whispered in Mara’s ear.

“The survey report,” Saevia said, holding out her hand. She stayed seated at the low table.

Isbrand bent down, setting the scroll case in her hand. The commander twisted the rings of the case in a complicated combination, opening it to reveal a scroll covered in notes and drawings. Some of it was a map of the area of the earthquake, but far more of it was the workshop itself, including the inscriptions on the cave floor where Mara had entered. Saevia’s eyes flickered as she read in silence, familiarizing herself with the contents of the report.

Mara tried to wiggle her fingers to keep circulation going. It helped a little, but she was still basically immobile. Silence stretched on for minute after minute as Saevia read the report. Isbrand was clearly not about to speak without permission.

“This barbarian did not enter through the main door?” The question was sharp and pointed, but more for confirmation of fact than explanation at this point.

“No, Imperial Legate. She used the side entrance with the inscriptions recorded by Haagenti,” Isbrand said. “Using magic to undo the thaumaturgy present on the door, per her report.”

The Imperial Legate set the papers down on her desk, tracing a fingertip over the diagram of the script, accompanied by its translation at the hands of Haagenti. She did not look up from the inscription. “Your name, barbarian.”

Mara licked her dry lips, trying not to show the fear she felt. “Mara Frost-Weaver.” She hoped Aamu wouldn’t mind the use of her spell-name. Her own real one would only bring more questions, some of which would undoubtedly end in her death.

Saevia looked back at Isbrand. “So you brought her because she was able to enter when Haagenti was not?”

“She has unusual abilities even for a heretic, Imperial Legate,” Isbrand said bluntly, robbing Mara of her hope. “She was able to open the gate. She spoke our tongue, which she stated she learned from a former black shield. She was able to cast without incantation or gesture.”

Saevia arched an eyebrow, that unsettling gaze landing on Mara again. “A dangerous prisoner.”

Isbrand tensed ever so slightly. “I will plunge a sword through her heart if she tries anything, Imperial Legate.”

“From which hold do you hail, Mara Frost-Weaver?” Saevia’s attention turned for a moment to the map on the table, a surprisingly accurate representation of the southern Red Mountains covered with various coins gleaming in the firelight. If Mara had to guess based on their locations, they represented something, perhaps troops or other agents. There was certainly one beside Valkaldr, one at Sandgata, and another at Thornholm.

“Sjaligr,” Mara said quietly.

Something flickered in Saevia’s expression, flat and cold. “Are you acquainted with Luukas Fire-Bringer, the master of Sjaligr?”

Mara felt all the poison she held for her father well upwards in that moment. “Who is not?” she said bitterly.

Saevia leaned back slightly, crossing her arms on the edge of the desk. “You have no love for the man.”

The bitterness only swelled in the center of her chest. “He and all his people can be swallowed by Void for all I care. They would deserve it.”

“Sergeant, I am pleased with your work,” Saevia said calmly, shifting her focus to Isbrand. “Your survey report is impeccable and you carried out my orders to the obedient letter. You have done well and I will pass along my compliments to Captain Aimeric and Commander Godric. You and your men will have a day of liberty before you return to Fourth Legion.”

Isbrand’s chest swelled with pride, but a caution entered into his expression. “There was a dispute with Immortalis Aelius that still must be resolved, Imperial Legate.”

Saevia gestured to the report almost absently, her eyes settling on Mara again. “Yes, Haagenti recorded it. All that you have done has been in my name. I will bear the consequences while you enjoy your reward. Now I have questions for your captive that are not for your ears. You and your men are dismissed.”

Isbrand hesitated, clearly taken aback by the command. “She is a danger, Imperial Legate.”

“Your concern is appreciated, but again, I have questions not for your ears. Legate Valerianus’s honor guard will be sufficient augmentation to my own sword arm in the event that our guest attempts something very unwise,” Saevia said, a touch more emphatic in her tone. “You are dismissed.”

The warg rider saluted, clearly sensing that the woman was not going to repeat herself. “As you wish, Imperial Legate.” He knotted the final binding on Mara’s hands and dropped the lead, and then exited with his soldiers.

Mara felt a chill settle into her gut as she was left alone with their commander, eyes turning to the aforementioned sword laying across the table within easy reach of Saevia. She had no idea what awaited, and that was far more frightening than the thought of death.