Mary Herbert - Valorian

The officer beside Tyrranis shot a quick look at the body of his commander lying in the mud nearby before he offered his final bid to save his life. He cleared his throat. “There is also the Twelfth Legion, sir. It is still stationed in Sar Nitina. If you remember, last winter they received word to remain there to help guard the new borders.”

A strange expression, a cross between a snarl and a smile, altered Tyrranis’s bloodthirsty grimace. Slowly he handed his sword to an orderly. “You are the commander now,” he said to the officer. “Pick five men to ride with me to Sar Nitina.”

The new second-in-command saluted Tyrranis’s back as the general whirled and strode to his horse. He tried to feel relieved and pleased by his reprieve and the unexpected field promotion, but the position of commander under Tyrranis seemed to be dubious at best and definitely not a guarantee of honor and long life. Perhaps he had merely postponed the inevitable.

Leaving the main body of his army camped on the banks of the Bendwater, General Tyrranis and his men rode late into the night through mud and darkness, following the river until they were ready to drop. He allowed them only a short rest before he pushed them on again at dawn. By noon, they had reached a newly paved road called the Tartian Way, one of the roads that united Chadar -and Sarcithia. The Tartian Way crossed the Bendwater River, then followed it south and west. The road eventually ended in Sar Nitina’s huge public square in front of the governor’s palace and the barracks of the XIIth Legion.

Sar Nitina was a river port nearly as big as Actigorium, a popular stopping place for pilgrims, and a city of artisans.

While Actigorium was a large agricultural center, Sar Nitina was a resort town catering to tourists, wealthy visitors, and a large stream of pilgrims who came through from all parts of the empire on their way to visit shrines throughout the south.

When the Chadarian governor arrived at the river port city in the afternoon two days later, Governor Antonine met him at the gates of his small but elegant palace. He noted with a qualm the soldiers’ battle armor, their full complement of weapons, and the look of cold determination on Tyrranis’s face, but he put on a pleased expression and offered them his hospitality. The knowledge that he himself had a full legion at his beck and call gave him a greater feeling of confidence and generosity, even in the face of an unexpected visit from the infamous General Tyrranis.

The two governors retired to the palace, to a large, airy garden room that Antonine had had built for the pleasure of his numerous mistresses. Servants brought cooled wine, sweet cakes, and fruit for the two men and discreetly retired. Antonine and Tyrranis settled themselves comfortably in a pair of couches to talk and sample the fine wine.

Yet neither of them relaxed. They had never met one another before, and their characters were too different to be compatible. They spent the first part of their visit taking each other’s measure.

Tyrranis wasn’t impressed by what he saw in Antonine.

The young governor hadn’t won his position through ability or service; it had been given to him, along with plenty of intelligent secretaries, aides, and legion officers to help him run the prosperous, peaceful country. The lack of any real effort in his life showed in Antonine’s every indolent movement, in his lazy gaze, and in the pudgy roundness of his body. He was a handsome young man, in a soft way, with wavy blond hair, nondescript blue eyes, full lips, and broad, uncalloused hands. Tyrranis thought to himself that Antonine’s hands probably spent more time fondling women than handling a sword.

He drowned out his contempt with friendly politeness and graciously accepted another glass of wine.

“It is such a pleasure to meet you at last,” Antonine was saying between bites on a small sugared cake. “But I must admit I was surprised to see you.” He lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.

Tyrranis hooded his reptilian eyes under half-closed lids. “You have heard of the Clan?” he asked mildly.

Antonine looked puzzled. “The Clan? Hmmm . . . Oh, you mean that disreputable pack of thieves and herdsmen that hide up in the Bloodiron Hills?” He shrugged. “What do they have to do with a provincial governor leaving his capital and province for an unannounced visit to Sar Nitina?” “They have been causing some trouble,” Tyrranis replied, trying not to be irritated by Antonine’s question or his bored tone.

“They have banded together and are fleeing Chadar.”

“Banded together? Indeed. How inconvenient.” The full meaning of Tyrranis’s words suddenly occurred to Antonine, and he blinked several times before he asked in mild alarm, “Have they caused many problems?”

Tyrranis nodded. “They are heavily armed and very dangerous.” He decided not to mention Valorian’s magic until he had to, for fear of terrifying Antonine out of his ineffectual wits. He would merely stir up the young man’s sense of duty. “They pillaged and burned their way down the length of Chadar.”

His cake forgotten, Antonine straightened in his seat and asked suspiciously, “And where are these renegades now?”

The Chadarian general sighed sadly, steepled his fingers, and answered, “They crossed into Sarcithia two days ago.”

“What?” Antonine lifted his chin and sat straighter. “And you did nothing to stop them?”

Tyrranis didn’t move. “I was unable to be with my men when they chased the Clan to the Bendwater River. The commander who let them escape has been dealt with, but by law, I could not simply charge my troops into your province after those outlaws.”

“No. No, of course not.” Antonine shook his head in agitation “Where are these clanspeople going?”

“We believe to Wolfeared Pass and the Ramtharin Plains.”

The young man’s face cleared. “Oh! Well, that changes things. If they want to go to the other side of the Darkhorns and starve on those empty plains, let them.” He sat back, relieved, and helped himself to another cake.

General Tyrranis waited until the cake was eaten, then stared thoughtfully at the ceiling and said, “Unless, of course, they decide to stay in Sarcithia and raid your villages and farms, or rob caravans and travelers.”

The Sarcithian governor paled. “They wouldn’t dare do that with the Twelfth Legion here,” he cried. “That would be folly.”

“Whoever said clanspeople were intelligent? As you said, they are thieves. Greedy, violent thieves.” Tyrranis slowly leaned forward to stare unblinkingly at the younger man. “And what if they do escape the Tarnish Empire? Do you want to be the one who explains to the emperor why you refused to help me capture these outlaws who are endangering the peace and security of two of his most profitable provinces?”

Antonine sagged back on his seat and was silent for a long time while he tried to think of ways to squirm out of this onerous duty. He wanted no part of chasing a pack of bloodthirsty barbarians around the countryside. Annoyingly he could think of no way to get out of it that would leave his public image intact. Tyrranis was right: They had to bring these people to heel. However, Antonine knew he couldn’t simply let the Chadarian general march freely through Sarcithia with such a large force. Nor, Antonine swore angrily to himself, was he going to allow Tyrranis to take any part of the Twelfth Legion without him.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, General Tyrranis,” he said at last, trying not to be surly. “If you wish to accompany me, we will take the Twelfth Legion. They will have no trouble dealing with these brigands.”

Pleased, General Tyrranis ignored the insult. His mouth tightened into an unpleasant smile, and his eyes glittered like a predator’s. “That will do,” he murmured, as if to himself.