Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

"I am releasing you from the binding," he said and placed a glass vial filled with dark red liquid on the tabletop. Maxian had moved his bedding into the library and now used it as office and study and sleeping quarters all in one. He suspected that the Walach slept in the barn in a big pile, all snoring fur, but had never ventured to find out. Gaius and Alexandros had cleared their belongings out of the upstairs rooms and were long gone. Maxian had not even noticed when they slipped away, but he knew that four of the horses and most of the silver was missing. "Do you know what this is?"

Anatol nodded, his eyes now fixed on the vial. A hungry expression slowly filled his face, causing his lips to stretch back from his white canines. The other Walach had become quite still and their eyes were also trained on the glass. "Pain-go-away," hissed the boy.

"It is your freedom," said Maxian, feeling the air tremble with tension. "I am giving you each enough for six months."

Anatol tensed as if to snatch the glass away from the tabletop, but Maxian shook his head minutely. The undercurrent of fear and hunger and hatred and desire in the room was flooding his senses. One eyelid flickered and an invisible ward rose around him, shining blue and pearl in the hidden world. Speech could still flow through it, but the Prince relaxed once the defense was in place. Anatol moved his hand back, obviously struggling with rampant desire.

"Each of you," pronounced Maxian slowly and clearly. Not all the Walach spoke Latin well. "Each of you will have such a vial. Just a drop of the essence on your tongue, once a week, will keep the hunger at bay. Each of you will have an equal amount."

Anatol swayed minutely to the side, his head turning. Maxian watched the Walach measure each other. Fourteen of their number had sworn themselves to his service in Constantinople, brought to him by their pack leader, Lady Alais. Some had perished in the fighting under Dastagird, while others had been lost in the house in the hills. Now there were seven. Enough to claw and bite and die, struggling over the serum, until only one lives. The Prince shook his head at the waste of it all. Still, these not-men were his responsibility. His father had set great store by duty and taking care of those who looked to you as a patron.

"This is the important thing," he continued, taking a wooden case out of his tunic. It was thin and polished to a dark brown sheen. He had found it among the debris in the upper rooms, pushed into a corner. It was plain, without any markings, but it was large enough for a pendant to be enclosed, laid out on a bed of velvet. Now it was large enough to hold four folded sheets of good parchment covered with carefully inked directions and formulae. "This is a message for your mistress, the dark Queen. Take it to her with my apologies for stealing you away."

Maxian paused, thinking of the brilliant eyes and stern countenance of the night visitor. He wondered suddenly if any of these children-for he guessed that among their kind they were children, barely kits whelped from their mothers-would be allowed to live in the face of her anger. Still, they had served him well and now his use for them was at an end. He would do the best he could for them, though he could not protect them from themselves.

"Take this, too." He removed a chain of copper from his neck. On it hung a silver coin, pierced with a hole for the chain to run through. "It passed between us once as a token. It may do such service again."

He stood and handed the wooden box and the coin to Anatol. The boy clutched them to his thin wiry chest, close to the nap of the fur.

"This is my gift to her, freely given, in hope of peace between our peoples."

Maxian pressed the glass vial into Anatol's hand and curled the long fingers around it.

"Remember," he said, looking down at the boy. "One drop each week, upon the tongue. No more and no less. Now go, lad, and carry my message homeward."

Anatol slid away, his back to the wall, and crept out of the room. Some of the others considered loping off after him, but Maxian made a rattling sound with the remaining vials and they slunk forward to the edge of the table.

"There is enough for all of you…" The Prince's voice fell to a whisper. The first Walach stared up at him with shining eyes. Maxian smiled back, closing the furry hand around the vial.

– |Gaius Julius tipped back the brim of his sun hat, squinting in the hazy air off to the right of the road. He was riding a roan mare he had purchased in the Forum Boarium when they had returned to Italia. She was a pleasant horse with an even gait and she did not shy away from him or Alexandros. Gaius figured that she had no sense of smell or she would have bolted long ago. Midday was fast approaching and the fields of Latium stretched in all directions around him, rich with grain and fruit trees and small farm buildings of white stone and red terra-cotta roofs. A packhorse trailed behind the roan, laden with bags of books and trinkets and amphorae of wine. That one didn't like Gaius, so he got the heavy lifting.

Alexandros was staring off toward the northeast as well, his head bare and golden curls spilling down his back like a wave. Gaius had tried to get him to wear a shirt the first day they had taken to the road, but the youth refused. In truth, Gaius could not fault him. The last three days had been almost perfect-warm and breezy during the day, cool but not cold at night. The grapes were preparing to ripen on the vine and all the land was moseying into summer with aplomb. Today the skies were clear, too, and the sun shone down on a drowsy land.

"What lies yonder?" Alexandros was trying to keep a tinge of awe from his voice.

Beyond his pointing finger, marching north across the Latin plain, was a massive stonework of three arched courses. It loomed a hundred feet high over farmhouses and woodlots alike, coming out of the east from hazy indistinct hills and curving toward the bluish smoke that rose above the city of Rome. From the vantage of the road, which was raised above the surrounding land on an embankment, the miles of arches and pillars were even more impressive. To Gaius' eye, it was a sight most pleasant to look upon.

"That is the Aqua Anio Novus," he said with pride. "One of the arteries of Rome. It is an aqueduct, my friend, carrying the fresh sweet water of Tiber down to the baths and cisterns and stew pots of the city. A stupendous undertaking worthy of my people."

Alexandros turned and grinned, his blue eyes glinting. "It must have taken a mighty effort to build that-how many tens of thousands of slaves perished in the undertaking? The Egyptians would be proud of you, seeing that you followed their example."

Gaius Julius sniffed and turned his nose up in the air. "Romans built the Aquae, not Egyptians, and by our own wit and strength, too. I was once custodian of the public waters, my fine Macedonian lad, and it is not a business to be trifled with."

"Indeed," said Alexandros, nodding sagely. "They're almost as big as a pyramid."

"Bigger," snapped Gaius, leaning forward on his saddle horn. "There are more stones in a single one of the eight waterways that feed Rome than in one of those moldering Egyptian monuments. We built them faster, too, the greatest only taking twelve years-far better than a generation for a useless pile of blocks."

Alexandros looked back at the aqueduct and Gaius could see the younger man's thought calculating and considering: What if I were to attempt such a thing? Gaius smiled, knowing that the seeming lad at his side had dreamed bigger dreams, done greater things in his time. "Rome builds well," said the Macedonian at last, in a grudging voice.

"It does," said Gaius sympathetically. "As did you."

"No," snarled Alexandros, his face gloomy. "All my dreams were ruins in a generation. Yours-they still stand, seven centuries after you went under the earth. Men I thought my brothers slaughtered my child, murdered my wife, hanged my mother from a limb. All that I hoped to build turned to destruction. Even the memory of me is strange, my tomb looted, my line lost."