David McAfee - 61 A.D.

Haegre examined the seal, then broke it and read the missive. He nodded, and turned to his men. “To the north wall, all of you. Quickly, now. The queen needs us.”

The men cheered. Apparently Haegre was not the only one who sought his glory on the field.

He turned to Heanua and saluted again. “My apologies, princess. A man in my position must be careful, you understand.”

“Of course. Now go. For the Iceni.”

“For the Iceni.” He saluted, then moved to the head of his men. After a few minutes, she stood alone by the Bachiyr’s cage.

Heanua sighed in relief. Haegre had not examined the wax seal closely, or he would have noticed it was made from the larger seal in the queen’s tent rather than the small one on her ring. Both were official, but in times of battle the queen often used the ring to save time. He undoubtedly knew as much, but had missed the detail in his eagerness to join the battle. No wonder her mother had left him behind. His lust for battle overruled his attention to detail. When I am queen I will have him sent to the farthest reaches of the Iceni lands.

Heanua watched them go, then turned back to the cage, where she found the Bachiyr eyeing her, its face a mixture of anger and curiosity. She stepped up to the bars and placed her hands on the wooden floor. In her right hand was a set of keys. Heanua made certain to jangle them, just to get the thing’s attention. In her left hand was a crossbow, its bolt tipped with pitch. She wanted the Bachiyr to know from the start of their conversation that she could offer him freedom or death.

“Well, now,” she said to the thing. “You are in a bad place.”

“You speak Roman,” it said in perfect Iceni. “That’s interesting.”

So the creature spoke their language. It didn’t surprise her, the Bachiyr had been paying a great deal of attention to the comings and goings around the cage, especially the orders from the queen. No one listened that intently to conversations they couldn’t understand. “It is wise to know your enemy’s language,” she replied, switching to Iceni.

“More likely you were taught Roman before Nero broke his treaty,” it replied.

She nodded. It was smart. Good. “My name is-”

“Princess Heanua,” he interrupted, smiling. “Greetings, Princess.”

“I am here because-”

“You want something from me,” he finished for her. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Despite what you told our slow-witted friend, the north wall has already fallen, as you well know. I must admit I am curious. Why would a princess lie? Not that I am complaining, mind you.”

How the hell did he know about the northern wall? No matter. “I would make a bargain with you,” she said. “I will release you from this cage and from my mother’s sentence. In return you must perform a task for me. Do you agree to my terms, Bachiyr?”

“My name is-”

“I care not for your name, only for your answer.” She raised both hands, showing him the keys and the crossbow again. “I can kill you or set you free, the choice is yours.”

“What task do you require?” he asked. “Do you still wish to throw me back into the city to fight for your cause?”

Damn him. The Bachiyr had good ears. “I will tell you after you agree.”

“I should like to know to what I am agreeing to before I agree to it.”

“That is not the deal,” she said, jangling the keys for effect. “Agree to my terms or die with the sun. You choose.”

The Bachiyr turned his head toward the eastern horizon. The sky had begun to lighten slightly. It had not turned pink yet, but the black of night no longer reached the ground. Sunrise was an hour away at the most. He turned his face back to her, his thin lips tightened into a grin.

“It would seem I have little choice,” he said.

“I’ll have your word, Bachiyr.”

“You have it,” he replied. “Release me and I will perform any task you require of me.”

“Swear it.”

“By The Father, I swear it,” he replied. “What would you have me do?”

Heanua didn’t know what ‘By The Father’ meant, but it would have to do. She stepped up to the cage door and inserted the key into the lock, checking behind her to make sure no one was looking. Then she unlocked the cage door and stepped inside, setting the crossbow on the floor and pulling her dagger from her belt.

The Bachiyr eyed the dagger. “I have agreed to your terms princess,” he said. “There is no need for that.”

“It’s for the ropes, not you,” she said.

The Bachiyr laughed, then slid his hands from behind his back. The wrists and palms were so thin they looked almost delicate. She stared, her eyes wide, as they filled out, thickening to their normal girth in a matter of seconds.

“As I said, there is no need for that,” the Bachiyr stated, pointing at the dagger.

“You could have walked away at any time,” Heanua noted.

“Not quite. The archers, you see.”

Heanua nodded. The archers would have filled his body with arrows the moment he twitched. “Then you did need my help. So to our bargain.”

“Indeed,” the Bachiyr said. “What does a princess of the Iceni wish of me? You want me to steal into the city and slaughter the Roman guards there?”

“No,” Heanua said. “That will not be necessary. The battle for Londinium is well in hand.”

“I hear the other princess is lost somewhere inside the city. Do you want me to find her and bring her back?”

Damn him, how did he know all this? He must have ears like a bat! “My sister has made her choice,” she said. “She will turn up or not, as she sees fit.”

“Then what-”

“I want you to kill my mother.”

Baella removed her claws from the throat of her last opponent, sending a spray of blood in the air. The body slid to the street and landed in the sticky dirt with a wet thump. All around her lay the torn corpses of the men who had accosted her and cost Baella her prize. They got what they deserved. Of the dozen or so men that attacked her, eight now lay dead at her feet. The other four had come to their senses and left to find easier sport elsewhere. But the damage was done.

Ramah was gone.

“Damn you,” she kicked the body of her last victim, hearing the satisfying crack as his ribcage shattered. “You cost me everything!” The unfortunate man groaned in pain, but it was weak and shallow. He would be dead before she left the street. Now that the battle was over, she wished she could prolong his life, that she might make him endure more pain than he already had.

But there wasn’t time. To the east, the sky had begun to lighten. She had an hour at the most before the sun peeked over the horizon. If she was not in a safe place by then, it would no longer matter where Ramah had gone.

Ramah! The sun might kill him, too. If he did not regain consciousness before the sunrise, he would be stuck on the back of that horse while the sunlight turned him into ashes. She couldn’t allow that. He was too valuable.

Her portal was in the center of the city, which had not yet been destroyed by the Iceni attack. As it happened, the Council of Thirteen maintained a similar portal nearby, which is where Ramah would go if he did awaken in time.

Baella set off down the street, trying to determine which way the horse had gone. Both portals were close at hand, so she could spare a little time to try and find him. She would have to be careful around the Council’s portal; no telling who would emerge from that dark hole. With such a great prize at stake, however, she would risk it.

Ramah, the great Ramah. Second of the Council of Thirteen. Inside his head lurked all the secrets of her race. Four thousand years of history and conquest could be hers, and the information in his head could be used to bring the Council of Thirteen to its knees and end, once and for all, The Father’s influence in the world of the Bachiyr. Truly, he was a great and valuable prize, indeed.