Chapter Four
"What is it that vexes you, my husband? You seem lost among your thoughts out here." Nona pulled her antique woolen wrap tighter around her shoulders as she approached Severus. The winds around them were changing and though the air was still warm, the breeze held within it a chill that she could feel deep inside her bones.
She had wandered out to the clearing after having spotted Severus from the front stoop of their home as she was preparing the evening meal. He was standing against the newly completed wall and staring off into the distance. He had been doing so for quite awhile and it was concern for his strange behavior that had driven her to his side.
Severus was slow to answer as he rested his elbows atop the chest-high dry stone wall and stared out across the newly cleared field. How many years had he worked to clear this land? How many months had it taken to haul the stones up from the shore and place the wall, layer by layer, course by course, until it stood strong? It did not matter because now it was before him, real and complete.
He responded to his wife the only way he knew how, "Your concern is unneeded; I have many thoughts in my head that you are not privy to nor would I want you to be."
Nona pursed her lips, stiffening at the slight, "Yes. I know this quite well."
He looked at her briefly in surprise, then back out across the bare field, "I'm... sorry, Nona, I..." He could think of no way to finish his sentence. He hadn't meant for his words to come out so harsh, nor so incomplete. What Severus had truly meant to say was that there were a great many things on his mind and he did not want to burden her with them. His silence had only arisen as he had searched for a way to quell the painful memories that had recently floated up, unbidden, to the surface of his mind.
Feeling that her attempts to console him had been in vain, Nona took a step back, "I should tend to the children, dear husband," - her latter address of him came out slightly tinged with venom. "Dinner will be served soon; I do hope you will join us." She turned away and abandoned him to his thoughts.
Severus glanced briefly at his wife as she walked back to their home and a look of sadness crossed his face. He wanted nothing more than to let her know what existed inside of him but he was afraid - afraid that if she knew the truth of the things he had done in this life, that it would destroy her.
Severus turned his gaze back out upon the land, slowly examining every inch of turf until his eyes came to rest at the site where the barracks of the Order would soon stand. Unlike the timber homes of the Cavalli, the barracks would be built using the same stones he had used for the wall and then topped with thatched roofs. He would be glad to see the Order rise again as he and his father had dreamt so many years ago.
The Order, once a legendary guild world-renowned for their skillful sword prowess on the battlefield, had a long and varied legacy dating back to a time when history wasn't written down but instead spoken aloud. Originally known as the Gabrantovici, or "horse-riding warriors", the Order's membership had numbered well into the thousands during its apex. At the time, the Cavalli were still separated into small nomadic bands that stretched wide across the open plains and it was because of this that they lacked a properly unified military defense. The Order soon became the perfect surrogate to staunch the steady flow of attacks from their Lycanian enemies who were fast encroaching from the North.
But as the attackers grew in numbers, not even the might of the Order could stop the conquering tide as it moved ever forward. Soon the Lycanian forces began to overwhelm the Order, thus bringing about the decade-long Desolate Wars and by the time the struggle was over, the Order's numbers had been all but decimated. Then, as all members of the Cavalli had been forced into the Aulus Forest, they were no longer the great horse-riding warriors they had once been but had instead become lumbering swordsmen on foot.
Sadly, with each passing year after the end of the war, it became more and more difficult to find men willing to fight in the Order and within two generations the numbers had dwindled to near nil. Then, with the death of Severus' father and his fellow Elders, the Order's fate was sealed and it was no more.
Somehow sensing the inevitability of its demise, Severus' father, Atticus, had championed his oldest son to lead a new Order on the day that he had reached his first decade. Atticus led the boy into a clearing deep within the forest and as they walked further and further into the trees, Severus became less familiar with his surroundings.
Finally, as the sunlight dimmed overhead, they stopped and Atticus had Severus sit upon a fallen log as he disappeared further into the copse for a brief moment. When he returned, he bore with him a sword that was unlike any that the boy had ever seen. It was large, made of heavy steel and longer than Severus was tall. His father thrust it towards him and commanded that he take it. As Severus grasped the hilt within his small hands, he nearly fell forward with the weight of it.
"Severus, my son," his father righted him as the boy struggled to stand, "you may not be able to lift this weapon now but you must believe that one day you will hold it high, high above your head and the heads of your enemies. It is the sword of your father's father, and his father, going back seven generations."
"But what will I do with it, Father?"
He knelt down and grasped the sword alongside Severus, "My son, I have seen in you the markers of a great swordsman and I believe you will lead others to be as well. So, take this sword with me, my son, and together we will rebuild the Order."
The young Severus accepted his father's legacy and every day that followed, for hours at a time, they would practice in the clearing - sword clashing against sword as the sound of their strikes echoed throughout the forest and over the village of Two-Crows.
He thought of his father, many years later, lying upon his deathbed after he had been mortally wounded during their fight with a Giant. His face was pained as the infection from the wound sped its way through his body. He had refused Tacitus' pain-killing salves, saying that a death from battle was the most honorable death he could imagine for himself and he wouldn't see it diminished in any way.
As he slipped away upon his bed, he called Severus to his side. "My son, you must promise to carry on the Order. All of our plans, all of our training, you must pass it on to the coming generations for one day it will be you in this bed and the Order will remain our family's only legacy."
"Of course I will, Father," he had answered swiftly, trying his best to appease the old warrior before he took the Great Walk.
"Your mother and brothers," he continued, "they will be of great help to you in this endeavor. All save Tacitus. He is not a fighter, my son, and even though the Elders will say different, there is no shame in that. You must never let him feel shame for that, for he has a gift. He brings life to this world just as easily as we take it. His path will be hard but he is your blood and thus, your responsibility. Please look after him, always, my son."
Severus shook himself abruptly from the unwelcomed memory, casting a glance towards his home. He saw the smoke rising from its small chimney, which told him that Nona was cooking and waiting for him as she had every day since they were married.
Severus then thought of Nona. Even if no romantic love existed between the two, they had come to respect each other, which was just as well since Severus had never been one for romantic ideals. He wasn't put off by her lack of love and, in fact, thought it preferable in case he should die in battle one day.
Battle... he laughed shortly to himself. He hadn't seen battle in years. Not since the rebellion and even that had been sixteen years ago and the world had seemingly become a much more civilized place since those days. Treaties were struck more often than swords, trade deals were negotiated and gold had become more valuable than honor. Gone were the days of Severus the Giant-Killer, the Protector, the Defeater of the Rebels. Gone were the days where he could take a life without blinking and mortality had no meaning. The wild warrior that had existed with the flowing black hair and the war stains inked upon his body was no longer there and instead, all that was left in his place was an aging broken man with a receding gray hairline and joints that ached whenever it rained.
When had he changed? When had he become the 'old man' that his father had always been? Sadly, Severus knew the answer; it had happened that horrible night, all those years ago. His hazel eyes hardened at the memory of his brother lying in his arms, barely clinging to life and begging to be slain.
Severus had left Two-Crows that evening in search of Otho and his gang. Seneca had tried to stop him, of course. Telling him he'd never catch up to the rebels on foot as they had horses but Severus ignored him and left anyway - swearing he would be back before the Purification Ceremony.
A fairly proficient tracker, Severus found the gang's trail almost immediately as he tread carefully into the dense Aulus Forest. To be fair, his prey had not made it difficult, as most were still drunk from the night before and they had become careless. He found the gang in a clearing not too far from Two-Crows, lounging around a fire. Severus hid in the nearby trees and watched them, waiting for his chance.
He was disgusted by what he saw. His once-brethren were slovenly laid out, slurring through songs that were a source of pride to his people. As he continued to watch, Severus' gaze then fell upon the bloodstained rebel-leader who was reclining against a fallen log in the midst of them, his shirt open to the waist and his bare chest covered in spilt Two-Crows ale. Otho grinned like a fool as he hummed along with the raucous singers, raising a tankard with one hand while haphazardly slicing the air with his sword in the other.
Severus spat a curse out under his breath but remained hidden in the nearby trees.
"Ah, m'boysss," Otho slurred, "a rebel's life for us, eh?"
They roared back in unison, raising more cups of drink towards him.
"And as long as those horse-lovers are off fighting one another up at the front, we can keep cleaning up back here!" he took another swig, laughing absurdly into his cup as he did. "All the ale, horses and women we can take! Gods, I love this war!"
Severus burned with rage at his words and quickly took stock of all of those positioned in the camp. Besides Otho himself, the only other obviously armed rebel was a large man, standing mute against a tree behind his leader, a wood axe leaning against his leg. It was a long weapon, with a sturdy head and its edge looked as if it had been sharpened to its most deadly point. The man who wielded it had arms as thick as the tree that he stood against, which told Severus that he was no novice.
Taking a deep breath, Severus stepped out from his hiding place behind the trees, unsheathing his sword and calling the rebel-leader out, "Otho!"
The drunken leader made no moves to stand from his reclining position as his gaze wavered around the woods and shakily landed on Severus, "Who're you?"
Severus remained silent.
Otho threw back his head and laughed, "Ah, it doesn't matter, does it? Come on and join us, Brother. We got plenty!"
Severus lifted his sword with both hands into a defensive stance, "You are not my brother."
Otho's expression changed and he seemed to sober up slightly. He repeated, "Who are you?"
"I am Severus of Two-Crows."
A few in the gang gasped and muttered, "It's the Giant-Killer!"
The axe-wielder grabbed his weapon.
"Two-Crows?" Otho stood up clumsily. "That's the village we just raided, innit?" He grinned again, "Best haul yet. Did we... kill your wife? Maybe your daughter?" He laughed, "Well, you'll be happy to know they gave us great pleasure before they died."
As the men around him laughed heartily, Severus said nothing but gripped his sword tighter.
Otho stopped laughing, "You do realize we outnumber you, Giant Killer. You will not survive this."
"I only care that you don't."
"Well, if that is your choice, then, men, please end him for me while I sit here and drink some more."
A group of five drunken rebels charged at Severus. He was quick to dispose of the first two, stabbing one through the heart and cutting the throat of the other, but was unable to stop a third one from going behind him as a fourth, working in tandem with the other, made an attempt to disarm him.
Otho laughed and looked over at the man wielding the axe who had not yet moved from his position, "It appears his end will be quicker than I thought. I might not even need you in this fight. Giant-Killer, pfft," he drank as he muttered into his cup, "no one's ever killed a Giant anyway."
Just as his fourth attacker was about to strip him of his sword, Severus dropped to his knees, which easily threw off the one that was behind him trying to pin his arms. Severus immediately spun and stabbed him straight through the abdomen, then, not hesitating for a moment, the master swordsman pulled his sword from the man's body and in one swift move, plunged it directly into the heart of other that had only moments before attempted to take it from him. That left only one remaining attacker before him, whose face went pale as he leaned over to vomit.
Otho grew angry and shouted, "Kill him!"
The would-be attacker shook his head and took off running, deep into the forest.
The rebel-leader rolled his eyes and said to the axe-wielder, "Fine, you kill him and I'll double what I owe ya!"
The man nodded and charged at Severus, swinging immediately for his head.
Severus ducked and rolled away. As he stood, the axe came downwards towards him again but this time Severus caught its sharp edge with his sword and pushed it away.
"You know," Otho began, "you're not half bad. You should consider joining up with me."
Severus ignored Otho's attempts at distraction as the axe was once more pulled back, only to be slammed down against him yet again. This time, though, his attacker had predicted Severus' actions and pulled the axe away at the last second, smashing the end of its handle into the base of Severus' spine. A feeling akin to a lightning strike flashed through his limbs as he stumbled forward, his breath momentarily taken away.
"Then again, maybe not. Tell me, Giant-Killer, what do you want it to say on your grave? 'He died bravely as he tripped and fell?'" Otho cackled again.
The axe-wielder kicked Severus in the stomach, causing him to roll over on to his back as the world before him became disjointed and blurred. "No...," he muttered as his chest heaved. The attacker placed his leather-booted foot upon Severus' throat and as he tried vainly to remove it, the other man raised his axe high above his head, preparing to bring it down upon Severus' head and cleave him in two. Severus fumbled for his sword in the leaf litter beside him and, grasping it about the middle of the blade in the half-sword grip that his father had taught him for such an occasion, he slammed the hilt of it into the axe-wielders abdomen. The other man lost his breath and dropped the axe next to Severus head as he doubled forward. Severus jumped up quickly, flipping his sword around the right way as he did and stabbed his attacker through the chest, killing him instantly. His body dropped to the ground, kicking up a pile of dried leaves as it did.
Otho snarled, "Fine, you win." He looked at Severus, "I am in no mood or shape to fight you. I'll give you gold and horses and we'll call it even, alright?"
Severus was silent as he cautiously stepped forward, his sword out before him.
"Look," Otho dropped his tankard and lifted his palms, "I submit. Take me in and do what you would with me. I am at your mercy, Friend."
"Every word from your mouth stinks of a lie," Severus answered back tersely.
"Well," Otho lowered his hands, "then you appear to be one of the smarter men that I've met around here." Using his foot to toss his own sword upwards, he caught it in his hand and gave Severus a smile. The two then began to circle each other, taking a moment to test each other's skill with ineffectual swipes that landed blade against blade.
"Why," Otho continued to speak as they circled, "are you so determined to see to my demise?"
Severus lunched forward, but Otho parried the strike, knocking his blow uselessly away.
"As you can see, Friend," the leader continued, "I am not unskilled. Perhaps you've met your match at last, Giant-Killer?"
Severus gritted his teeth and engaged Otho in a series of strikes and parries. They each fought hard, making their way around the small clearing as they clashed, but each continued to deflect the other's blows.
Otho arrogantly spat at his opponent, "You are no match for me; I was trained by the best of the Cavalli."
Severus eyes narrowed as he struck back, "I find that hard to believe."
"Do you? Am I not as good as yourself? Perhaps better?" Otho swiped at him, but Severus managed to jump back from the blade before it connected with his flesh.
"No, because my father was the best there ever was in the Cavalli and he didn't train you."
"No but I was trained by Magnus the Outcast!"
The revelation almost halted Severus in his place but he recovered quickly, "Then you are no Cavalli! And neither are you a rebel!"
He laughed, "Your people are distracted, fighting amongst themselves. So I took the opportunity when it presented itself and now, everything that was yours is now mine."
"Magnus was a traitor and a thief. He served only himself and if you are a student of his, then you are no better."
"Traitor may be debatable but he did teach me that the Cavalli's talk of brotherhood and family is nothing but a lot of blustering wind."
"You're wrong." Severus stated and sensing Otho's stamina decreasing, pushed his attack harder.
They fought for a little while longer in breathless silence as Otho became more and more winded. When it was clear that Otho's stamina was all but depleted, Severus executed his own parry with enough force to knock the sword from the other man's hand.
Otho looked panicked as he stood unarmed before his opponent; it wasn't an emotion that he was familiar with. Severus stuck the point of own his sword against Otho's throat and walked him backwards, up against a tree.
"Look," the rebel-leader laughed nervously, his hands raised, "we can make a deal, right? Everyone can be bought, what's your price?"
"Is that what Magnus taught you? That anyone can be bought?" Severus stepped closer eyeing Otho's bare, ale-covered chest. He lowered his sword to the other man's ribs, which rapidly rose and shrunk with his every fear-filled breath.
"Wait, wait - what're you doing? Look, we can come to a deal, I swear! Please!" His panic grew even more as Severus pressed his sword tip into his skin and dragged it in a straight line down his chest, causing Otho to cry out in pain. As the blood began to drip from the wound, Severus then took his sword and made another line perpendicular to the first one, giving the wound the appearance of the letter "T".
"You're a thief, Otho."
"Alright, yes, so what?" He grimaced at the pain of his wounds, "You never saw something you wanted and just reached out and took it?"
Severus ignored his questions, "And you're also a murderer."
"No. Now see, see that's wh-where you're wrong. I never killed anybody! Maybe my men did, but I didn't!"
"Are you afraid now, Otho?"
He started to nod, his face covered in sweat and dirt. "Yes, I'm-I'm terrified. Is that what you want to hear?"
"No," Severus shook his head and sliced open Otho's belly with one quick smooth swipe of his sword.
The other man cried aloud and fell to the ground, wrapping his arms around his abdomen in order to try and keep his insides from tumbling out onto the leaves.
Severus knelt down beside the dying man, "I should tell you, a belly wound takes a long time to kill a person. It is a painful and slow death, which means you will have a lot of time to beg the gods for forgiveness."
"No, Giant-Killer, no, kill me now... just kill me now, please... don't leave me here... not like this... please!"
Severus shook his head, "My brother begged the same of you and you never granted his request and so now, neither will I. You die here, alone, as a coward, a thief and a murder." He turned and walked away as the dying man begged for him to come back and end his agony and suffering.
After Tacitus had regained consciousness a few days later, he never spoke again of Otho and his gang and Severus had never told him of the bloody vengeance that he had taken that night on his behalf.
***
A line of newly commissioned guards flanked each side of Tiberius' marble throne in the crowded curia. Formed from the battlefield's elite, they stood as silent and unmoving statues before the members of the Emperor's court, each armed with a spear and a Lycanian Long Shield. In the last few days, as Tiberius' suspicions of an assassination attempt on his life grew, the guards had become a steady presence in the palace, patrolling her halls both day and night.
Nearby, the Emperor's son, Spurius, stood silently next to the throne and, along with his father, stared out over the audience of the most powerful people that still remained in Odalia. The child's large brown eyes, an uncommon color for a Lycanian, scanned the room and paused a moment when they fell upon Euric the Vandal standing towards the back of the crowd. The young boy grinned and waved upon seeing him, for there was nothing more exciting to the young Spurius than a munus and seeing the lanista reminded him of the upcoming week's festivities.
Euric gave a hesitant nod to the prince but remained unusually quiet amidst the murmurs of those that surrounded him. He had been summoned, along with the others, to have an audience with the Emperor and while it was by no means an unusual request, there was something about its timing that nagged at the lanista and an ominous feeling settled over his spirit.
Meanwhile, Tiberius sat mutely smiling upon his chair as his mind burned with blue and purple sparks and his thoughts hammered painfully against the sides of his head. The smile he bore was a trick to fool the spies that he knew were watching him, for he was anything but happy as over the last few days his eyes had begun to tell him lies and his blood in his veins betrayed him but at last he could see those before him for what they were. They were demons. Writhing, half-goat men sent from Lord of the Dead to frighten him. But Tiberius was a god-king who knew no fear and so they didn't make him afraid.
The night before he had spoken to the wind and the wind had told him that there was a viper among them. He knew. He could feel its venomous eyes staring at him from somewhere hidden in the room and soon he would flush it into the open and cut it off at the head. He would bathe in its blood and then his mind would stop burning and he could sleep again peacefully as he did before his mind caught fire.
"Decanus!" he spoke the single word aloud and the crowd of goat-demons stopped their horrendous bleating and fell into an immediate silence. "Bring forward the prisoner."
The squad leader, dressed in a ceremonial suit of silver and gold battle armor and wearing a helm that had a plume of vulture feathers sticking up from its side, appeared in front of the crowd, dragging the heavy and frightened figure of the advisor, Lucan, beside him.
"Ah, Advisor," Tiberius kept the smile on his face as his thoughts burned brighter and struck like lightening behind his temples. It took all of his concentration to speak his next words aloud, "How good it is to see you after you've had so late a night, sneaking around in the shadows." The Emperor grimaced slightly as the lightening struck again.
"My lord, I do not know what you mean!" the other man's jelly-like countenance shook with fright.
"Oh you know very well what I mean. The Eagles tell me," he eyed the silent guards on either side of his chair. "They tell me many things - like how you become a rat god at night, crawling on your belly through the palace's tunnels. You think I would not know that?"
Euric, who had been steadily staring at the back of the Decanus' head, now raised his gaze up to the Emperor's tortured face. He watched as the Emperor grimaced again and rubbed his right temple. It was a swift, subtle move that probably went unnoticed by most in the room. Then, as Tiberius then stood up from his throne, again Euric picked up a slight waver.
Outside of the small aberrant movements, the Emperor's face remained placid, "My dear Advisor, what is it that the rat god would take from me? My throne?"
"No, Your Highness! I-I am your most fervent supporter! Your most loyal subject! I would no sooner betray you than I would my own blood!"
"I don't believe you. You sent my Legate away because you know he would protect his Emperor." Lucan's face went pale, which was enough of a confirmation for Tiberius. "See? Your whiskered nose twitches at your own lies. Maybe I should cut your tail off and wear it as a belt."
In reply, Lucan could only stand within the Decanus' firm grasp and continue to shake.
"Tell me, Advisor, would you like to know what the gods taste like?"
His panicked face clouded with confusion, "I don't und-"
"They taste like nectar. Did you know that? Honey and nectar." The Emperor stepped down from his throne and placed his face before Lucan's. He turned his own head from one side to the other, as a dog would upon seeing something it couldn't understand. "You see, I have eaten stronger gods than you, my little rat." Tiberius stepped back and nodded to the Decanus who immediately ran Lucan through the chest with his dagger.
Euric's eyes widened as he watched the body of a man that he had known for many years fall to the floor.
The Emperor grinned triumphantly over Lucan's body and raised his hands to the crowd, "Now see, I have appeased you demons by killing the rat god. Praise me, my people!" He raised his hands higher and closed his eyes, as if soaking in the roar of a crowd even as only a silent one stood before him.
The uneasy court members stared at one another in stunned bewilderment, unsure of what to do - until someone began to clap, quietly. Other court members quickly joined in the action, afraid of what might happen if they didn't and soon the applause and cheers that existed solely in the Emperor's fractured mind became reality.
"Yes," Tiberius mouthed in ecstasy amidst their accolades, encouraging them to keep up the applause with gestures of his hands in the air. He then opened his eyes and looked back towards his young son, "Spurius!"
"Yes, father," the boy stepped forward, calm and unmoved by neither the strange actions of his father, the crowd nor the execution that had occurred right before him.
"Join me, my boy!" Tiberius reached out his hand and as his son grasped it, he raised it high in the air along with his own. "Can't you hear them? They love us, my son. We are their kings. We are their gods!"
The lanista, seeing that most of the people around him were distracted, slipped out of the curia unnoticed.
***
Timonus and the venefica he now knew as Hannah had set out that morning from the caves at a steady pace. The weather seemed to clear up a bit as they continued their trek up the path to Feronia, although the gray skies above them remained. Timonus, who had awoken in an optimistic mood despite the previous day's hardship, breathed in deeply as he listened to the waves crashing against the rocks below them, "You know, the smell of the land is so different here. I'm enjoying it as the city can be a bit, well, putrid at times."
The venefica, walking a few steps behind the Legate, nodded in response to his comment but remained silent as her mind was on other things.
Timonus continued speaking, the girl's silence going unnoticed by him, "You know, I've heard that Feronia has the most amazing hand-raised freshwater mullet farms. I've wanted to try them for years but have never seemed to be able to get around to it."
"Have you?" she spoke at last. "Seems an odd thing to want."
"Yes," he laughed. "I suppose it does but when you reach my age, you start to want things that once seemed odd."
"Oh? What other things have you desired?" Her voice sounded far away but the Legate continued to take no notice, reveling in his own uncommonly good spirits.
"Well," he looked upwards as he thought of an answer to her question, "mostly the things that I've missed in my previous military tours. Things like fine foods, perfumes, oils... art that I never really appreciated when I was a young soldier. I've been all over the known world, I've been to places that others only dream of, but I never took the time to explore them properly because in my mind - well," he laughed slightly, "battle and fighting were the only things in my mind at the time." He smiled a bit sadly, "I suppose that's one regret I have."
"Regret? Do-do you have any others?" the venefica asked apprehensively, her thin fingers nervously playing at the sides of her long, black dress.
"Yes," he laughed deeply, "like most men my age, I have many."
"I-I suppose we all do, really."
"Ah, my dear," he cast a glance back towards the young girl, "you are not yet old enough to have regret."
She stared at the ground, watching her feet plodding along the path as they continued to make their way along