I'm not even going to pretend to have this thing on a regular schedule anymore. I haven't abandoned it, I just have no time.


Chapter Four - Silverstone

Octavius Bellorum was in a foul mood.

He did not even know why, which only seemed to contribute further. He had ruled out any of the immediately obvious causes; anger at being kept away from the Canyon Maze, worry about what sort of chaos was being allowed to happen while he was gone, suspicion that he was not being told the full truth about the Aurora crash or anything else for that matter, the cycle of tedious meetings in preparation for the invasion, and the daily stress of being in close contact with his father and twin. Any one of them could have been behind it, and yet he knew the root of the problem lay elsewhere. Granted, they probably had something to do with it.

Something had been troubling him since before his arrival at Silverstone, the fortress that guarded the main route into and out of the Icemark. This something was constantly just out of his reach, which was absolutely maddening. Octavius rarely forgot anything, so the feeling of having an idea or memory on the tip of his tongue but being unable to articulate it was quite unfamiliar. It added to his ordinary stress on the eve of the invasion, with the consequence that, as the vanguard prepared to march into the Icemark, he was wrestling with the beginnings of what promised to be a truly spectacular headache.

Marvelous. Fantastic. And the war has not even properly begun.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of raised voices and running feet. From his position well outside the minimum safe distance, Octavius could see the demolition team hurriedly take shelter behind boulders and rock outcrops. With meltwater covering the floor of the pass, they had been unable to use long fuses and had resorted to slow-burning ones lit from perilously close by.

A massive explosion lit up Avalanche Pass as tons of standard gunpowder and newer, more powerful explosive compounds packed strategically in tunnels drilled deep into the glacier detonated at once. The result threw massive chunks of debris into the air and created a shock wave strong enough to ruffle Octavius' hair. Even hundreds of feet away, ice chips rained around the observers. Of course. The explosion had to be incredibly powerful, to demolish an entire glacier. Granted, it wasn't a true glacier like those of the Ice Wastes or northern Tannhausers, more a wall of packed ice and snow, but still.

However, it had been an impressive explosion. The echoes were still dying away. Not to mention the fact that it had hastened the process of the invasion, which was to his benefit. The faster the pass was clear, the faster he could get this nonsense over with and return to the Canyon Maze.

The all-clear was sounded and they rode forward in a loose arrowhead formation, closer to what had been the ice wall. The ice wall…it had looked suspiciously like a battlement. Man-made, not simply a convenient natural occurrence. Octavius had heard the rumors – everyone had – that the Icemark had people who could control the weather, heal and kill with a touch, see the future, past and present, and look through a person's mind like reading a book. It was well documented that during the previous invasion one of Lindenshield's guards had used lightning – lightning! – as a weapon, and afterwards had been said to have risen from the dead. Octavius suppressed a shiver.

As they drew nearer to the site of the explosion, massive ice chunks littered the floor of the pass and the ground was blackened and scorched. Only a small hill of debris remained to block the way, one that any infantryman worth his pay could easily scramble over. The cavalry, however, would be a different matter.

"Organize the first three regiments into a working party and have them clear a way through. I expect to be marching in under three hours," Scipio said quietly. His tone allowed for no argument, and his sons saluted and trotted away. As he and Sulla rode off, Octavius couldn't help but think that he was glad to be leaving.


Being out of Avalanche Pass had been a relief, but it could not last; soon enough they had to accompany the working parties back into the pass. Octavius' unease built with every step beneath the shadow of those cliffs. He watched as the advance regiments filed past, saluted, and disappeared around the bend, and as the battery of cannons and rockets was wheeled into place. Insurance, his father had said, and Sulla had agreed as he always did. Octavius had nodded and thought of mathematics. He tried to call up a particularly complex differential equation to occupy himself, but his thoughts kept straying back to the cliffs.

The pass, and all land in its vicinity, are empty of human life. Of all life. If there was a trap, the scouts would have seen. Unless some magic had reached into their minds and made them forget, but that was ridiculous. He continued to scrutinize the tops of the cliffs and the mountain slopes beyond. He couldn't see them, but he knew the clifftops were patrolled by Imperial riflemen. It was not archers he worried about, though, as his eyes were drawn to the packed snow hanging on the slope above. What would it take…an avalanche would fill this pass like a flooding canyon. His skin prickled as he imagined the snowpack coming loose and thundering toward them. It would be exactly what he would do, if he were Thirrin Lindenshield. Forget a set-piece battle. Draw his enemies in and bury them. It was Avalanche Pass, after all.

"Something is troubling you," Sulla interrupted his thoughts.

"Why would you say that?"

"Your face is not as unreadable as you would like to imagine. If I could hazard a guess, you think we are walking into a trap. You aren't the only competent man in the army, you know. We checked the snowpack, it's clean."

"That is reassuring, but I am still not convinced. This too closely resembles the Maze." The possibility of a trap wasn't all that was troubling him, not that he was going to tell anyone, let alone Sulla. The Great Gulf was only a day's ride from Silverstone and he wanted to see the crash site for himself, but that had been forbidden. It was a stupid desire, the wreck was probably buried in snow and any evidence destroyed by the elements, but the denial still rankled. He did not even know why he doubted the reports, but he was sure if he could have seen the claw marks for himself, he could have put his misgivings to rest.

"Have you heard about the courier?" Sulla inquired, changing the subject. "Disappeared en route from - "

"Why is it that you always assume I have no idea what is going on?" he snapped. He had not meant to, but it was becoming annoying and he honestly did not care what Sulla thought. Not to mention the fact that small talk was stupid and he wanted to shut down the conversation as quickly as possible.

His brother narrowed his eyes and seemed about to retort, but they were both distracted by a faint noise echoing from far into the pass. A faint howling. That wasn't wolves, there was some unnatural human quality to the howls that filled him with momentary irrational dread. Unconsciously, Octavius' hand flew to his saber. Monsters. Real monsters. At once he wanted to ride around the bend for a better view and flee back to Silverstone. Sulla appeared unaffected, leaning forward in his saddle as if by doing so he could get a glimpse of those creatures of nightmare.

He checked the clifftops again and squinted into the sun, just to be sure. He wasn't looking for avalanches this time, but for monsters leaping or swooping down to tear them apart. Octavius could only imagine what his father would say if, gods forbid, he suddenly gained the ability to read minds in addition to faces. He'd be furious, and rightly so. Fear was pathetic. They were as safe as they could possibly be.

Safety was always fleeting, though. The Maze had taught him that.

As if on cue, footsteps thundered beyond the bend. From the sound of it, the battle had become a rout, and it seemed as if their army was the one that was fleeing. Sulla hissed, Octavius' mouth twitched, and Scipio did not react, only watched and waited for the moment.

In a sudden flurry of noise and rock, pursuer and pursued rounded the bend and skidded to a halt. The remnants of the vanguard turned to face their enemy again, having seen the contingency plan, but it was too late. The general nodded, and the cannons and rockets were fired, filling the narrow defile with flames and deadly shrapnel that indiscriminately ripped apart the soldiers of both sides.

Insurance. Insurance. We cannot allow any monsters across the border. The cannons were reloaded and fired again, a second barrage of rockets were slid into place and launched, and rank after rank of musketeers fired into the burnt and bloody mess. Insurance. The rocket launchers were adjusted, and a third volley covered the floor of the pass with flame. No one can escape. Insurance. They would have let those things attack Silverstone. Distasteful, but it must be done. Scipio Bellorum gave a silent nod, and the order for cease-fire was given. Beyond the line of cannons, nothing moved, and the stones were painted red. Insurance.

Octavius watched blankly as the real vanguard of the invading army marched through the pass and into the Icemark.

Veni, vidi, vici.


By the time they returned to Silverstone, the pressure in his skull had grown into a full headache, and he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to set something on fire. It was nearly impossible to endure waiting for the messages confirming victories at the other two passes. They were hardly even necessary; either the barbarians were defeated in a straight fight or killed along with the remnants of the decoy vanguard in the contingency plan. Victory, but it did not feel like a real one.

You didn't throw away lives like that in the Maze, you kept as many of your men alive as possible because you weren't getting any reinforcements. If one of his officers had suggested something like "insurance," he'd have assumed it was delirium and had the man treated for heatstroke. Yet for his father and brother, it was so insignificant as to be an afterthought.

Octavius took his leave from the conference room as soon as possible. It had become unbearable, stuffy and smoky, and if he had to listen to Sulla's smug comments even a minute longer he could not be held accountable for any injuries he might have inflicted. The night air was crisp and smelled of snow, not dry heat, and not for the first time, he wished he were back in the south. Not that it was much more pleasant than Silverstone, but he could have been keeping the Empire safe instead of freezing and doing nothing productive. Honestly, what did he add? This was a traditional invasion, and Octavius' specialty was nontraditional warfare, hunting rebels and terrorists in the places where conventional tactics would be foolishness.

As he approached his regiment's assigned huts he composed himself. No matter what he thought, he must always appear calm. But his head was pounding in time to his pulse, he could hardly look at a light source without stabbing pain behind his eyes, and he was in no mood to speak to anyone. When he noticed his second-in-command approach he sped up his pace, hoping to reach his campaign hut before he was forced to interact.

"Good evening, sir -" Damn it.

"All three were successful, we ride tomorrow. Spread the word," he snapped, and shut the door, only hearing half of a "Yes, sir."

Caius Antilles sighed, although by this time he was used to it. Through the door, he heard something slam against a wall - hopefully nothing of value. As he turned away, muffled cursing in multiple languages reached his ears. It didn't take much to guess what had made the Commander so furious – word of the fate of the advance regiments had spread through the camp like wildfire, and such tactics were a shock for anyone used to serving in the Maze or the other remote regions of the Periphery. Antilles himself had heard it from Captain Saturninus and needed a moment to remember that for the other two Bellorums, such things were commonplace. The Commander likely had not taken it well, though he wouldn't say anything outright – he'd prefer to simply stew in his rage.

But Antilles would prefer to save such thoughts for tomorrow; now was the time to return to the warmth of his bunk and get some rest. There would be time enough for seriousness in the months to come.


In his dream Octavius sat, alone, in one of the Academy's large lecture halls, the regimented rows of desks receding into shadow. Directly in front of him, on the raised stage, was a slate with a simple equation written in chalk. He tilted his head to the side. It was indeed easy, too easy; he could solve it in a few minutes if not see the solution immediately.

There was paper, quills and an inkwell on the desk before him. He continued to stare at the equation, his mind working quickly, and after a short time the answer occurred to him. He was confident that his answer was correct, but decided to check it in the original equation just to be safe. After a few more seconds of calculation he narrowed his eyes.

Not so simple after all. Obviously there was some trick involved, some puzzle. He was good at puzzles.

More time passed and Octavius was forced to conclude that the problem was complex and difficult, despite its apparent simplicity. It was fascinating, yet the most infuriating puzzle he had encountered. At first glance it looked like a quick warm-up, but in fact it drew on concepts from all areas of his mathematical studies and could be described as the algebraic equivalent of the Canyon Maze, full of switchbacks, false starts, dead ends and traps. He found himself going in circles.

It should have been easy. But there was simply no way that the information given could produce a satisfactory answer.

He was at the top of his class. He was particularly adept at noticing patterns and solving abstract puzzles, and could usually find the solution to equations simply by looking at them, yet he was becoming increasingly certain that he could not solve this problem. Could it even be solved?

"Of course it has a solution," said the voices of his professors, "and if anyone can find it, Bellorum, it's you."

It was not like him to surrender, and certainly not to an equation, however difficult. I will find the solution, and I do not care how long it takes.

He checked the chalkboard again and blinked in surprise. There was something different about the equation; had it changed since he last looked at it? Impossible. But then…the exponent had most certainly not been there before…he shook his head. Foolishness. He went about solving the version on the board, which he knew had to be the correct one, and again reached a dead end. Perhaps the voices had been joking when they mentioned a solution. He checked the equation again and, again, the slightest shift. A variable where one hadn't been before, a squared term now cubed.

Every time he looked away, it seemed, the equation changed a little, yet remained, on the surface, deceptively simple. None of the variations brought him any closer to a solution; each new clue only served to lead him deeper into the maze.

He was in the Canyon Maze, the real one, with sheer red cliffs rising on either side to a thin sliver of sky. He was on high alert, his heart pounding, searching for the enemies he knew were watching at that very moment. His shadow leapt and distorted on the wall as he turned. There! The faintest scratching of a boot on gravelly sand, from just around the bend in the canyon, magnified to louder than it really was and rebounding off the cliffs as if he were inside a huge speaking trumpet. But he heard the sound before it was distorted, and sprinted after it within a second.

He left no trace. No footsteps, misplaced stones or broken branches, but he can hear his footfalls. Whoever his quarry was knew this part of the Maze. They did not hesitate for a moment, but kept running, drawing him deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. He left the familiar canyons long ago, and ran now through deep, twisting slot canyons where, at times, the sunlight almost disappeared.

The way opened out to a fork. Several pillars of stone rose around him and he could see his target dive behind one of them. He headed for the smallest of the possible routes, perhaps hoping to escape pursuit in adjoining canyons or simply slow his pursuer enough to allow him to hide. Good luck. Octavius smiled viciously and followed.

The shape of the passage alerted him to a possible trap. The outlaws that made these canyons their base were in the habit of luring soldiers into just this type of passage and waiting for a flash flood. They then sat safely on high ground and watched the torrents sweep their enemies away. A strategy Octavius himself would use, although it made it no less annoying to contend with.

Laughter burst from up ahead. He vaguely recognized it, but it was so twisted that it was hard to place. This served only to frustrate him further, and he sped up, leaping boulders, running up the rock scrambles and skidding around tight hairpin turns.

Octavius emerged into a wider basin – not really a valley, but an opening of the canyon. Other passages twisted off in all directions, but he barely noticed. He stopped short and ducked behind an outcrop in case an ambush was waiting, but there was no attack. He managed to catch a quick glimpse of the enemy standing, waiting for him atop a pile of broken rock. He did not see enough of a face, but everything else screams that he should recognize him. The laugh, the stance, the smile, the almost second nature knowledge of the canyons.

He said nothing, did nothing but leap nimbly down the side of the pile. Octavius shot at him before he disappeared into a side canyon, but he ducked out of the way and the bullet hit the cliff, spraying sharp bits of rock. More laughter. He reloaded and followed – I will kill you. I will win.

So focused was he that he did not even feel the first droplet. But he noticed the next few, and he realized that they were picking up in intensity. A cloudburst, and he was in a tight canyon. He snarled and turned quickly, searching for a ledge or some other high ground. His only consolation, and it was a pathetic one, was that his enemy would have to seek out a refuge as well.

But it was not rain. The canyon was so deep that he could not see the sky, but it was not water that was falling on him. It was blood, seeping from the cracks in the cliffs and forming small streams on the parched ground. More began to splash down, falling in waterfalls from the top of the cliff and covering the canyon floor. It was quickly a river, the current tugging around his boots. He tried to climb the wall, but it was slick with the blood and he could not find holds.

As if the situation could possibly get any worse, he heard a roaring from deeper in the canyon. He did not want to look, but turned anyway to see the flood rushing toward him, accompanied by insane laughter.

Octavius woke with a scream in his mouth, scrabbling for solid ground.

Don't be foolish, he snapped at himself as the details of the room emerged from shadow, it was only a dream. Dreams are the mind's activity as the body sleeps, they're meaningless. Despite the nightmare's insignificance he was breathing hard. He could feel the dream lurking in his subconscious, as if waiting to restart after he fell back asleep. To drown in blood…he shook his head. This was stupid.

Perhaps, he considered, the dream was somehow linked to his state of mind during the day. He had read a few books on psychology, in part simply to gain knowledge and in part just in case they contained anything pertaining to his condition. They had not, but he had picked up some information on dream theory.

He crossed to the door and stepped outside into the snow. For a few seconds his feet ached and stung from the cold, but he was soon able to put it out of his mind. The equation could be no more than a manifestation of his thoughts during the day, the solution the elusive thing he could not name. The canyons – well, they were a significant part of his memories, perhaps his mind simply needed a setting for the dream and chose one he was most familiar with. And anyway, it was only a dream. He resolved to think no more about it.

To distract himself he looked up at the night sky, and after calculating Silverstone's latitude and longitude began reciting the names of the stars and constellations. The precise, methodical nature of this activity soothed his mind, and after a time he felt almost ready to sleep again. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that he was barefoot in the snow.

As he turned, he glanced at the dark silhouettes of the Maidens Range, rising over Silverstone and blocking out the stars. The peaks, all in a line, resembled the teeth of some wild animal, and Octavius recalled that the mountains on either side of Avalanche Pass were called the Wolf Jaws. Upper and Lower Wolf Jaw. How fitting.

With thoughts of the mountains came thoughts of what was beyond them, the events of the past day, tomorrow, the following weeks. Lindenshield, monsters, the Aurora, too many coincidences. A four year old Emperor, last of his line, surrounded by some of the most ruthless, power-hungry officials Octavius had ever met.

He frowned. Good luck sleeping now.


A/N: Some sentences in the part in the pass were lifted directly from BOF, and everything that happened in BOF in that scene also happened here, but wasn't written because it was the exact same. Thank you Clopin for beta-ing and helping me out with names. Oh pancakes, I'll try to get out the next chapter soon, but no promises.