Hello, brave readers! Today, Elizabeth awakes within the great Fortress of Aquilus, and meets a tyrant in the making. As always, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, and I'd like to take it a step further by saying a thank you to everyone who's offered their input so far, here and on the reddit. I'll keep your suggestions in mind going forward. It's your criticism that helps me improve my writing, and your encouragement that gives me the energy to keep doing so.
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy...
The Oath Of Mars, Part 6: Consanguine
"...at of Typhon? The wound on his leg... has it healed?"
"Perfectly, sir, he shall be ready for the coming..."
"Good. ...ine head for any charge..."
"...eeps, even now. Shall I wake her...?"
Voices faded in and out of her empty, floating mind. Elizabeth felt odd, as if submerged in some pleasant, familiar, and warm haze, like she had just finished making love with a cloud, or was quite drunk. Which was very strange, because she remembers neither such things occurring recently. She didn't drink, astonishingly enough, and the alternative was quite impossible. So, whatever her initial impression was, she seemed to be wrong. She wasn't sure how long she had been there, or how long the two voices had been speaking. It might not have been a single conversation, for that matter. It was hard... no, impossible to think.
At some point, she felt shackles on her wrists. Suddenly, it dawned on her that something was terribly wrong. Only very faintly, though.
Something strong, hellishly strong, met her nose, and she jolted from her tranquilizer-induced stupor.
"Guh!"
"The sal ammoniac seems to be a fine cure for the elixir's effects, sir. If we can mass-produce it, transporting sacrifices and slaves will be all the easier."
"Very well. The alchemists do good work today. Mars smiles on them. You may go, Ultor."
"Of course, my lord."
Without another word, the Aspect of the Salii leaves his chambers, leaving Mars Gradivus alone with the woman from beyond Olympus. Coughing, she half-heartedly pulls at the chains lashing her to the marble pillar in the center of the room, before letting out a shaky chuckle and weakly addressing her captor.
"You know... If you wanted to take my purity, I'm afraid you're long overdue."
Laughing softly, humorlessly, Gradivus hones the edge of his Gladius, on a balcony across the room from her own position, looking out over some vista unavailable to her limited field of movement.
"I have no desire in plumbing those depths, not to worry. The only thing I want from you is your knowledge."
"...Oh? You fancy yourself an educated killer? I've seen too many of those for one lifetime."
"If one desires to hunt, he must first track. You need to know your enemy before you defeat them."
Sparing the complex below one last look, he turns away from the balcony. Setting his black blade carefully on a nearby table, he sighs, reclining into an ornate chaise lounge.
"Though I will admit, I am curious about more than your tactics. You said we share the same origins. Brothers, opposed, as Romulus and Remus."
The peacekeeper's response was mocking, a vindictive smile on her face.
"Look at you... I know more about your own history than you do! You're just a bunch of bloodthirsty thugs."
Leaning back in the lavishly ornamented seat, Gradivus' voice remained calm.
"I know more than you think, barbarian. It seems knowledge is important to you, as well. How about a trade?"
"Oh? You're not going to just hold a hot iron to me 'til I squeal?"
"I dislike torture. The spirit is a beautiful and tenacious thing. It is always a shame to see one broken. Like a lion rendered lame, or an eagle with wings clipped."
Leaning forward, he removes his helmet, revealing a face marred with dozens of scars, a head of graying black hair, and a singular green eye.
"No, I propose a little game. I ask you a question, and you ask me one in return. We can refuse to answer if we like, but if we do, the other gets to ask once more."
"You're not going to get much from me, I'm afraid."
"You speak faintly, as if the elixir still holds you. Shall I retrieve the sal ammoniac, or shall we begin?
Starting, the peacekeeper shakes her head.
"No! N-no, go on!"
Leaning back once more, the Imperial colossus takes up a fine golden goblet of wine, as he ponders his first question.
"What is your name?"
"Elizabeth Morley. And yours?"
"Mars Gradivus. What are your numbers? Were the soldiers we came upon the only troops your company has, or are reinforcements coming?"
"I refuse to answer that."
"Fine. Hm."
Taking a sip of the dark stuff, he sighs.
"Is that style of blade you wield common to your people?"
"Yes, why?"
Rising, he begins to pace, goblet in hand, boots impacting soundly on mirror-polished marble as he slowly makes his rounds through the ornate bedchambers.
"I refuse to answer."
"You're no fun."
"That's not a question."
"...Why did you forsake the shield? You wield a gladius, and that armored gauntlet, but no scutum."
"The caestus can intercept blows the same as a shield, though it is less adept at catching missiles, of course. It is also a weapon in its own right, as you learned in our brief struggle. I use it for the same reason you use a dagger in a shield's place."
"But I'm not a front line combatant, at least if I can help it. I don't face hails of arrows on a regular basis."
"Centurions do not form the head of an Imperial charge. We leave that to rank and file legionnaires, or the Praetorians, when necessary. They guard us as we close the distance, then they open ranks and we swarm over our foes."
"How forthcoming. You should be more careful with your tactics."
"You will not return home to tell of them. Now, my question."
He looks out of a nearby window, to the endless wall of frosted stone that was, for most of his life, the edge of the world. Olympus.
"What do you call that?"
Chained to the wall as she was, Elizabeth craned to look at what he was referring to.
"The mountains? We call them the Skyrakers. Hardly clever, I know. And you?"
"Olympus. The seat of the gods. From its foothills we descended, charged with our holy mission, at the very beginning. We had thought ourselves their children, birthed from the mountains themselves. Why did we forget? Were we ashamed? Did our pride bid us hold our tongues when our children asked us our history? I do not know."
He looks back at her, smirking.
"That was your question, by the way."
"Drat. Well, out with it."
"Well... we knew not of you, but you knew of us. If your people knew that we were here, all this time, why did we have to come to you? Were you afraid of your brothers over the mountains?"
"We had forgotten about you, as well. The Empire of Ashfeld... it's fate was a mystery, for centuries. I'd only recently found out the truth. I had found a soldier's journal, dusty and buried in an ancient library, written by a man named Publius. He was a soldier in the civil war."
"How do you know it to be a true record?"
She shakes her head and chuckles.
"It's not your turn, but I'll take pity on you, dear. First off, I've already undertaken a number of tests on the paper, and it seems to be the genuine article. Second... well, your here. That's all that really needs to be said, doesn't it? The very fact that you exist is proof of it's authenticity. The empire did split into two factions and go their seperate ways, as the book said."
"That we could lose so much..."
Shaking his head mournfully, he continues along his path through the spacious chamber, running one hand along the cold marble. Wordlessly, he motioned for her question with one hand.
"...What are you? A general of some sort? The armor you wear is ornate, and you live in as grand a place as this. Are you the leader here?"
"That depends on what 'here' means. The Fortress of Aquilus? Yes. I am an Aspect of Mars, general and high priest of our Lord both. I am the Strider, the Conqueror, He Who Marches. I lead the Centurions, the chosen of Mars, and the shock troops of our armies. My fellow aspect, Ultor, leads the Salii, the scouts and irregulars of the legions. And lastly, Quirinus of Misr heads the Praetorians, who form the shield walls of our formations and guard us against our enemies whilst we close in for the kill."
Looking down at one caestus-clad hand, he grimaces as he closes it into a fist.
"But the Empire? I'm afraid that is in the hands of a fool. Our so-called 'emperor' is content to sit in place, while the lands beyond our borders writhe in chaos and barbarity. The cruelties they visit upon themselves are far greater than that which our war would bring to them, and yet he dares to talk of peace. Thankfully, I know something he doesn't."
Taking the moment of reflection to look around for some method of escape, she eggs on his monologue.
"Oh? And that would be?"
"That while he leads the country, I lead the army. And that a country is merely the land an army defends. Should I wish it, I could wipe him from the face of this earth, and take the throne."
She hadn't been stripped of her armor, only her weapons. Ripping a hole in her surcoat as quietly as she can, she retrieved the set of lockpicks stashed between the two sewn-together layers of coarse cloth that formed it and set to work on her chains. She needed to keep him distracted.
"Well, what's to stop you, my dear?
"The loyalist in our midst. Mars Quirinus. She hardly believes in Mars, much less the purity of our mission. The only thing she holds stake in is her coward Emperor. If the coup is to be successful with minimal bloodshed, we will need the Praetorians with us. If we were to simply kill and replace her, we would arouse suspicion too soon, but she'll never be swayed to our cause..."
"Well, nothing a good scandal won't fix, wouldn't you say? If you can't remove her, remove her power, remove the respect people have of her..."
Damn, these locks are good. But it won't be long now. Just a little bit more...
He looked to the ground, deep in thought.
"I have another question for you."
"Of course, of course..."
Then, Mars Gradivus said something she didn't expect.
"...There was a woman in your midst, who wielded a sword held in two hands. Like yours, but larger. Is that strange?"
Elizabeth was taken aback. Why in the world would he ask something like that?
"Wh-why... I... No. There are many like her. Longswords are common among my people. Why?"
He looks now to the far wall, which Elizabeth only now can see is littered with the arms and armor of a hundred civilizations. He enjoyed collecting weapons and ornaments from other cultures, and the traders from beyond the southern wastes provided in endless supply. There was an authentic example of one of the sickle-swords of Misr, instantly recognizable to his people, but nonetheless a fine piece, looted from the grave of a king. Then there were more exotic finds, like the two-handed battle-sabers of Zhongguo, or the glass swords of the Tenochcans, who plucked the hearts still-beating from their enemy's breasts.
This world was massive. More massive than he or anyone else could ever possibly conceive. With her very existence, the Lupa showed him this simple truth. And every warrior in it was unique, a new and unknown danger to his people. This panoply of death showed as much.
He remains quiet, eyes fixed on the wall of blades, for a long time. Then, it that same calm, civil, almost polite tone, he speaks.
"You... are not the first of your kind to come here, Elizabeth. Another came, long before. I took her as a slave for a time. She made a goodly companion."
Shuddering, he places a hand to his neck.
"When she held a blade to my throat and asked for her freedom, I gave it, not for fear of my life, but because she had become a friend and confidant to me. I miss her."
She was staggered, utterly. If a Warden of Ashfeld disappeared to the south, people would know, even more so if she escaped to return home. Looking to the ground in thought, she muttered to herself.
"...What? I mean, you came through the same way we did, all those centuries ago, so if it was open then and open now, I suppose it makes sense, but, why didn't she...?"
Shaking her head, she looked back up.
"What was her name?"
"I don't know. She never told me. We found her there, among the frozen peaks, the corpses of a centuria scattered around her. She had been wandering the world in meditation, contemplating it. Contemplating herself. I remember... so many evenings we stayed up in this tower, whiling away the night in great talks of philosophy, ruminating on the nature of man... of power... of life. I suspect the only reason she stayed as long as she did was because she enjoyed speaking with me. She never told me of where she came from. She knew I would bring the armies of the Empire to her land if I knew the path. My Lupa had wanted that honor herself."
"Lupa...?"
Her hands stopped. A shudder ran down her back.
"Do you think that peace is possible, Elizabeth? A world utterly bereft of conflict, of tragedy? I do. In that respect, we were opposed, and yet, I saw more of myself in her than I did in anyone else."
Retreating back to the balcony, he stares once more over the verdant fields and distant mountains of his homeland.
"A nation is an animal, moreso even than the people who compose it. And, like animals, they are always fighting to survive. Fighting for territory, fighting for resources, fighting for their faith. The only way we will have peace is if there is one nation, one people, and one god. Difference brings conflict. As long as men stand apart, they will try to rise above their peers. That is why I fight; so that one day, this whole world will have one name, one identity, and we can finally live in peace. All of us, not merely the few our precious emperor deigns to protect."
Putting his hands on the rails, he looks down the tower, at the great amphitheater below, the sandy earth of the arena sullied by sun-dried blood.
"I... don't know what she believed, truly, but I like to think that we shared that same ideal, in our own strange ways. She wanted a war... a great war, that would consume the world, such that when the ashes settled, and the flesh of the dead joined with the earth, only the very strongest would remain. That one nation. That one identity, that would finally bring peace to this shattered land. This world isn't big enough for two nations. It never was. And while I breathe, I will fight to ensure that our Empire is the one that stands tall at the end. That is the mission Mars has given to me."
He turns around, a smile growing on his face as his eyes met the ice in her own.
"I can see it... in your face. The Lupa accomplished her mission, brought war to her homeland, and made you strong."
His words. There was only one person he could be talking about. The woman who put that scar on her back. The woman that ruined her whole world.
The shift in her attitude was distinct and immediate. She pulled at her chains, shouting up at him from her spot on the ground.
"Your Lupa is DEAD, you crazy son of a bitch! We put her down like the rabid dog she was!"
The news of Apollyon's death didn't even phase him, nor the ferocity with which it was delivered. He simply spread his arms wide and laughed.
"You killed her body, but her soul?! Her dream?! It lives on! In you! In me! In the wars we fight! Your land does battle for the right to exist, to prove itself worthy of command over the whole of this planet, and soon we shall join it! And when only one of us remains, soldiers like us will finally be able to lay down our swords!"
He leans down, a joyous smile on his face.
"A great campaign awaits us."
Coming closer, he crouches down, eye-to-eye with the soon to be unbound Peacekeeper. Rapturous even now, he speaks, softly.
"I have one more question for you, Elizabeth."
Still working at her locks, she leans forward, till their faces were almost touching. Through gritted teeth, she responds.
"Shoot."
His arms slowly reach around her, as if to embrace the woman.
Then, suddenly, his hands shoot down, seizing the thin metal tools from her shackled hands. His voice unchanged, he whispers.
"Do you think me a fool?"
Rising to his feet, he turns to the door. Elizabeth is silent, eyes locked on the floor. Damn it all.
"My sons! I am finished speaking with this one! Have her taken to the pits!"
Asteria of Afri hones the tines of her trident in slow, sure strokes. The guard sent to supervise her seems exceedingly nervous about this. Glancing at him, she sighs.
"Calm down. What am I gonna do if I kill you? Break out? There's a whole army between me and freedom."
She looks back down, sharpening the blades to a razor edge.
"We both know how that'll play. I've been in here a long time, and I've earned the right to maintain my own weapons. Ask Helvius, he's the guy they usually send to supervise me. He takes naps. Talks about his family. Eats lunch. Basically a second break, once you get used to it."
"S-silence, prisoner!"
The inexperienced guard fidgets nervously. She didn't blame him, chances are he's seen what she can do in the ring. He'll loosen up.
Then, with a great rattle of rusted metal, the grate that formed the ceiling of the Pits slid into the stonework. That noise was starting to give her a headache. Usually, they used the doors to move prisoners in and out of the pits, like they would with guards, but it's customary to give new arrivals 'the drop', as they put it. Lots of new arrivals over the last few days, though she hadn't had the chance to talk to any of them. Leaning the short polearm against the rough stone wall, she rises to her feet.
"I'll be back, don't you worry."
Striding into the commons, her eyes sweep over her fellow prisoners, gathered as they were to meet the new arrival. She always found that look in their eyes odd. They looked at her like she was their leader. And yet, when they matched with her, all that respect drained away, replaced by fear, every time. A death sentence would do that to you.
Sticking her arms out, she catches the weighty bundle of fresh meat that came from above. No screaming or thrashing this time. Odd.
Looking down, it was clear to see why. She was asleep. They must've used that new drug the alchemists had been working on. It'd probably be a few hours before she was in any state to talk, without smelling salts to rouse her.
Her armor was unlike any she had seen before, and she looked strange, different than most of her fellow barbarians that the Empire usually populates their arenas with. So the Empire had found a new target. That'd explain all the new arrivals, alright.
"Let's get you what passes for a soft bed around here."