PROLOGUE

Twenty thousand pairs of eyes watched as the body fell, the roar of battle somehow muted by the death of a single man. The fighting halted and for the briefest of moments, there was peace in the midst of war.

Demirati General, Kabas Herkov, frustrated by the lack of success in taking the walls unleashed a furious battle cry from the rear of the besieging army so loud that even the archers on the battlements of Gorintha could hear it. The Demirati soldiers, inspired by the courage of their General, rushed forwards, scrambling up whatever siege ladders they could get into position and holding up their shields to block the deadly rain of arrows that came nearly continuously from above. It appeared that they might be successful this time.

General Flavius Sabinus, General of the Northern Army of Azal, watched this attack with a growing sense of dread. Flavius was an aging, silver-haired old man. He was small but years of battle had made him tough, and his lined face carried more than just the few physical scars of battle. Its scarred surface revealed the anguish and pain of battles and lost comrades from times past. Standing just beside Flavius the 1st Cavalry Guard, Carna Amsam, had a grim look upon his face. Kabas Herkov, clad in the red-plate armour of the Demirati forces, was a horrible sight to behold. He rushed forward on an oversized warhorse, holding his sword aloft and all but impervious in the thick metal of his armour. To Carna, Kabas and his men seemed almost unstoppable. Carna’s Cavalry Group was in position in the forward courtyard of Gorintha, where the infantry that could not take to the battlements without disrupting the archers also waited in formation. In addition to his posting as the 1st Cavalry Guard, he served as Flavius’ Guardmaster because Flavius refused to have a Personal Guard assigned to him. Flavius glanced back and frowned when he saw Carna standing there. Carna was a very tall man and Flavius had to look up to see him.

‘What are you doing up here? Get back to your Group,’ Flavius shouted over the din of the battle, again turning his attention to the approaching Demirati General.

Carna leant forward so as to whisper in Flavius’ ear. The Demirati archers had ceased their fire upon the battlements briefly in order to avoid hitting their own troops, many of whom had discarded sections of their armour so as to make climbing the siege ladders easier. Still, Carna did not feel at ease with the General standing so exposed upon the battlements and he said as much.

‘You should worry less about me and more about the Demirati,’ Flavius shouted, his voice sounding angry but still somehow in control.

Kabas Herkov’s battle cry was at a fever pitch now, and he was within one hundred metres of the wall, his troops surging ahead and behind him as he came fearlessly forwards.

‘The man has not even paused to breathe,’ Flavius said, mainly to himself and even smiling a little, ‘Perhaps he will faint and save us all a lot of trouble.’

Carna placed his hands firmly on Flavius’ shoulder and forcefully spun him around.

‘If they take Gorintha, all is lost. We have to force them back to Sanot before the winter,’ he cried, his own desperation only exacerbated by Flavius’ apparent calm.

Carna was known to all as a jovial man in the face of adversity, but now he was far from that. Flavius looked annoyed at being manhandled and was about to speak when suddenly, like something from a dream, the sound of the battle seemed to drop away. There were still the shouts of dying men and the clash of iron, but it was all somehow diminished. The battle cry had stopped and Flavius and Carna felt their gaze drawn, along with everyone else, to the enemy General. Despite his thick armour, there were still weak points and it was in one of these that an arrow had found its mark. Piercing between the lower guard of the helmet and the breastplate, it had struck the chain mail beneath. The force was such that the arrow had simply kept going. The chain mail was good for protecting against a slashing attack, but an arrow fired from only thirty metres away had torn through it like it wasn’t there. Kabas’ cry had stopped instantly. His body jerked from the impact, and this had been enough to send him sliding from the back of his mount and pitching face-first into the mud.

‘Get back to your Group, now,’ Flavius ordered, his voice taking on a low and dangerous tone.

Carna nodded wordlessly and rushed from the walls as fast as he could. Flavius looked around him, scanning the battlements until he spotted a soldier with a long metal trumpet, about fifty metres away. He rushed over towards him, gesturing as he did so for the trumpeter to meet him halfway. The battlements of Gorintha were narrow and scattered with wounded or dead soldiers. Flavius picked his way amongst them, although he stumbled a few times. They had been fighting under a fairly dark sky. It was close to winter, only a week or so off, and in the North this meant that the days were short and sunlight was scarce through the thick cloud cover. Flavius cursed as he fell once more. During the siege, he had somehow become separated from any trumpeters, or else those nearby him had been killed. Finally he got to the man and clasped his arms.

‘Sound the attack. 1st Cavalry. Open the gates!’ he cried.

The soldier looked hesitant. In truth he looked absolutely terrified.

‘Do it!’ Flavius snapped.

The soldier raised the trumpet to his lips and let out a sharp burst, followed by a series of notes. The system was complex, with different Millenniums of Infantry and Cavalry Groups indicated by different tones or sequences, but to any Azalian cavalryman the sound was as clear as if Flavius had spoken the words to them directly. Attack!

Carna had just remounted when he heard the trumpet sound. He glanced back at his Group behind him, consisting of one hundred cavalrymen, the finest Azal had to offer. Still, even amongst such battle hardened veterans he could see the fear in their eyes. He could feel it in himself also, but as their Cavalry Guard he fought to hide it. They each carried a long sword rather than a lance, as it would have been too awkward in such tight combat conditions. The Demirati stood just metres away on the other side of the walls. The sound of the bolt sliding on the city gates struck Carna to his core and he turned again to face his Group.

‘Their forces are in disarray and their General is dead,’ he shouted, the grim faces of the cavalrymen watching him with masks of courage.

His voice louder now, anger replacing fear.

‘Let’s send the rest to meet him!’

There was a roar from the men and with that the gates were hauled aside to the sound of creaking wood and the scraping of the huge iron rollers on their tracks. Carna charged forwards and the rest followed without hesitation. There was only room for three cavalrymen to pass through the gate safely at one time, and so for a terrifying few seconds Carna felt himself alone between the massive Demirati army and the walls of Gorintha. The enemy had managed to reorganise themselves somewhat after the shock of losing their General, but they were still taken by surprise as the 1st Cavalry Group poured out from the gates, hacking and slashing furiously. Those Demirati that were in the fore of the attack carried only short swords, and were in no way prepared to defend against a cavalry assault. Carna slashed at two of them who tried to leap aside but were blocked by their own men. Most of the attackers still wore their breastplates but had removed their arm and leg armour. Those that carried shields carried light ones with a convex iron front. They were good for deflecting arrows, but against a determined downwards blow from a long sword they could be knocked aside easily. Carna did just that, savagely bringing his sword down on the upraised shields of the infantry. Some could not hold off the blows and were slashed across the arm or shoulder, whilst others simply found themselves with their shield knocked down and away from their body, making it easy for those that followed Carna to cut them down where they stood. It was in this pattern that they fought. Carna made sure never to allow himself to be surrounded, backing off where possible, or else riding along the front rank of the enemy, slashing at those he could. He felt an occasional knock against his leg, but it was always too weak to penetrate his armour. His horse took one fairly bad gash across the flank and he cursed, pulling her back and allowing others in his group to take the fore. He stayed back for a moment until the trumpet sounded again and he turned back to look up at Gorintha. The walls were further away than he thought. They had managed to push back a semi-circle almost fifty metres in radius, and this had been enough for Flavius to order the infantry troops out. The walls were still being attacked, but it was far less ferocious now that they had to deal with the cavalry attack as well.

Flavius allowed himself a moment of relief when he saw the 1st Cavalry force back the invaders without significant casualties. Five or six of the cavalrymen had been pulled from their mounts and practically torn to pieces by the enraged Demirati, but this number was lower than he had feared. It had been a gamble to attack from a fortified position, but the loss of the enemy General was an advantage that could not be squandered. If the Demirati were to withdraw and continue with the siege, then they would all starve to death within days. The outcome would have to be decided today. Carna had pulled back from the front when they were about twenty metres out, and Flavius squinted to see why, but he was instantly distracted by movement further on towards the rear of the Demirati forces. Despite having lost their General, it appeared that someone was commanding the men again. Someone had managed to regain discipline in any case, as Flavius could see a well ordered formation, moving into position. He gestured to the trumpeter who still stood dutifully by him, watching the battle now with the tiniest of smiles on his face.

‘You’re eyes are better than an old man’s. That group in the back, how are they armed and how many are there?’

The trumpeter squinted as he scanned where Flavius gestured.

‘A lot. Maybe a thousand. Fully armoured I think, most of them. Pikes on a few. I don’t know what the others have. Standard infantry I think but I can’t tell...’ he said, apologetic.

Flavius nodded. The enemy troops had become increasingly disordered after the fall of their General but it appeared that now they were regaining control. It wouldn’t be long at all before the entire army were back in formation and the initiative was lost.

‘Sound the trumpet. Full attack,’ he said abruptly.

The trumpeter nodded and gave the signal. This signal was simple. A single, sustained note at high pitch. Flavius knew his Millennium Guards would know what to do, and they did. Within seconds, the 1st Millennium Infantry were on the move, out of the gate, one Century at a time. Although the courtyard was large they could fit no more than two Millenniums in at one time. There were twenty thousand men in the Northern Army, and a lot of them were spread out at the other gates or along the battlements. Flavius could only count on getting perhaps five of his Millenniums in formation and out of the gates, and even that was optimistic. He knew it was important to maintain the guard on the other gates also. They were smaller, but if even a few hundred Demirati managed to breach them unheeded then they could create havoc within the walls. Flavius looked over the other side of the battlements as the 1st emerged. A lot of the invaders were trying to give ground and wait until the more heavily armoured troops could get through, and so the 1st seized that chance and surged forwards into the retreating ranks to the left of the city gate, leaving the cavalry to continue holding back those to the right until the 2nd emerged. Flavius, satisfied that his troops could hold their own for the moment, looked back to the main courtyard to make sure the other Millenniums were forming up. They were doing fairly well, but it was slower than he would have liked. A lot of them had been forced to cram into the narrow streets that sprang almost randomly off the main courtyard and they were having a little trouble finding their places. He looked along the battlements, where the archers were still firing.

‘Hold your fire. We need the arrows in case they force their way back to the walls. The infantry should be able to handle them from now on,’ he said.

Those that heard him stopped hesitantly, and the trumpeter relayed the order along the battlements to those that hadn’t.

Carna cursed. His horse was bleeding fairly heavily and it wouldn’t be long before she succumbed to the wound. At first he had thought it merely a scratch, but it was clearly deeper than that. Even if she survived the battle he would be forced to kill her in the end. He saw the infantry of the 1st draw up alongside him in the dim afternoon light, and they immediately brought their ranks down on the Demirati line, who were disorderly in their retreat. The first two lines of Demirati troops found themselves sandwiched between the 1st Millennium and their own third line. Carna watched in disbelief as the Demirati soldiers who tried to flee were butchered by those behind them. There seemed barely a second thought about it as they cut down their lightly armoured comrades, some of whom even left themselves open to the blows as if falling to their own troops was preferable to falling to the enemy. Carna had fought the western tribes of the Surodan before, in minor skirmishes on the Hanil border, and even amongst those savage warriors he had never witnessed such fanaticism. The 1st Millennium was now facing an organised line of defence, but the 2nd had joined them, lengthening the line to prevent flanking and the 3rd were on the way. Of course they were all surrounded regardless, Carna thought to himself, looking to his cavalrymen who were slowly managing to push the line back. They were not having as much success as the infantry due to the lack of room to manoeuvre. The 3rd moved up and closed the gap between the cavalry and the infantry lines of Azalian troops and at that moment the trumpet sounded again. It was for a cavalry retreat. Carna looked up to the battlements where Flavius was still visible, but just barely. He could see only the fierce concentration in the old man’s eyes. Flavius was not looking at him but at the far wall where the cavalrymen were still continuing their attack/retreat rhythm. Carna felt his eye following Flavius’ gaze. The Demirati soldiers had all but given up on scaling the wall for the moment and were instead directing all their efforts to holding off the new attack. It made sense to replace the cavalry with infantry. They would need to hold a very tight defensive line to avoid being overwhelmed and the cavalry simply left too many gaps. His cavalrymen had heard the trumpet and were retreating towards him, although some were taking their time about it and charging at the weaker spots of the Demirati line.

‘Cavalry retreat! NOW!’ he roared, and most of them heard him. They came charging back over now, their blue cloaks flailing about in the wind behind them. Carna brought his injured steed about and spurred her through the gate, his own darker blue Cavalry Guard cloak waving at the others like a beacon to follow. The infantry attempted to shuffle apart and allow the cavalry through, but it was a tight squeeze, and the 5th were trying to leave as some cavalry were still coming through.

‘Hold back you fools!’ Carna yelled contemptuously to the infantry.

The animosity between cavalry and infantry was still just as strong as ever, even in such a time of crisis.

‘Get your men out of the way, Carna, they’re holding a broken line out there until we can deploy!’ cried the Century Guard.

The Cavalry Guard looked down at him angrily, but did as he was asked and ordered his men back so the infantry could deploy. After the 5th had made it out of the gate, Carna ordered his troops to take up formation in some corner of the courtyard where they would not disrupt the infantry. They could not relax yet and could well be called back in at any time. Carna dismounted and examined the gash on his horse closely. It was indeed very deep, the skin split right across her flank. He was lucky she had managed to carry him back at all with the amount of blood she had lost. She was losing it still, a dark puddle spreading underneath her body but she was surprisingly calm. When he released her reins she tried to sit, accomplishing it with an awkward thud. Carna stroked the top of her head. She had served him well since the start of the campaign, but her unnatural calm was a bad sign. She knew she was dying and had lain down to accept it. Carna felt a pang of remorse. They had other horses, though they were not yet trained. They were not warhorses until he had earned their respect. He shrugged. Regrets would have to wait. If they held Gorintha for the Winter then he would have time to train a new steed. But they still had to hold the city.

He left her to die where she had seated herself, looking back just once as he climbed the stairs to the battlements. By the time he arrived at the top, the reinforcements had closed the gap and now the infantry were flooding from the gates of Gorintha in a nearly steady stream, with only slight gaps to denote the various Century divisions. The troops began to systematically reinforce the line, which was scarily thin. It was impossibly to tell how many Demirati had fallen as those that did were almost instantly replaced. A lot of Azalian troops had fallen. Carna could see their black infantry cloaks trampled into the mud as their comrades stepped over them to continue the battle. It was hard to say who was winning, but Carna guessed that the Azalian troops were holding their own. Without full armour, the Demirati were vulnerable, but they were fierce fighters regardless and the extra manoeuvrability was something they were taking advantage of, using continuous wild slashes to throw the Azalians into a confusion. Had they worn their full armour such movements would have required too much strength. Carna shoved his way through the troops that stood on the battlements, no longer an active part of the battle but now merely spectators, like him. He finally found his way to Flavius, who was resting his head on his clasped hands, his silvery hair blowing behind him and giving him a strange look of serenity. The trumpeter stood next to him attentively, just waiting for the next order.

‘General,’ was all Carna said.

Flavius gave no sign that he had heard, but the Cavalry Guard knew that he had. They both stood in silence, watching as the battle unfolded below them. Carna could see that the more heavily armed of the Demirati infantry had nearly reached the front line, and soon the fighting would become even fiercer. Before them, troops fell on both sides, but it became obvious that the enemy were being pushed back. Finally, they clashed with the heavy Demirati infantry and were momentarily stopped. Most of the current frontline fell, but those behind soon adapted and eventually the steady backwards push resumed again. It was noticeably slower however and came at the cost of more lives.

‘It doesn’t feel real, does it?’ Flavius said, so softly that Carna was not sure if it was him that was being addressed.

He didn’t respond, but Flavius turned and looked at him after a few seconds.

‘Those men down there. They’re formations. They’re Centuries and Millenniums. They’re not men at all. They’re a means to an end.’

Carna opened his mouth but found that he didn’t have the words to speak. What could one say to that?

‘Gorintha will not fall. We will push the Demirati back. From here they have nowhere to go except back to Sanot. They cannot remain supplied for the Winter if they stay nearby. They cannot push past and risk being surrounded by a second force coming from Vissimo. They cannot cross the Northern Ranges,’ Flavius continued.

Still Carna did not respond. It was clear that he was being used only as a sounding board. Everything Flavius was saying, he already knew. Every man in the Northern Army did. That was why they were out on that battlefield, dying. Flavius tilted his head slightly and now focused directly on Carna’s eyes.

‘My son will have the reinforcements in place before the Winter is over. But we must strike early once the Winter fades. We must make sure that the force they first meet is ours and not the reinforcements. With the thaw of Winter, we will crush them completely,’ Flavius said, his voice becoming determined and steaming with a kind of suppressed rage.

Flavius looked back to the battle, progressing slowly but with furious energy in front of them. He placed his aged hand on Carna’s forearm.

‘So you see, they are not just a means to an end. Because if we fail then Azal falls. They are every man, woman and child in the Republic. They are everything,’

Looking at the scene unfolding beneath them, at the carnage and rage, at the sheer inhumanity of the slaughter, all Carna could see was death.

I

Titus Cassio entered the dining room where his wife, Drusilla, was seated for breakfast. It was a large, airy room with marble furnishings and it was bordered by ornamental pillars.

‘Good morning,’ Drusilla said cheerfully, buttering a slice of bread with a blunt silver knife.

Titus smiled thinly but said nothing. He sat opposite his wife at a table that was rather too large for two people. Drusilla shook her head as she watched him seat himself, his chair scraping and echoing in the large room. Titus clapped his hands together at that moment, and a well-dressed slave entered from an almost invisible side door. It was built into the corner and obscured by a pillar in such a way that on first glance it could not be seen. As a slave’s entrance this was a most desirable effect. The slave in question was a short and stocky man of about thirty. He was from a small Eastern tribe, as could be easily seen from his sharp features and dark curly hair, but he had not even a trace of an Eastern accent. Almost all slaves came from either the Eastern Province or the islands. This was largely because the numerous tribes there were warlike, but badly defended. Small groups frequently revolted and were easily put down and made into slaves, unlike the Surodan who had the natural defences of their geography to protect them. The Eastern tribes also had no qualms about selling their children into slavery if the money was needed to support the family.

‘Some breakfast, Mago,’ Titus said, and Mago nodded and withdrew from the room without a sound.

Drusilla took a sip of water from a delicate crystal glass as Titus waited for his food to arrive.

‘Where is Livia? She should be awake and getting ready for her tutor,’ Titus asked.

‘She refused to get up when Sama drew the curtains. I told her she could have a while longer.’

Titus placed his head in his hand and murmured something under his breath.

‘I have told you before, Drusilla. If we don’t discipline her when she is young then she will grow up to be nothing but a lazy and impudent woman. What man would marry such a woman?’

Titus pushed his chair back, the wood squeaking again on the marble floor. Mago entered from the hidden door holding a tray, but paused when he saw Titus standing. Titus waved his arms in an exasperated fashion.

‘Yes, yes, thank you Mago. Just set it down and I’ll return in a moment.’

Mago nodded obediently and placed the tray on the table, taking off the plates one by one. The meal consisted of little more than bread and cheese but it was of a superior quality and few who lived in Vissimo could afford to eat so well. Before he left, Mago refilled Drusilla’s glass from the decanter that sat in the centre of the table.

‘Thank you, Mago,’ Drusilla said, smiling warmly at the slave who, as usual, did not smile back.

Titus strode across the room towards the door, ignoring his wife’s voice behind him as he entered the corridor.

‘Oh, Titus, she’s just a child. Don’t be too angry with her.’

Titus set off down the corridor, feeling irritation at Drusilla’s comments. He believed that as a parent he had a duty to teach his daughter the correct values and morals, and that discipline should be included in that, yet Drusilla was always undermining his authority. Passing Sama in the corridor just outside of Livia’s room he stopped.

‘Is she awake, Sama?’ he asked the young woman who was looking nervously at him.

Sama was a petite, dark-skinned woman from Gerdius, the largest of the thirteen islands which lay to the southwest of the Republic. She stood now glancing nervously around. Titus rarely spoke to her because Drusilla gave her most of her duties.

‘I told her three times, sir. She won’t listen...’ Sama stammered.

‘Sama, continue with your duties. I’ll deal with Livia.’

Sama curtsied quickly and then walked briskly down the corridor towards the kitchen, glad to be away from Titus. She was clearly scared of him.

‘Livia?’ called Titus harshly through the door of the girl’s bedroom.

There was no response from within, so he opened the door and entered. Livia lay in her bed, which was an absurdly large four-poster, with ornate engravings on the bedposts. She was small for her age anyway but she looked absolutely tiny as she lay, her eyes closed tight, in the centre of the huge bed. Her dark hair was a tangled mess that spread across her pillow like a stain.

‘Livia, I believe Sama told you to get up and be ready for your tutor,’ Titus said.

Livia didn’t move, despite a slight twitching of her eyes as she tried to keep them closed. Titus walked over to the bed and placed his hand on her eye. He pulled it back to see an eye staring at him, and she began to laugh.

‘Livia, now I don’t wish to fool around. You have work to do today. It’s important that you learn things,’ Titus said sternly.

She stuck out her bottom lip before speaking.

‘I don’t want to. Not today. Can’t I just not for today?’

Titus shook his head.

‘Certainly not. Sometimes, Livia, we have to do things even if we don’t want to,’ Titus replied.

‘Why?’ she moaned.

Titus did not feel like answering the endless questions this morning, ‘why?’ being the most common and in his experience the most difficult to answer.

‘That’s the way life is, Livia. Now you get up and you get up now if you still want to go riding this afternoon,’ he replied harshly.

The threat was enough, and Livia leapt up out of the bed, pushing the covers aside.

‘Now get washed up and come and get some breakfast,’

On saying this Titus returned to the dining room, and his wife looked up as he entered.

‘Is she awake?’

Titus nodded.

‘You can’t let her get away with that, Drusilla. I simply told her that she couldn’t go riding if she didn’t get up immediately. She’s spoiled,’ complained Titus.

‘She’s a nine year old girl.’

Titus did not respond, and ate his food in silence. Livia entered just as Mago was clearing away the last of his plates. She was dressed in a fine purple dress that Sama had made for her.

‘I’ve got to get to the Oratory,’ he said, standing up and heading for the door.

‘All right, Titus, have a good day,’ Drusilla said, although he did not look at her.

It was necessary for Titus to be situated close to the Oratory, and for that reason he had been allocated land that was no more than ten minutes on foot from the centre of the Capital, on a road known as Oratory Row. Titus glanced around the street as he walked. Most of the houses were constructed of marble, some with elaborate facades and huge pillars supporting them. It was a bright morning, but with the current situation as it was, Titus found it hard to be cheerful. The winter was drawing to a close, which was bad news for the Northern Province. It meant a return to hostilities between the Demirati and the Northern army, and Titus was not at all sure that their forces were up to the task. If the Demirati were to defeat the Northern Army then the entire sub-continent would be at their mercy. Titus lifted his robes as he stepped over the narrow gutter to cross the street. The Oratory building stood before him in all its glory. It was a vast domed structure, with no less than thirty-six columns supporting it all the way around. Normally the Oratory was open to the public but, in view of the current conflict, only Orators and associated ranks were allowed inside. Titus began to climb the stairs that surrounded the entire circumference of the building, counting them as he did so. It was a habit of his when nervous, and this morning he had every reason to feel nervous. Until he had heard news of an overwhelming victory he would find it hard to feel anything else. Titus entered through one of the numerous entrances around the building.

‘Good morning, sir,’ one of the Guards said courteously.

Titus returned the greeting with a nod and then entered the main foyer, which was actually a long corridor circling the Oratory’s Inner Chamber. Janus Muro was standing just outside the northern entrance to the chamber, talking to the soldier who guarded the Inner Chamber. Janus was a political ally of Titus’. Although the system did not allow for political parties, and all Orators were allowed to vote in whichever way they saw fit, there was a tendency for like-minded Orators to group together and form an unofficial alliance. In this way they could push through legislation that might otherwise not make it through. This did mean that there were times when one might have to cast an affirmative vote on something which they were not entirely in agreement with, but it also meant that they could push through matters of importance to themselves, and most considered that a worthwhile trade-off. Janus smiled when he saw Titus approach and excused himself from the soldier.

‘Titus. This is a crucial point in our Republic’s history, but I hope you are not letting yourself worry too much. It is not good for you at your age,’ he said, not a bit of sarcasm detectable in his voice.

Titus could not help but smile. Since he had turned fifty, Janus had been making constant remarks about his failing health and advancing years and the like, despite himself being only two years younger than Titus.

‘You’re approaching that age yourself, old man!’ Titus replied.

Janus laughed amicably.

‘It is all very well for us to joke, Titus, but there is a grave issue to discuss today. Gaius is to put forward a proposal to replace Flavius directly following the attack.’

Titus stiffened as he heard this. It was a surprising piece of information, but he knew there was more to come from the way Janus was looking at him and he did not interrupt.

‘Regardless of the outcome, he wants Flavius out, saying that he is disrespecting the authority of the Oratory by forcing our hand on his strategy and so on.’

Titus shook his head. Gaius was proving again his unfitness to be in the position he was. It infuriated Titus that this could not be more readily demonstrated to the public who voted for him, as they had little understanding of Government and could be persuaded by empty promises even if they were a practical impossibility.

‘Doesn’t he realise what that would mean?’ Titus demanded angrily, and Janus shook his head.

‘He’s more concerned with retaining the power base of the Oratory than with winning the war. His ambition is putting the whole Republic at risk,’ replied Janus.

‘He’s a fool. The most vocal Orator in the whole system and all he spouts is utter rubbish. If we try and replace Flavius then we violate our own Confirmation of Beliefs. The General must remain autonomous or the army cannot function, whether we agree with his individual decisions or not. He has not violated a Belief and so we have no right to remove him.’

Janus nodded in agreement as Titus spoke.

‘I understand, Titus, but what concerns me more is that if this legislation is passed then Flavius may very well not want to leave. He could dig in his heels and be well within his rights to do so. He commands an army currently and I don’t think it would be good to cross him on this,’ Janus replied.

At this, Titus paused. It was a serious thing to doubt the loyalty of an Azalian General, in private or in public. Coming from Janus, who had initially been a supporter of placing Flavius in his current position of power, it was even more surprising.

‘How far do you think Flavius would go to retain control?’ Titus asked warily.

He felt seditious even asking the question, but it was a necessary one. Janus shrugged nervously.

‘I don’t think he would threaten his own people with an army, but I would not care to find out based on the reactionary behaviour of one Orator.’

Titus considered this for a brief moment.

‘How do you know about this?’ he queried.

‘Because Gaius has asked Letes Ferres for his support,’ Janus replied.

Titus was incredulous. Letes Ferres was a front level who frequently allied with Titus. For Gaius to cross his alliances like that meant he was either desperate or confident.

‘Gaius asked Letes for support? How could he possibly expect his support? He’s almost as far from Gaius politically as I am,’ Titus said.

‘That’s not true. He knows that Letes supported Flavius initially and he knows that he was unhappy at being pressured into passing conscription,’ Janus replied.

‘No-one was happy about that...’ Titus began.

‘No, but not everyone was as vocal in their initial support of Flavius as Letes was. Gaius put it to him as a way of correcting his mistakes. The audacity of the man in suggesting he could offer such a thing. Letes, of course, told him he was not interested, but I’m worried that others may support him. The feeling against General Flavius is becoming a lot stronger in the Oratory of late, and it’s not inconceivable that Gaius may be able to gain a majority.’

‘Nico for certain. Harker and Illius...’ mused Titus, more to himself than to Janus.

‘It’s time for the assembly anyway,’ Janus said as the last of the one hundred and twelve Orators entered the foyer, ‘Let’s just hope that most of them have sense enough to dismiss this as the ridiculous suggestion that it is. Gaius was smart to leave it so late to try and gain support. Tensions are high at the moment and without time to consider the proposal some of the new Orators may just go for it in the heat of the moment.’

Titus headed for the chamber, but he paused suddenly and turned back to Janus just as he was following.

‘Smart is not the word for Gaius, Janus. Vicious and cunning, yes, but he’s as foolish now as the day he was born.’

The Oratory filled quickly. The room itself was basically an amphitheatre, where the speaker stood in the middle and delivered whatever issues they felt it necessary to verbalise that day. It was a rather raucous set-up with no one man being able to claim precedence over another. An appeal had to be put forward the previous day to speak except in special circumstances, and the speaker was allowed a maximum of one hour, plus an additional half an hour for any rebuttals. This morning every single one of the Orators was in attendance. Technically it was only necessary to sit in the Oratory three days out of every five, but during times of conflict, most turned up every single day. Titus sat himself down near the front. Orators were seated according to the length of time they had held their office rather than on any specific merits. Even so, those who were seated in the front tended to be quite competent, as they had to be in order to retain office. Janus was seated opposite him, also in the front row. It was Janus’ idea that they should sit on opposing sides of the room, as it meant that between them they could observe the reactions and conversations of everyone else, which sometimes proved useful. Gaius was rostered as the first to speak, and he stood in the centre of the Oratory, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground as the last of the Orators got themselves seated in the rear of the room. When the noise had finally died down, Gaius began to speak. To watch Gaius speak was a peculiar thing. He looked remarkably serene even when his voice was filled with rage, which was most of the time.

‘Esteemed colleagues, as all of you know only too well, Azal is currently engaged in a conflict with the Demirati in our Northern Province. As you also know, our results on the field of battle have been less than encouraging. At the coastal city of Davire, due to an error by the General Flavius in predicting the location and strength of available support, no less than two thousand men were lost. This kind of failure in itself should be seen as fair grounds for a discharge from military service but instead, due to some of the more naive members of this very body, we praise him when he manages, just barely might I add, to hold Gorintha after retreating. It is clear that General Flavius has friends in high places.

Now he wishes to throw all of our remaining forces together in an ill-fated winter attack. He is making a rash and dangerous move and putting the entirety of our force at risk. If he is defeated in the upcoming battle then there is nothing to stand between Vissimo and a horde of savages. He is risking the Republic without consulting the duly elected representatives of that Republic. I hereby propose that following the battle, no matter what the outcome, General Flavius should be relieved of command and replaced with someone more fit to do so.’

Titus could not help but laugh at this comment. At the sound of his laugh, as it echoed through the room for a second, Gaius glared at him.

‘Esteemed colleague Cassio. Do you have something you wish to say?’

‘I wish I did not have to speak, Gaius, but I feel compelled to do so if only to counteract the unbelievable nonsense which you are spilling into our ears,’ Titus replied, ‘your claims are misleading. The Demirati fleet was far superior to our own. Their numbers may have been approximately the same, but the Northern Fleet are no match for a fleet of Demirati war galleys. The ships at Davire were a patrol fleet, not capable of meeting a major invasion.’

‘The fleet strength of all the coastal towns are designated by Flavius. It was his lack of foresight that led to the defeat,’ Gaius replied.

‘Flavius did not have adequate funds to fit and maintain a fleet of the size necessary to patrol and defend the Northern coast. Considering there had been no hostilities in the past, it was a reasonable thing to do. The budget he was allocated was set by the Oratory. A budget that was passed by a nearly overwhelming majority, including both of us.’

‘That budget did not specify where ships were to be deployed, only a maximum spend limit…’ retorted Gaius, but Titus would not be silenced now.

‘You say regardless of the outcome of the battle, General Flavius should be replaced. If Flavius loses, there will be no army for a General to command. If Flavius wins, then to remove him from the head of the army creates uproar in the ranks. You said yourself that we are currently in the greatest danger our Republic has ever faced. If this is so, then we cannot afford to disturb the army based on your own political motives. It’s in the Confirmation of Beliefs. The General has autonomy.’

Gaius, who had been growing increasingly irritated as Titus spoke, now retorted loudly, his voice dripping with contempt.

‘Is it better to leave an incompetent man in control of our only chance of survival?’

‘Enough talk, Gaius. If you honestly believe the rubbish you say then you should call a vote.’

It was a challenge, and one that Titus knew Gaius would accept. It was a sign of weakness to refuse putting a proposal to the vote when suggested. It implied that one did not fully trust the merits of the legislation and felt that more words were necessary. Some would still refuse, but Gaius was not the man to ever do so.

‘I hereby call a vote on the aforementioned proposal,’ Gaius said, turning away from Titus as he did so.

Voting was a simple procedure. A recess was called and the assembly filed out of the Oratory and into the foyer to discuss strategy. It was a bizarre scene and one that Titus had seen many times. Front level Orators desperately trying to alter the votes of their younger colleagues. The talk was always hushed and the air was that of a dignified conference, but in truth there was a whole invisible underbelly of deceit and double crosses. Titus stopped Janus at the door as he was passing.

‘You take the Front levels and I’ll take the Rear,’ he whispered and Janus nodded.

Janus set off towards a known ally of theirs, Damian Ceminus, and said something that Titus could not hear. Most likely it was a call to arms of the whole network with which Titus was involved, to mingle and try and gain the support of the less experienced. He spotted Vespian Wallan a few metres away, talking to Ormand Nico, and he quickly intervened. Vespian was a popular figure in the Rear Levels. If his support could be gained then he would certainly be able to influence the Rear immensely.

‘Vespian, can I have a word?’ Titus said, strolling over casually.

Nico glared at him and placed his hand on Wallan’s shoulder, as if trying to protect him.

‘Vespian is speaking to me, Cassio.’

Titus shrugged and looked Vespian in the eye, ignoring Nico as much as possible.

‘I think Vespian can make his own decisions, Nico. I was just inquiring into which way you were planning to vote? I have some information that may influence your decision.’

Wallan looked a bit overwhelmed, but only very briefly before his youthful features flushed and he looked angry. He was quite a striking individual, and he looked younger than he actually was. His eyes were a piercing blue and he was of impressive stature, towering over both Titus and Nico.

‘My voting preference is my own, colleagues, and I do not appreciate you fighting over me. I will vote with my conscience, not because of some meaningless promise or lie either one of you feed to me.’

Titus had expected that response. Wallan was strong willed. He was also naive and still believed that he could survive simply by doing what he thought was best. It was for this reason that Titus doubted, despite the popular belief, that Vespian would ever become a Front Level. It was possible for Vespian to become flexible, and if he could drop a few of his less important principles then he might yet make it, but Titus remained unconvinced.

‘That is admirable, Vespian. I don’t wish to offer you anything but the truth however. This is an important decision and could well decide the fate of Azal. I would hate to think that you made a decision without full possession of the facts,’ Titus replied.

‘Then maybe you could enlighten me? What would Gaius have to gain by removing Flavius?’

Nico spoke upon hearing this. Nico was a small and quite undistinguished looking man, but he was also cunning and quite dangerous. Titus knew he could outmanoeuvre Nico on most occasions, but he was always wary and made sure never to underestimate him.

‘You and I both know, Vespian, that the way the Oratory works is through alliances,’ Nico said, ‘You have to decide at some point who it is that you support and I think that now is that time. Gaius wishes to remove Flavius only for the welfare of the Republic. He has offered no alternative, preferring to leave that to the Oratory so as to prove that he has no ulterior motive. Titus and his little web of deceit however, were the ones who supported Flavius initially. They think they can use him as their puppet because he is weak, which is why he does not make a good General...’

‘You make a generalisation there, Nico,’ interjected Titus, ‘If you recall, I did not support Flavius in any way.’

‘You are closely allied with those who did, Titus. You all work together. One hand washing the other,’ Wallan said.

Nico smiled at Titus maliciously as Wallan said this, but he did not say anything. He was confident then that he had won a great victory. Titus was not so convinced, but was at least certain that it was still too early to gain the support of the headstrong Rear Level Orator.

‘You and your allies are no better, Nico. I have told you, I vote with my conscience on this issue. It is too important for your petty power squabbles,’ Wallan said, glaring at both men with disgust before stalking away towards the inner chamber.

Nico was unmoved, and immediately his eyes were seeking out fresh prey, looking for one of the weaker ones that he knew he would have no trouble picking off in the time remaining. Janus approached as soon as he saw Wallan and Nico disperse.

‘What’s the word? Who won that little battle?’ he asked.

Titus shook his head.

‘No-one. Vespian is far too idealistic to ally himself yet. It’s odd, I remember being like that at one time, but I can’t pick the point where I became what I am.’

‘What you are, Titus, is a damn fine Orator. It doesn’t matter anyway. Ceminus tells me that it’s well known by the Rear Levels that Vespian will vote against Gaius’ legislation. Vespian has decided that Flavius should stay, so with any luck the Rear will follow.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Titus.

The vote was a solemn procedure, quite in contrast to the general air of debate during a speech. All the Orators were seated, whilst Gaius again stood in the centre of the room. To Titus’ annoyance, Gaius looked quite confident. It was natural to appear so during a vote on legislation of course. If the Orator who had proposed the idea looked in the slightest bit uncertain, then that could very easily sow the seed of doubt in the minds of everyone watching. This time, however, Titus felt that perhaps it was more than that. Titus glanced across at Janus apprehensively, and noted that Janus had a similar look on his face. He tried to tell himself it was nothing but paranoia. All the facts pointed towards a victory for Titus’ alliance, especially with Wallan voting with them. Gaius spoke then, and his voice echoed throughout the hall ominously.

‘The proposal is as follows. Following the battle at Sanot, General Flavius Sabinus is to be relieved of his command within one month of the outcome, whatsoever it may be. To be replaced by nominations suggested in an open forum after the passing of this legislation. All those opposed raise your right hands.’

Titus raised his right hand into the air, and glanced around the room. All of his allies were of course also raising their hands, as well as several of the Mid Levels and Vespian and a few Rear Levels. It was very close and nearly impossible to tell merely on sight how many votes there would be. The Neutrals, as they were called, did the count. They were not Orators but merely those who wished to one day gain office. It was necessary to do a bit of volunteer work in the Oratory to gain favour. Even so, the applicants were strictly screened and accepted only after absolute certainty of their loyalty could be assured. Titus kept his hand raised and began to count also. His nervous habit kicking in again, as it frequently did these days. On a signal from a Neutral, Gaius spoke.

‘Those opposed please lower your hands,’ he said.

Titus lowered his hand reluctantly. He had only managed to count up to about thirty votes, and what remained looked to be a bit over twenty. It was clearly going to be a very tight vote. The Neutral approached Gaius and whispered something into his ear. Gaius smiled, and Titus felt his heart sink. It was as if the entire fabric of the society he knew was being torn up merely by that smile. Titus scolded himself for overreacting but he was not at all sure that he was. To violate the Confirmation of Beliefs in this manner could bode very badly for the Republic.

‘The opposing vote stands at fifty two,’ Gaius said smugly.

Titus and Janus both exchanged a glance at that instant and it was clear that there was nothing to be done. Technically it was still possible that the vote could be won, assuming that there were Orator’s who were not in attendance, but the likelihood of that at such a crucial point in the conflict was very low. There would have to be at least eight Orator’s absent. That was nearly unheard of in itself.

‘Those in favour please raise your right hand,’ Gaius said.

The hands went up and in comparison, it was immediately clear that there would be no victory. Nico and Illius, as well as Harker and the majority of Rear Levels. Gaius had succeeded in removing Flavius, in theory at least. It was an insanely petty thing to do when so many lives were in the balance and the future of the Republic was so uncertain. The Neutral again whispered in Gaius’ ear and his smile grew even broader. It was rare that Titus had seen Gaius smile. When receiving news of a political victory it was generally considered bad etiquette to display pleasure in public, but in this case, even the manipulative Gaius could not contain his satisfaction.

‘The vote in favour stands at fifty-nine. The proposal is passed.’

At this, the room became filled with noise as Orator’s began congratulating or abusing each other for their courage in doing what had to be done or for their lack of insight. Titus said nothing. He simply sat watching as Gaius accepted a handshake from Nico, and the corrupt Illius stood behind them smiling.

II

They had been waiting for close to an hour when Caldess finally heard the pounding of hooves in the distance. It was a nervous moment, but he also found himself full of excitement. He could see from the expressions on the faces of his men that they were ready. They were not frightened and they were eager to engage. It was a good sign, as he had not been sure how they would respond after so much time spent in idleness. As the thundering of the hooves grew louder, the anticipation in the air also grew. Caldess glanced out across the clearing, feeling oddly detached. It was a beautiful part of the forest. Streams of sunlight came down through the upper foliage and made the whole scene seem somehow surreal. It was hard to imagine the pleasant surroundings he was now in becoming, in just a few moments, a scene of carnage. The preparation for battle was a very private thing. The difficulty in reconciling a desire for peace and an instinct to fight. The abhorrence of violence and the necessary dehumanising of the enemy. His eyes were closed, and he suddenly became alarmed to realise that small beads of sweat were forming on his brow. In the chill of the Northern air it was hard to dismiss it as anything but nerves. He wiped it aside irritably as the pounding of hooves now filled his ears. He could hear branches snapping nearby as the cavalry entered the woods, stampeding through the scrub. Once he thought he heard a man fall, hardly surprising in the terrain they were galloping through at such speed. Then so suddenly it surprised him, as was always the case, the Surodan stormed into the clearing roaring like wounded Gods. Once in the clearing, they raised their pace and headed at full speed towards the opposite side. Caldess could not help but notice their numbers. There were at most twenty men, probably less. That meant that in the chase alone, ten of their Surodan allies had fallen. It was unnerving, but Caldess had little time to dwell on it as the Demirati cavalry streamed in after them, their own battle cry drowning out even the Surodan’s voices. These particular Surodan were of the Molodo tribe. The Surodan were naturally very large people who resembled islanders although their skin was not quite as dark. The Molodo usually wore only a thin tunic and a small bowl-shaped helmet, relying on speed rather than armour. Some of the others, such as the Verido, wore even less and painted their bodies various colours before battle. Caldess wiped his brow as the Demirati galloped past them. The Demirati had a ferocity that he had never before encountered in an enemy. He was used to the propaganda fed to the army about the savagery of the enemy, but in this case he believed it could be true. They appeared as devils, in red-plated armour and chain. Caldess also noticed that there were at least forty of them, which was a surprise. The Tower Guards must have been mistaken. Either way it was too late now, and Caldess watched, not breathing, as the Demirati thundered across the clearing. Clutching his shield and pike, Caldess raised his arm in the air to hold the men, as he saw a few tense in their eagerness to follow the enemy cavalry. It was imperative that the Surodan turn and engage first, or else the 4th Century would be open to a full attack from the Demirati. Caldess felt again the sweat on his brow, and cursed as the Surodan continued their flight. They were leading them too far. The Demirati had reached the middle of the clearing, which meant that the 4th would have fifty metres of open ground to traverse in the face of a possible cavalry charge, and that was not a prospect that he relished.

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