The Nine Shadows: Chapter Twelve

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By Christopher Mitchell

Twelve

Marcus cinched the last of their belongings to the back of Sceppio. Falbreth was already mounted, though it had taken Argos some coercion to allow the boy on his back. The horse was displeased that his long-time rider had not returned to claim him. He still lurched under Falbreth, sidling side to side as if some unwelcome creature wove between its hooves. Falbreth let out a sigh of exasperation and dismounted. He grabbed the reins of Argos and looked into the beast’s large black eyes. The creature stilled, rider and mount motionless, while Falbreth tunneled into its mind.

Marcus was impressed. He even controls beasts… how fortuitous that could have been on other campaigns.

Falbreth released Argos and remounted. The horse no longer shuffled restlessly under his rider.

“I’ve seen many a wondrous thing, young Falbreth.” Marcus climbed atop Sceppio and smiled. “But never have I seen a beast tamed so easily.”

“I had to promise him the apples from the village.” Falbreth looked reticently at his companion. “Apologies, Marcus.”

Marcus roared with laughter. “You calmed a skittering animal, and you worry about rations?” He squeezed Sceppio’s sides with his knees, urging the animal forward. “You will make a fine general someday, my young friend.”

The boy smiled, urging Argos into motion. They set out into the hills, following the trail of small Lamian footprints. The chaotic trampling of the earth in all manner of foot size led Marcus to believe at least fifty creatures had attacked their small hollow. He was again impressed with Falbreth’s ingenuity, finishing their numbers with well-planned battle tactics.

“What made you think of using the oil, Peck?” Marcus scanned the horizon, where the mid-morning sun once again peeked from behind the wall of gray, alighting the world in a mesmerizing array of reds, golds, and greens. This was truly a beautiful country, and he longed to explore its highlands and valleys once this was all over.

 Peck ignored Marcus’ use of his old name—he knew it would take time for his mentor to become accustomed to it. “In truth, I thought of what you might do.” His face showed hesitation, then he shook his head in self-chastisement. “I heard your voice in my head, coaxing me along…” He looked to Marcus. “Was that you?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, my boy, not I.”

Falbreth’s face twisted in thought, then he shrugged. “Then I suppose it was me… thinking in your voice.”

Marcus chuckled. “Be careful, Pe—” Marcus caught himself, and Falbreth smiled inwardly. “Falbreth…thinking as I may land you in rough seas someday; I prefer action to planning.” A wave of pain came over his face, and he looked at the reins in his hands. “That was Tiberius’ expertise.”

Falbreth’s chest panged with sympathy; the wound was still fresh for both of them.

The boy forced a laugh. “Then I will serve as tactician until we’ve rescued Dominus, Shield.” He felt his cheeks growing hot at his boldness. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

Marcus’ eyes still showed pain, but he forced a smile. “Aye, Falbreth. I accept your role as battle-planner.”

They rode on in silence, welcoming the warmth of the morning sun as it stood sentry through midday and into the afternoon. Marcus slowed Sceppio, narrowing his eyes at something ahead. “There it is.”

Falbreth followed Marcus’ eyes to the unnatural ridgeline ahead. He knew where they were, now, and he slowed his mount alongside Marcus until they’d stopped completely.

Antonine’s Wall was overgrown in thick vegetation, the earth doing its best to reclaim what Rome had once held as the farthest reach of their empire. Sections were crumbling, the stone and mortar broken and scattered about like the rubble of some long-forgotten city, and Marcus supposed it was. The legions had abandoned this place hundreds of years prior, their waning personnel and continuously looted supply lines eventually making defense of it superfluous.

Marcus inhaled deeply, feeling within him a sacred connection to the desiccated remnants of this place. It mirrored the Rome he’d left behind. He felt Falbreth’s eyes on him, and he turned to see what interested him so. The boy was looking at Marcus’ hand, which had slipped from its reins and now fingered the small wooden cross around his neck. He hadn’t even felt himself pull it from the folds of his tunic.

“That looks like the symbol on the front of…” Falbreth grasped for the words, but they would not come.

“The codex?” Marcus had assumed the boy would have found the book while rummaging for supplies for last night’s battle and been curious. “They are the symbol of the Christ-King… of the cross he was crucified upon.” Falbreth shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, which answered Marcus’ question of whether the boy knew what crucifixion was. He put the cross back in his tunic and pushed the wall from his mind.

“Come, Falbreth.” He nudged Sceppio forward. “We mustn’t linger… Tiberius awaits.”

They guided the horses around the broken remnants of the wall, and Marcus tuned out the call from deep within to turn back and stay a while longer.

If he made it through this, he would return to this place and walk the length of Antonine’s wall, from sea to sea.

Tiberius held back the swell of pride as the Maraughin raged in her subterranean kingdom. The few remaining boys had returned, still charred in places where the sun had caught them as they closed the last few paces to the sacred grotto.

And where Peck’s flames had kissed their dead skin.

Good work, lad. He couldn’t keep a faint smile from appearing at the corners of his mouth. I knew you could do it.

The Maraughin halted her tirade and turned to Tiberius. He tried to dismiss the upward pull of his lips, then abandoned that endeavor and let his grin grow wide, exposing the too-long canines he now shared in similarity to his lover.

Yes, he was hers… but he could be theirs as well.

The Maraughin glowered, and Tiberius felt a pressure behind his eyes, piercing deep into his mind. The smile on his face died. He bowed his head in apology, though he kept the hope that his friends would come for him. He longed to finally embrace the boy who had outsmarted a dead king.

“Your companions test my Patience, my love.” The Maraughin’s tone held less of that sultry quality now that Tiberius was hers. He felt like the cat the children had tired of, whose eyes now followed the stray dog about, hoping to claim it for their own.

“Marcus has long been hard to kill, my queen.” He ran his fingers through her hair, leaning forward to breathe in its fragrance. She no longer bore the stench of death, but a mixture of rosemary and jasmine intoxicating to his senses. He longed to taste her, to feel her black blood slide down his throat and coat the front of his robes. Gods, she was infatuating.

She slipped from his fingers, moving quickly to the far end of the grotto. Tiberius tracked her graceful movement. She’d moved hundreds of yards in moments, and he longed to follow her. He knew, however, that now was not the time to test her patience. She had already killed the two who returned with neither their prey nor the body of her king.

Tiberius stifled the dejection he felt in that moment, recognizing his advancement in the Mauraghin’s retinue as nothing more than the blunder of his predecessor.

He would do better. He would win her favor, even if it meant killing Marcus and mourning while he did it.

From behind, the cries of children were muffled by the wild thrumming of their heartbeats. He steeled himself, still unsure if he was prepared for what was to come.

THE END OF BOOK ONE: THE NINE SHADOWS

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