Sylvestus Vol I: The Fall

By Tatiana A.S. Webb

There is something hidden in Anteria.
Despite years of war, the Roman forces have been unable to overwhelm native resistance, and a fire-wreathed tiger stalks the dreams of the invaders. The new assault from Roma brings with it Sylvestus Atrox Nigrum, a man respected by his superiors, revered by his soldiers, and well-versed in the mastery of mortal things. Sylv has as many secrets as the island, and his plans are ready to come to fruition - all he needs is a board on which to play his turn. As the tide of the invasion begins to turn in Roma's favour, there are whispers of a power that could destroy the invaders and restore the natural order of the island. Something is hidden, something with the ultimate power over all life.
The natives whisper that Nahvo'que must be freed, and it has always been in Sylv's nature to conquer. Anteria will bring to light all the secrets Sylv has spent a lifetime mastering.
There are forces larger than the petty games of men on Anteria. What if he could master Death?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244705343

Book preview

Sylvestus Vol I: The Fall

SYLVESTUS

Vol I:

The Fall

Tatiana AS Webb

Ember Fell Publications

2019

Layers of intrigue unfurl from the shadows, and a host of arrestingly human characters pit their wits and wills against one another in the richly-painted setting of Anteria. Monster turns on monster as Webb shows us that no matter how things have gone before, there is always further to fall. Leave your heart behind, because it will not survive this.

Valentin Foley

Copyright © 2019 by Tatiana AS Webb

The author asserts their right to this work

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, including taping, photocopying and recording, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

By the Public Lending Right 1979 Chapter 10, this book should be made available for public lending in UK libraries.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-0-244-64106-1

Ember Fell Publications

www.facebook.com/Sylvestus

NotAPygmyOwl.blogspot.com

Bro

This book belongs to you

<3

SYLVESTUS VOL I: THE FALL

EPILOGUE

Insects sang and chirruped, but all the birds were silent.

Boots crunched on desert rock, the steps soft and even and purposeful. Firelight burned in the dark ahead; the hunching forms of tents hovered, shadows looming like too-regular walls of a canyon, and their neat rows were deserted. There was life within some of them of the tents – murmurs, movement – but the boots and their tread seemed entirely alone. Even the fires guttered in this cold deep dark.

Suddenly, the boots stopped between the shadow of a tent and the flare of a campfire. The boots turned toward the fire and waited.

A dog limped from the darkness behind the tent. There were deep cuts in its flank and shoulders, and its pale fur was crusted brown with blood. Every movement was stiff and slow, its golden eyes bright with pain, but when its gaze alighted on its master the tail began to lift and its ears perk up.

Its whole body wagged as it pushed his head against the man's leg. The man's fingers tightened as if to snap and warn it back to a respectful distance - and then went loose. He dropped onto his haunches, and let the dog nuzzle the palm of his hand as he dug his fingers into the soft spot behind its left ear; the dog let out the softest hfff and closed its eyes for a moment. The man let the dog lick his neck and chin, and then with a whisper of a laugh pressed his nose to the side of its muzzle, and closed his silver-steel eyes.

For a moment they were stationary, faces together, with the dog's thick tail beating a breeze close to the warmth of the fire, orange-yellow flames flickering in the stone-like face of the man.

Slowly, he put one hand behind the dog's ears, and the other at the base of its neck.

Leaving the broken body of the dog curled limply by the fire, the man straightened and for a moment simply breathed. He took a step, and when the boot landed it was on a narrow paved path surrounded by trees, the desert and camp and dog gone.

The depth of night, dawn still a few hours hence, was a ripe time in the forest. The land watched and listened; the air was heavy with its collected breath. Ahead, a villa loomed, dark and abandoned. Its well-worn path and well-tended lawn promised commerce and care, but now it was cold. No torches were lit along the path or walls, the only light the moon between the trees, and no greeting came as the steps took the man slowly past the stables and kennel. The man's head twitched as he passed them and wound around the villa, but he made no motion to change his path.

In the basement, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a handful of rich yellow powder. In one fluid motion, the man tossed it toward the nearest empty furnace; his other hand twisted, and as the powder settled over the furnace, white-yellow flames blossomed.

It was with an easy twist of his hand that he gave the fire strength, form.

For quite some time he stood before the furnace, hands moving as if manipulating the flames as they strengthened and grew. Sweat beaded beneath his clothes and on his face, and the fire glowed on his skin and armour as it became hot and close, but he seemed unaffected as he worked with the flames.

When the heat was sweltering and the fire in the furnace was huge, the man left the now-bright room, with its layered flickering shadows and sweltering orange air, for the cold darkness of the dawn.

Or the dream of dawn.

It should have been dawn; there was no tint of light in the sky, but the world knew when it was supposed to wake, and it was ready. Yet it was dark, and the world only watched.

All the sound in the world was insects and the rustling of leaves, and even the crackling of the furnace was muted as the door swung shut. And then along with the insects and the leaves came again footsteps, expensive leather boots on neatly-laid paving slabs, this time around the villa, past the stable and kennel, and then up the path to the door.

The floors were cold, and the walls were dark; after a moment, the man removed his boots before he stepped further inside. As he crossed the atrium to a darkened study, his pace was slow and intentional.

The contents of the desk were scattered; books and scrolls lay on the floor, ink spilled staining the wood, and for a moment, the man surveyed the carnage. In the darkness, his brow twitched ever so slightly downward.

He used a crumpled swatch of cloth from inside his cloak to wipe up the spilled ink. He re-organised the books, including ones still hidden, and placed them in some unspoken order in piles on the desk. Then he crossed - strides faster, but still controlled and calm - to a bedroom, and retrieved two books hidden there; he paused at a third hiding spot, already empty. Another was retrieved from the dining room, and another from the wall of the garden, and then when he was done, he stood and looked at the desk.

For a moment, the man seemed to blur. It was dark in the room, but his stone features were suddenly illuminated as if by firelight. In the same way it should have been dawn, a boy should have crumpled to the floor and screamed and screamed - but just as it was not dawn, so his own body held its shape, its composure, as he tapped out five precise taps on the back of the chair, and took a breath that did not tremble:

Tap tap tap tap tap.

Within his boots, his toes curled against the floor. Sharply, he turned. He took up an unlit torch from the wall, and when his fingers brushed the handle flames burst forth, no powders this time. He crossed the villa, to the bathhouse above the furnace.

Steam rose from the water, greeting him with warm fingers as he closed the door behind him. He fit the torch into its sconce and turned to the bath.

As the man undid his cloak, his hands were still and sure. He did not blur. There was no illumination on his features but for the steady light of the single torch. Pulling the cloak from around his shoulders, he folded it neatly and laid it on the tile beside him. His belt was undone, sword and dagger aligned perfectly parallel, and then went each of the straps of his armour, which joined the cloak.

His breaths had started to accelerate. Hands on his tunic, the man stared down at the flickering firelight reflection of his face in the water, until the eyes were silver-steel and the hands were still and the face was lit by nothing but a single steady torch.

Then he removed his tunic and his undergarment, and folded them both beside the cloak and the armour and the belt.

All that was left was a leather harness on his shoulder, and the sheath it held against his ribs, and the dagger inside. Staring directly ahead, at the mosaic wall painted orange in the dark, the man stepped down and slipped into the bath.

There were goosebumps along his skin, and as the heat enveloped him a shiver jerked at his body.

Breathing slowly and steadily, he took the dagger from its sheath and carefully made two clean cuts in the leather. With great care, he removed the harness and placed it behind him on the tile, with the rest.

For a second, he paused.

He raised one arm carefully above the water. A warm trail of water dripped from his hand to his elbow, each droplet of water returning to the bath echoing too loudly, and his breaths were shallower now and his eyes wavering in the reflection of torchlight on water.

The man made one neat cut, precise and unwavering, from halfway down his forearm to his wrist. Blood welled immediately. It beaded from the neat wound, and for a second time froze. Then it began to pour, following the trail of warm water, dripping fast and loud into the bath.

Another few seconds passed as he stared at the pouring blood and the blossoms of darkness like ink in the water.

Then, transferring the dagger to the other hand, the man made the second cut. At the last second, his hand hitched, and before the blade left his flesh it tore clumsily at the skin of his wrist

He placed the dagger back on the tile, fingers trailing blood. It spilled into the water; it should have turned first pink and then red, but in the gloom it was only black.

His breaths were coming faster. Silver-steel eyes blinked, and became bright blue-grey. In the swirls of black in the surface of the water, his skin glowed with firelight.

Suddenly fighting for breath, chest heaving, the man leant his head back against the tile, arms resting on the warm surface of the water. His bright blue-grey eyes were unfocused and his lips moved softly.

A tremor tore up his whole body, cutting up the water, cracking his stone features as a boy crumpled and screamed and screamed.

I'm sorry, the man whispered, the words slurring, almost unintelligible.

The world pressed in, watching, hungry.

As the bright blue-grey eyes became glassy and blank, and his body slipped down so that water snatched at his skin and pulled his face beneath the surface, the terror vanished as suddenly as it had broken.

His lips turned upward and formed the outline of whispered words that were lost in a cascade of bubbles which broke thickly through the blood-dense water.

Dawn came.

And it was like this that the man died.

I

When Sylvestus Atrox Nigrum stepped off the ship, his lip curled.

It was a very intentional gesture, and the slow prowl of his boots from plank to stone gave it time to be observed. He wore the scarlet cloak of an officer, and this attracted immediate attention; a moment's further observation would note the cost of the clothes, the sword and dagger on his belt though no armour was worn, and, of course, the derisive cold expression. Faces turned. Working hands hesitated. Eyes narrowed.

Stepping to the side of the gangplank, Sylv turned back, and said, clearly, "Rom, incede."

At the edge of the plank, a large dog appeared; the gusting wind caught in its thick pale fur, dark muzzle and ears turned downward as it stepped carefully onto the plank. Its wide golden eyes flicked up to its master as if for reassurance as it picked its way down. When it reached the stable ground, the dog shook its head with a loud flapping of ears, and moved close to its master's side, tail again confident and curling above its back while its eyes took in the harbour.

For a few seconds, hands folded behind his back and chin raised, Sylv too surveyed the port and its occupants. His gaze was blank, but the follow-up to the curled lip - a hint of sneer, a derisive distaste - could be read in easily, if the observer so wished.

Then, without any apparent further cue, he set off walking.

It was busy within the streets immediately surrounding the harbour, plenty of ships in the port and men working between them and the warehouses, but no-one came too close. Despite the bustle of the day, hands and eyes paused their work for a moment. Sylv ignored them all; Romulus watched them coldly. The soldiers guarding and inspecting goods and property paid particular attention, but apart from the occasional cold eye contact they received no more greeting than the civilians around them.

The extensive harbour walls that shielded the port from the roughness of the sea were strong, but the quality of the stonework deteriorated as soon as it reached land. Walls enclosed the warehouses and stores, good stone and well-maintained, but beyond the government buildings the public streets seemed worn. Sea wind and salt had pulled away all the edges, and half of the buildings seemed empty or run-down, though the oldest had stood for only a handful of years. The streets were still fairly busy, the people as lively as ever - it was just the town itself which seemed... Tired. The cold pale air - that kind of day bleached colourless by weak yellow sun and the hint of a bitter-toothed wind - presumably didn't help with the whole effect, but no amount of bright sunshine could have livened what was very clearly a shithole.

Pausing, Sylv turned his head toward the western edge of the town beyond the harbour; a few miles outside it, linked by a winding road up the cliff on which it stood, lurked the high protective walls of the fortress. The Legio XIII presence was constant and noticeable.

Sylv set off walking again, Romulus obediently on his heels, into the town proper. For a while he simply strolled - not an aimless walk, for it seemed to have great intention behind it, but certainly a leisurely pace - around the streets, silver-steel eyes taking in the buildings and the people and the birds that circled overhead.

Then he returned to the dock.

The cargo had mostly now been unloaded from his ship, and his own bags were piled on the street, a soldier standing guard close by.

Snapping his fingers for the dog's attention, Sylv tilted his head casually and made a small gesture with his hand. Gaze intent, Romulus loped toward the boy while his master followed slowly behind. At Rom's low uff, the soldier jumped and whirled around; when he saw it was only a dog his face caved with relief, even as he resumed his pocketing of the engraved silver dagger. Then he saw the man just behind the dog.

Fear, horror, and resignation flashed across his thin face in the time it took him to stand to attention.

Sylv considered him silently, head slightly on one side. The boy clearly cared for his armour the bare minimum required by his centurion, and though he was not particularly small or slim he seemed shrunken inside it, his shoulders slumped and his narrow dark eyes constantly roving. Despite the just-acceptable salute, his whole body leant away from Rom, waiting patiently but staring intently from a few feet away. He kept his gaze on the corner of Sylv's jaw even as his hand began to shake in its salute.

Name? Sylv asked, with level interest, and the soldier's eyes flicked almost to his face before darting away again. Now that he had been released - though he remained at attention - his eyes began to dart around again, and the fingers of his free hand danced and tapped while he worked up to answering. Despite the jittering of his hand and the darting of his eyes, his voice managed somehow to emerge as a sullen mumble.

"Iratus Divites, Ser. Munifex under Velleius Annalis, Legio XIII."

"Divites, I entrust you with the safekeeping of my possessions until they reach their destination at my lodging villa. Your centurion will be informed."

But he...

Even as he formed the protest, a few new gears began to turn visibly in Divites' head. His eyes flicked down to Rom, and hastily back up to Sylv's jaw. Sylv decided to aid him a little, just in case the autumn air was slowing his decision-making.

Did he not entrust you already with the care of my bags? he asked, brow furrowing slightly, silver-steel eyes boring into the boy, and Divites cleared his throat.

Of course, Ser.

Marvellous. In which case, the value of anything lost will be deducted from your pay. Continue.

Sylv turned sharply on his heel, gestured with one hand for Rom to follow, and then set off again out of the harbour and into the town, and then west and toward the long road up the cliff to the fortress.

This road, at least, was well-maintained. It was late afternoon, and carts took another, longer but shallower, route around the base of the cliff, a wide road visible now emerging from the trees; most of the light traffic on Sylv's path was soldiers and horses. Again, they regarded man and dog with interest, but none attempted to speak with him. The hill upon which the fortress was built loomed to the west, so that it was already dark and chill on the road as the sun vanished behind it, but orange light burned over the ocean to the south, and as he walked Sylv raised a shielding hand to his brow to look out across the rest of the continent now visible from the hill. It was well-chosen, this location; presumably this bay had been the most well-shielded and the easiest for ships to land, and it was high enough to provide a vantage point over most of the rest of the island. Directly north and east of the town and fortress, dense forest covered the majority of the visible land, felled along the whole south coast for development. Further north, a mountain range rose sharply from the trees; maps had been sent back on previous ships, and Sylv knew that beyond lay tundra - but no successful party had ever crossed the range and returned, and ships could not land on its sheer icy shores, so unless there had been recent progress what lay beyond was largely unknown. Now, the far west of the island was largely obscured by the cliff, but Sylv had glimpsed it and read reports of the extensive grassy plains which took over from the trees and then themselves gave way, much further along, to waves of sandy desert.

It was a large island, several weeks' ride from end to end, but for its size the climate of Anteria was still remarkably varied. And though the forest had been cleared around the town, and from the vantage point of the fortress Sylv could see clearings in the trees where presumably estates and farms had been built, the whole place felt...

Untamed.

The letters had used unexploited.

We are confident that Anteria is a venture worth pursuing; it has many unexploited resources, including gems, spices, and rich soil, and there are rumours of native temples complete with valuable idols of their Gods. While the Anterian people are resistant to integration, and unfortunate circumstance has slowed our progress, we are confident that the reward will make worth the investment, and that with more time and man-power we will be able to exploit this land to the full degree of its worth.

Oh, yes; the letters had been vague, written-through with concealment and hope, but their meaning had been plain. It was as if the gods of this land did not want the Romans upon it, men whispered. But, their legate had reminded them, Roma did not bend to the will of foreign gods.

The sense of wildness set Sylv's nerves on edge.

It was likely just the ship, the uncertainty, the anticipation that had come before and of all that was yet to happen: the new land, the new comrades, the new town. It had all been done before, and every time it came with ambivalent unease. That was its nature.

Sylvestus Atrox Nigrum would die on Anteria, one way or another.

Nothing Sylv hadn't done before.

The fortress gate was guarded by two munifex, regulating the traffic in and out. Sylv waited in the short queue for their attention, Rom beside him regarding the two men levelly; by the time it was their turn to face the guard's scrutiny, the younger man seemed quite unnerved. The other guard was older, though their rank - newly conscripted and serving their compulsory six terms of service - was the same, and though his work was checking those leaving the fortress, he regarded the unfamiliar soldier with a cold scrutiny.

For a second, the younger munifex stared at Sylv, obviously unsure how to address him - then some fashion of training clearly kicked in, for he straightened himself up as best he could and cleared his throat.

Please identify your name and purpose, he bleated, and for a second Sylv's head tilted a tiny degree to the side, as if considering whether to acquiesce to the request. Then his lips turned up, a cold and efficient stone carving of a smile.

"Syl. Atrox Nigrum, optio of Legio IX. I am here to speak to your officers."

The munifex gawped. One of Sylv's brows twitched upward.

Send him through, Bestia, his companion growled, and Sylv sensed the cold stare that continued in his direction as Bestia quickly nodded and gave an uncertain salute.

"Yes, Ser. Erm... The principium is just to the left inside, Ser."

Thank-you... Bestia?

Hurtius Bestia, Ser.

Sylv nodded and passed him into the fortress.

The buildings resembled those of the harbour in quality and maintenance much more than they resembled those of the town. The fortress was built on the cliff's edge, all four walls high and manned. The north face held the stables, and the rest of the space was neatly ordered in the standard fashion, presumably complete with barracks, valetudinarium, baths, stores. From the reports, Legio XIII had been severely depleted; reinforcements had been called for repeatedly even before the augmentation of Legio IX. Looking around even as he followed the munifex's directions toward the principium, Sylv's face showed some fashion of scorn. Either the ranks had been depleted more than reported, or a remarkable number of men had decided that a mid-afternoon nap was well within their orders. This was the only fortress, but there were outposts at several points elsewhere - and it looked well below maximum capacity.

There was, at least, a soldier outside the principium, yet another generic low-level man on generic low-level guard duty, but he straightened at the approach of Sylv and his dog. Before he could open his mouth to question the newcomer, Sylv held up a hand and spoke.

"I am an optio of Legio IX, and my ship was the first to make land here. I am under order to report to your legate or the next available man immediately. It may be advisable for you to, very presently, deliver me to that man. Is that order clear?"

There was a brisk nod, and with a sharp gesture to Rom to remain, Sylv followed the man inside.

But business had not only just begun; this game had been underway since the moment he had stepped off the ship.

II

"You are Calidius Scaurus' optio?"

Yes, Ser. I have served under him for eleven terms.

"Calidius, the pilus prior of the...?"

"Third cohort, Ser."

Hm. The old bugger is still serving, then? Must be near retirement, eh?

He is as strong and quick as ever, Ser.

The centurion smiled crookedly at Sylv, a nasty tilt to his lips. "Hm, I imagine he is! Still... I've heard good things of his optio. Very good indeed."

Thank-you, Ser. Sylv bowed his head, the flitting ghost of a smile tracing his lips, and then let his gaze flick around the room and its occupants again. As the legates of both legions had chosen to remain in Roma, there was no one commanding officer on Anteria; orders overall were relayed back and forth via letter, but it was not an efficient system. Maritimus Tuditanus, the primus pilus, was - as most senior centurion of the first cohort of Legio XIII - the highest-ranking officer. This command was by a narrow margin, and with a second legion on the same campaign it would grow narrower. He had regarded Sylv imperiously at first, but now his expression had lightened into a comradely leer.

A few other centurions had deigned to appear before the new arrival, and to each of them Sylv paid a casual glance of acute close attention. Most were watching either him or Maritimus with expressions that varied from polite interest to cold disdain.

One man, though - at least five years younger than Sylv despite his higher rank, reclining on a couch with his wavy dark hair and stubble immaculately groomed - was watching Sylv unblinkingly. There was a gentle tilt to his head and his lips were curled just enough to suggest a smirk. When they made eye contact, Sylv dropped his head in the shyest prelude of a nod, his own mouth twitching. Silver-steel eyes met green, and while the others watched, they played a game.

It lasted just a second; they looked away together, before indecency was reached. Sylv returned his gaze to Maritimus, but the young centurion went back to studying his face once he had politely looked at the back of his own hand for a moment.

Were we to expect your arrival? Maritimus asked suddenly as Sylv's attention returned, and the Legio IX optio politely cocked his head to one side slightly. I apologise if so; correspondence is haphazard at best at sea. You have come alone?

I am alone, Ser. I took a ship several days ahead of my legion, with merchants, though I do not know how far behind they are now - the seas have been calm, so hopefully not far. I believe word was sent of my pre-eminent arrival, though I don't know along which channels.

"Paving the way for Calidius, I suppose? Funny, though, that they'd send an optio of the third cohort."

Sylv laughed in a polite manner, and the gathered centurions made sure to laugh as well, except the young recliner, who merely gave the hint of a luxurious smirk. I am sorry my rank disappoints, Ser!

This made the primus pilus laugh loudly. Not at all! Merely a mark of the respect your legion holds for you, I am sure.

"You honour me, Ser. I am, as you say, only an optio of the third cohort."

Hm. Suddenly, Maritimus was squinting at him again; Sylv's expression remained cordially involved in the questioning, even as the manner of the room shifted back around the two of them. How long have you served...?

"Eleven terms as Calidius' optio, Ser, and six as evocatus in a different legion following my six munifex terms. I had recently been promoted to optio under my old centurion when he was killed in battle. I was not experienced enough at the time to take over his position, so rather than be demoted again I was transferred to centurion Calidius' legion. His optio had just been killed as well, you see. It has worked out well for both of us."

Finally, Maritimus' interest seemed to be sated, his attention wandering at the detailed answer - he nodded vaguely and smiled, and then waved his hand as if in dismissal. The best of luck to you - may Anteria grant you glory as it grants us its wealth and secrets. You are aware of the arrangements to be made, of course?

I believe I am awaited at a guest villa owned by a... Curtia Dorsuo? When my superiors arrive, I am sure you will discuss further our plans - mine are not the ears for such talk, and I will not waste your time further. Sylv bowed deeply to the primus pilus, who smiled and waved him off again.

"Very good. Centurions of Legio XIII, optio Nigrum of Legio IX, dismissed."

Bows were bowed and salutes saluted when the slight differentiations in rank demanded it, and Sylv turned toward the door to make his way out. And, quite by chance it would seem from both of their casual gaits, he came on the way to be walking alongside the young centurion.

Are you going to start with a quip about my foot-washing, to show you're onto my tricks and morally in charge, or about his simpering, to show you're on my side and willing to participate? Sylv asked quietly, and the young centurion laughed softly as they both paused to allow a more senior officer through the door first.

"Culus. I had it perfectly prepared and had even drawn my breath to speak."

Ah, my apologies, Sylv murmured, inclining his head slightly. I suppose the effect would be lost now. Perhaps we should organise a rota of who quips first at each meeting? That way neither party should be offended.

Perhaps. It is a diplomatic solution.

They were allowed passage through the doorway, and took it together with a slight bow to the man who had let them through. In the foyer, Sylv turned toward the main doors back into the fortress yard, and the centurion adjusted seamlessly so that it had clearly also been his intention all along. He spoke again as the others talked and went back to business around them.

Now, I know your name, I know your rank, I know your associates, and I suppose our next play is to ascertain how much more I know than that.

Your town is fucking decrepit, isn't it, Sylv said, voice bright, and the young centurion smirked with a quiet sound. His green eyes flashed as he glanced across the room.

If you are who and how you are said to be, he said, still careless and casual, then you will already know the man you want. I assume you aren't too tired after your journey? I shall see you there tonight.

I await it eagerly.

Now now, I still have a foot-washing quip to hand; don't appear too keen, or I shall have to shame you with it.

"Mm, I think the timing is a little past its peak now. If you had already succeeded in placing the quip, a follow-up now would be perfect; alone, I fear it would fall short of its intended power. Ah - before I leave you, I must ask, Velleius Annalis, post-effect permission to borrow one of your munifex, Iratus Divites. I charged him with the handling of my luggage to the guest villa."

Just for a fraction of a second, Velleius Annalis' eyes widened. His smirk was fixed as if his mind was trying to process and decide what to do with his face. Sylv met his gaze innocently; like most men, Velleius Annalis was a little taller, and he shook his head a degree to either side in wonderment as he squinted at the optio.

Then his smile returned to its clever unaffected twist, and as they exited into the yard his eyes looked all around and anywhere for a moment but at Sylv. "Divites? An... Interesting choice. Just entering his final term as munifex - chose conscription over amputation of his hand, you know."

With one hand, Sylv gestured to Rom to join them. The dog surged to his paws and pressed close to his master's side, and Sylv's fingers brushed the top of his head in greeting, but the golden eyes were fixed firmly on Velleius Annalis, and Rom's shoulders were stiff as they continued.

I'm sure three years under your command has changed his ways.

Velleius let out a little laugh. "I'm sure. Now, I imagine you must attend to your things and rest before this evening, and I have business with which to deal. Ave, optio Nigrum."

"Ave, Ser."

As they parted ways, Velleius Annalis shook his head again and murmured, just loud enough for Sylv to hear in the empty principium yard, "Cunnus..."

It was late afternoon now, and the fortress was busier as patrols came and went and guard rotas swapped; Sylv began to head toward the main gate, only for Rom to tense in sudden warning just a moment later.

Apparently ignoring the dog - as he was prone to; sometimes Rom tried to make his signals more obvious, when his master was apparently completely unable to see the threat he was warning him about, but at other times their communication was seamless, and Rom could never quite tell whether he was doing well or not - Sylv carried on. After a few seconds, a man stepped out of the pattern of the fortress work, and promptly came before Rom.

He stepped back into the pattern of the fortress work.

A few seconds after that - Sylv slowed down to give him time - he re-appeared on the other side, Rom eyeing him begrudgingly and Sylv staring innocently ahead. Sylv corrected his pace back to its normal stride, forcing the man to skip for a second to remain in-step.

"I know a lot about you, Syl. Atrox Nigrum, he declared in a loud whisper, and Sylv raised one brow as he continued toward the gate. There has been... Talk. I know your associates in the last city you served in went out of business while your profits surged, but that they could never tie the blame to you. I know you came ahead of your legion to scope this shit-trench out and get your roots in before anyone else could get a look. I know you've been an optio for six long, long years. That your centurion keeps you there. That you must be as restless and underappreciated as..."

The mysterious whisperer seemed to have gotten carried away and gone off-script. For a moment he hesitated, and then he cleared his throat and found solid ground again as they neared the main fortress gate.

We deserve better than this. I believe we are alike, Nigrum. The man you want is Aemilius Germanus. And... Well, I'm sure you know already that I am P. Gratius Camillus. I'll see you soon, I do not doubt it.

And then, with an excessive grace so overwrought it circled right back into clumsiness, P. Gratius Camillus sidled back into the crowd of the fortress' shift changes, all of which moved out of his way and eyed him uncertainly.

Sylv checked out with the guard on the gate. When Gratius Camillus vanished from sight, Rom gave a derisive sneeze.

Quite, Sylv agreed softly, and rubbed the dog's head again before they set off down the hill.

III

Until Gratius Camillus' excitement, Sylv hadn't been absolutely certain. Now, he made one further journey through the town to ease any doubt, and then set off toward the far side of the harbour. The villa of Curtia Dorsuo, he had been advised, was a little way east out of the main town. With evening not far away, the shadow of the fortress and its hill covered the harbour-town; only beyond it, where the worked land of the town gave way to rolling grassy hills and sharp cliffs, did evening light still glow. As Sylv left the town, Rom as tense as ever at his master's side in this unfamiliar land, the outline of the Curtia Dorsuo guest villa was written in gold. The shadow of the night followed them so that by the time they reached it, the walls were grey.

The path here was unpaved and showed little sign of use. The stable was dilapidated, and from here the scorched edge of the forest was visible. The wind off the sea was bitter, and with the sun gone the air stung with late autumn. The walls and roof of this villa were, like all the buildings, a little worn and a little salt-stained. Past the stable was the just-visible edge of what may have been a vegetable garden, too overgrown to be certain.

Unpausing, Sylv moved straight to the outer door and knocked.

From inside came sounds of hurried movement, and then footsteps. The door opened after just a few seconds, and warm light spilled out into the gloom - before the woman in the doorway could even speak, there was the sound of skittering narrow