Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) (24 page)

He pulled away, returning to marching attention. They’d reached the end of the bridge. This side was in much worse shape, having lost its gentle slope up from the land and instead ending in a sheer drop. The group dispersed into a single line to climb down the rickety wooden ramp.

A handful of floodlights came on all at once, lighting the base of the bridge in fluorescent brilliance. Victory shielded her eyes with a gasp, and Sethri caught her elbow before she lost her balance. But she recovered quickly, blinking away the afterglow.

These Romans moved fast. Military efficiency had improved over the past hundred years. Soldiers scurried about, setting up tables and chairs under an open-sided pavilion at the tree line.

The party stopped and waited until preparations were complete. Victory tried to catch her new friend’s attention, but he’d found himself a place on the other side of the group. That was okay. She had the information she’d been hoping for. Digging for more might cause trouble.

On an unspoken signal, the setup crew faded back into the trees, and the soldiers escorted them forward to the pavilion. Sethri took the seat in the middle of the three arrayed on one side of the long table. Victory took her cue from Max, and he solved the problem by taking the seat on the right. She placed herself on Sethri’s left, flipping aside her long coat to sit, and the three settled in.

With little fanfare, an older soldier approached the pavilion, emerging from the dark trees flanked by two bodyguards. He wore a fancier uniform than the various styles of fatigues and forest garb his subordinates sported, but little in the way of medals or ribbons. Victory recognized the single immediate sign of rank: the small bronze eagles pinned to his collar. A general, though not the highest rank she’d ever seen. He still might be the most experienced in the colonies, evidenced by his blond hair silvering at the temples, despite his apparent age. About the same age as Max, she guessed.

So this was the man who assaulted and threatened her daughter. Not much to look at. She could take him, but alas, now was not the time.

Sethri stood when Octavian reached them, though neither she nor Max followed suit. Both men clasped hands over the table, but it didn’t look like either sank to the level of trying to best grips. She already knew Sethri was too professional for such a thing, though it raised Octavian’s status in her mind. But not by much.

“Welcome. I’m General Julius Octavian. Please, have a seat.” Both men did so, and another officer sat next to Octavian.

He gave Victory a small nod, and she returned it with no more than a thin smile. Let Sethri play at making friends. She was too busy not lunging across the table and ripping Octavian’s throat out.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sethri said. “I’m Head Councilman Alexander Sethri, representing the interests of the city Limani and its denizens. With me are Mercenary Guildmaster Maximilian Asher and Master of the City Victory.”

Ah, her pointless title, when the majority of the time she was the sole vampire living in Limani. She’d never felt default counted. Sethri was pulling out the big guns tonight. It worried her that he felt he needed them.

Now Octavian smiled, a big grin filled with warmth. Victory didn’t buy it for a second. “An honor. Your reputations precede you.”

“Yes, we are quite fond of our more famous residents,” Sethri said. “But they’ve accompanied me as fellow councilmembers. I believe we have much to discuss tonight.”

“I completely agree,” Octavian said. “For instance, the attack staged against my men two nights ago.”

“Attack?” Sethri traded looks with Max and Victory, but she had no idea what Octavian was talking about either. “Are you referring to the incident that resulted in two Limani citizens being taken prisoner by your men?”

“I am.” Octavian took the slip of paper his aide handed to him. “Mr. Asaron and Mr. Nalamas trespassed on Roman territory. They are also responsible for killing one of my men and severely injuring two more.”

A surge of pride filled Victory. Toria hadn’t known how much damage they caused, but she knew her guys wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Since when has crossing the Agios River constituted trespass?” Sethri lifted his briefcase onto the table and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “According to the trade agreements established in 2094, passage between lands was unrestricted to travelers by foot, horseback, or small vehicle with no goods intended for sale. I’ve marked the passage here.”

He began to hand it to Octavian, but the general brushed it away. “Thank you. We have our own copies.”

“So what has changed?” Sethri set the papers on the table. “And what can we do to reach a peaceful solution to whatever problem there is?”

“Let me give it to you straight,” Octavian said. “You are aware of the change in command in Roma?”

“The Emperor is dead, yes,” Sethri said. “And that the new Emperor is not one the senators approve of.”

Now Asaron’s inside information from down south would come in handy. Victory awaited Octavian’s response to that one. They would see where the man fell in the political game, and then they would have more influence over the situation. Sethri might be the expert, but she’d been around longer.

“The new Emperor is the old one’s nephew, yes,” Octavian said. “Benedictus is...an interesting character.”

Considering the Emperor was the official head of the Roman military, it made sense for Octavian not to speak out against him. But Victory perked up when the general did not jump to his immediate defense.

“Tell me, one soldier to another,” she said. “How much military experience does this Benedictus have, anyway?”

“He is a decorated admiral in the Roman Navy,” Octavian’s aide said. “And graduated from the Venetian Military Academy in the top third of his class.”

“We all know the royals get commissions when they’re barely out of diapers,” Max said. “Titles and medals don’t tell us how much experience he has.”

While the aide looked pained, Octavian relented. “The new Emperor is nineteen years old. To my knowledge, his stints aboard a warship have been nothing more than pleasure cruises.”

Now they were making progress. “I understand that,” Victory said. “Especially since military experience has never been a prerequisite for emperorship like it is for the prime minister position in Britannia.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why all of a sudden he seems to want Limani,” Sethri said.

Now Octavian clammed up. Stalemate. Victory’s turn again.

“The latest rumors from Fort Caroline,” she said, “were that your new emperor needs to prove his worth and make a name for himself.”

The aide’s expression grew icy, but Octavian remained aloof. “The emperor merely has plans for expansion.”

His own voice cold to match, Sethri said, “Have the British been consulted regarding these plans? One of the major clauses of the Revised Treaty of 2072 insists Limani remain an independent city-state.”

“I feel it only fair that we know what the Romans have ceded to the British in return for our lands,” Max said.

“The Empire of Roma has ceded nothing,” Octavian said. “To my knowledge, the British have not been consulted.”

Time to break out her knowledge of the Roman political structure. “What does the Senate have to say about the emperor’s actions?” Victory said. “Don’t they have to approve major military offensives?”

“To my knowledge,” Octavian said again, his voice more hesitant now, “the Senate has approved all of the Emperor’s plans currently being enacted.”

More than anything else she had encountered or heard in the past few days, that statement chilled Victory’s already cool blood. A truism that had held solid for centuries stated that if you wanted a good plan to be destroyed without bloodshed, give it to the Roman Senate to pick over. She caught Max’s eye behind Sethri’s head. She read his visible shock and imagined she looked much the same.

The Senate hadn’t even wanted this emperor. Why would they all of a sudden let him ride roughshod over established treaties and policies? While she was usually happy that an ocean separated the New Continent from Europa, now she lamented the fact. The soldier earlier had brought up old memories of a war long lost. If she’d been in Castille or Aragonia or even Britannia, it would have been child’s play to travel to Roma to find out what the hell was going on. But now they knew next to nothing, with no time to send an operative overseas to remedy their lack of information.

Through it all, Sethri seemed unfazed. “Then I hope you will not find it amiss if I take steps to inform the British of your plans? In fact, any information you can give me regarding those plans, such as a tentative timeline, would be greatly appreciated.”

“I’m afraid that would be impossible,” Octavian said.

Now the smarmy smile that’d made Toria’s skin crawl appeared, and Victory didn’t blame her daughter for getting the creeps.

“Fair enough,” Sethri said. “It is understandable that such plans might still be in the fluid stage.”

Max sat up straight in his chair, and Victory found her hand drifting to the place where her sword hilt belonged. Sethri remained calm. She would have been over the table in a second had she still been armed and not surrounded by dozens of Roman soldiers.

“Returning to the subject of your prisoners, then,” Sethri said. “What sort of ransom were you expecting?”

“Ransom?” Octavian settled back in his chair, the relaxed air returning. The smile became less nasty and more confident. “I believe you are mistaken.”

“You are holding a vampire with almost two thousand years of combat experience and master Mercenary Guild status as well as one half of a warrior-mage pair with journeyman status,” Sethri said. “We are prepared to offer a substantial sum for their returns.”

Whatever it was, Victory would pay it without question. But she had a feeling this solution would be too easy.

Proving her right, Octavian said, “While your offer is both heartfelt and expected, I’m afraid I cannot negotiate their return. Their presence would be more advantageous to you at this time than your money would be to us.”

“As the Guildmaster for Limani,” Max said, “I must remind you that refusing to accept ransom for Guildmembers can incur the Roman Army a substantial fine.”

Slamming a hand down on this pile of papers, the aide said, “The Roman army does not hire mercenaries. We employ honest soldiers.”

The Mercenary Guild of the New Continent had stricter policies than did the old-fashioned Guild system still used in Europa. If this aide was not a native, his prejudices were understandable. Victory had seen the best and worst the occupation had to offer over the centuries. “No one is disputing the integrity of the Roman army,” she said. “However, the men you hold are not enemy soldiers. Whether you like it or not, if you’re going to fight Limani, you’re going to have to deal with mercenaries.”

“And that requires you abide by Guild rules,” Sethri said. He opened the briefcase again to remove a different set of papers. “Here are the Guild’s ransom protocols to be used when the opposing sides are countries, instead of individuals or business organizations.” He handed them across the table to the aide, who plucked them from Sethri’s hand as if expecting the paperwork to bite him.

Octavian took the papers and scanned down the first page. “While I’m sure there are established procedures for such situations, I’m still afraid I can’t ransom my prisoners.” He placed the sheaf on the table and looked back at them.

Stalemate, once again. This was going nowhere, fast. Victory thought even faster. “You realize how few options this leaves us.”

Octavian nodded, once. “I do.”

“Then tell us this,” Max said. “Is Rome planning to invade Limani?”

The aide looked about to grab Octavian’s arm, but he held back. Ignoring him, Octavian said, “Yes.”

And that was their cue to get the hell out while the going was good. Victory stood, followed immediately by Max. “Then we thank you for your hospitality and will take our leave now,” she said. “Sethri?”

Securing his briefcase, Sethri rose to his feet. The aide laughed, saying, “You think we’re going to let you three walk out of here? Guards!”

“No,” Octavian said, remaining in his seat. “They came in peace. We will let them go in peace.” He gestured to the guards the aide had summoned to join them. “Please escort our guests back to their vehicle and return their weapons.”

Victory exchanged bemused looks with Max. And here she’d expected to take on the entire force to make it back out. They might stand a chance of getting home yet.

She looked over her shoulder once while they walked back toward the bridge. Octavian stood watching them leave. She caught his eyes, forcing him to look away.

Stillness reigned in the apartment. The candle flames held a hint of flicker, and the magical sigils burned with steady light. Toria couldn’t tell whether Syri even breathed.

The elven girl’s exploratory presence in her mind stabilized. Her brain no longer felt like a ransacked room, but rather the subject of a scientific and methodical search. If she hadn’t spent the last ten years of her life preparing for long workings like this one, Toria’s back and rear end would be screaming in agony. Instead, she compartmentalized the discomfort in an area Syri had already passed over, dismissing it from her mind.

But while she could ignore the physical discomfort, her impatience and anticipation were another story. She understood the necessity of Syri getting this just right. That didn’t mean she could stay calm about it. When would she get to talk to Kane?

Soon.
Syri’s lips didn’t move, but she picked up on Toria’s thoughts and responded to them.
Wait, never mind. Now.

With little ceremony, the room around Toria winked out of existence. Blackness engulfed her. Before she had time to panic, the image of a different location altogether swam into view. But now she looked with another’s sight.

The world lay tilted, and she saw the inside of a canvas structure from the perspective of one lying on their side. Backlit silhouettes patterned the canvas of a small, enclosed pavilion. A second cot sat on the other side of the tiny space, this one empty except for a few rumpled blankets.

More silhouettes passed outside the tent, human-sized ones. Now volume faded in, the distinct sounds Toria knew accompanied an encampment full of military personnel with no immediate plans and under no direct threat.