“I’ll make sure I get word to you.”
Tanrius smiles tightly. His eyes weary. Not like the men I’ve fought over these past weeks, maddened with greed or bloodlust or in some cases, simply lust. He really is just trying to find a man he thinks is dangerous. The man he blames for tearing his world apart. Hard not to feel for him, in that moment. “Stronger together, Catenicus.”
“Stronger together, Tanrius.” I shut the door behind him and wait a long ten seconds before sliding to the floor. A release of tension more than from pain or exhaustion, now. Kadmos’s tea is doing its work.
I discard the robe, grimacing at the blood seeping through Kadmos’s hasty bandaging. Check my metal shards are still hidden beneath the bench, then pull on the tunic the Dispensator gave me, and make my way stiffly into the atrium. The wound needs stitches, but it can wait a little longer.
“Well done, Master Vis,” says Kadmos quietly. There’s a cautious question behind the praise.
“You as well, Kadmos.” I move limbs experimentally, trying to decide what’s stiff and what’s injured. “Do you need me to explain?”
“No.” He inhales, then gives me a light squeeze on the shoulder. “And I won’t say anything.”
I nod. Put respect and gratitude into the motion, expecting the statement though I was.
“Then let’s go and greet our guest,” I say wearily.
LXVI
THE DOOR TO ULCISCOR’S WINDOWLESS OFFICE SLIDESopen at a click of the Will key, revealing the man sitting comfortably in an armchair in the corner. He stirs at my wary entrance, holds up his hands in a gesture of genial surrender as he stands. A big man, taller than me as he unwinds his length. Broad-shouldered and muscular, pale and blond. A braided beard. A silver torc at his neck. “Catenicus. My name is Baine Breac. You know me?”
I examine him. “I know Eidhin. I also know you are a Quintus in Military.”
“Quartus, actually.”
“That wasn’t the important part.”
He smiles slightly, nodding. “I am not here for them.” His Common is exceptional. Barely any trace of the accent that Eidhin has. “Quite the opposite.”
I squint at him. No telling if he’s being truthful about the rest of it, but I can see Eidhin in every line and motion. “Alright.” A quick focus on my sense of Will confirms he’s a Quartus. Gods’ graves. If he wants to hurt me, I’m not going to be able to do much about it.
Baine says nothing for a moment, and I get the impression his cool assessment sees a lot. “My son has talked of you. Not much, because we do not talk much,” he concedes heavily. “But he has an admiration of you. A respect. That is why I am here.”
Direct. Simple. It reminds me so much of Eidhin. This is the man who taught him. Who raised him to be the man he is.
And who, according to my friend, betrayed everything he believed when he submitted to the Hierarchy.
“First, though, Catenicus,” Baine adds, “it seems you have an injury that needs tending.”
Kadmos grunts, spotting the increasingly large patch of crimson staining my fresh tunic. “Rotting gods, Master Vis,” he mutters in disgust, pressing me into a seat. “Don’t get it on the chair. I’ll be back shortly.”
He vanishes, and Baine and I watch each other. Me wary, the large man entirely relaxed. My injury is more irritation than pain now, Kadmos’s tea aseffective as always. “Have you spoken to Eidhin, since this all began?” I ask eventually.
“Briefly. We are both under the command of Princeps Redivius.” He sees my need for more. “He is alive, Catenicus. For now.”
He falls silent as Kadmos returns, evidently wishing this conversation to remain a private one. I’m reluctant to show the extent of my injuries to Baine, but the alternative is leaving him alone again, so I strip off once again and allow Kadmos to work needle and thread.
As the Dispensator fusses beneath his breath, Baine starts talking about the news he’s heard from outside of Caten. Some of it Tertius Ericius has already apprised me on, but not all. Redivius is one of four former Quartii to declare themselves the rightful Princeps of Military; he commands only a single legion—five thousand Sextii—but has them in by far the best position, ensconced now barely a day north of the city. Only a fraction of the Septimii and Octavii in those pyramids are encamped with the army, so the lush senator-owned estates up there will easily support his troops for a while.
Kadmos soon finishes his stitching and rebandaging—the wound is, all told, not bad—and glances askance at me. I hand him the dregs of my tea with a reassuring nod, and dismiss him.
“So you’re here because Eidhin’s in trouble,” I say as soon as the door closes. Our conversation thus far has left me in no doubt that Baine genuinely wants my help: as Tertius Ericius’s man, I’ve been privy to many of the discussions around our intelligence, and Baine’s information is more up to date than anything Governance and Religion have. But if he was here to defect, he wouldn’t be talking to me. Which leaves only one real conclusion.
“Yes. Redivius is intending to attack the city tomorrow night. A few hours before dawn. He’s arranged for a diversionary force to hit the docks first, and though he would deny it, he sees the Cymrians under his command as more expendable than Catenans. Eidhin will be in the first wave.”
Vek. It’s not a completely unexpected move from Redivius: he has to act before the larger armies of the other Quartii get here, and he knows holding Caten will give him a stronghold with ample food stockpiles, legitimacy, plus—probably most importantly—access to the treasury, so that he can actually pay his men. And while Governance and Religion have endorsed Quartus Laurentius, it’s really only because his single legion was already in Caten, and as a bonus he’s been willing to negotiate. It won’t matter that Redivius’s name is on the listof traitors signed by his former Princeps. If he defeats Laurentius’s forces and takes Caten, the Senate will almost certainly choose to recognise him over the alternative.
“Wait. The docks? How are they getting there if the chain … oh.”
