The Shadow's Glare (The War Gryphon Saga Book 4), page 3
“Everyone ready?” Martius looked over the men.
“We’re flying into a trap,” Anshas muttered a bit too loudly.
No one reacted to the response. Everyone was used to Anshas playing up his dour nature and Martius even found his own grin growing at the words.
“All right, then,” he said to the others. “Let’s fly at last.”
Men ran to their mounts and Martius waited for each to lift off. He nodded to each as they snapped their war gryphons into flight. Even Anshas threw a content grin back his way. Ponderas let out a screech as she leaped with her wings stretched out and flapping to power them away.
Clavius was the last besides Phalas and Archus. The newest air captain still diligently worked on Ptolemas’s saddle. He threw a smile Martius’s way as he finished with the final straps. He was fully adapted to the air cavalry ways now, if a bit slow with the mundane tasks of the unit.
Martius nodded and then kicked Avorian into motion to follow the others. He didn’t need the reins and kept his balance with only his thighs tight to Avorian’s side. The deconstructed camp fell away below them and Martius saw the column of infantry legionnaires from the vanguard marching south. Hope and pride and desire swelled up within his chest and he blinked back a brief bit of moisture from his eyes. The wetness had come from the rush of cold air at higher altitudes—they certainly weren’t tears—but he couldn’t deny the love of the legion burning brightly within him.
He was home. If Avorian was present and the army was marching to another adventure, he could be at peace.
Like Curia’s legionnaires trekking to Memnas before, Martius flew for glory. They would crush their new enemies. The rider would face off against Air Captain Goras and take revenge for Carnassus and everything every rebel had done to the empire.
They would win for Talia.
The thought of the empress briefly turned his mind to the north, far away from the legion’s task. Talia would be in the capital and would bury her father soon and begin to lead Belgada. There was much fighting still to go before she was safe.
All of this, the marching and the future fighting and Martius’s worries, were for her. She would be safe if they could win this war. And perhaps Martius would return to her and be able to visit the palace and Avorian could fly with Axias on a bright spring day in peacetime.
But first, they had to find their enemy.
Chapter 3
The wind blew over the hills and rustled the petals of the wildflowers and the cloaks of the citizens gathered on the slopes. Talia’s lower lip quivered along with the fluttering. She fought to hold it steady, but her breath kept catching and her composure grew more difficult with each passing moment.
The procession with her father’s body trudged closer among the hills toward a hole with a mound of dirt beside it. The fields here covered the remains of all great Belgadans. Consuls, senators, generals, and emperors all fertilized the soil together, providing rolling fields of bright flowers as a reminder of the greatness of the past. Titus, Talia’s father and the fourteenth emperor of the Belgadan Empire, would be the next to grace the realm below the dirt.
Talia hadn’t had the strength to look upon her father’s dead body or his cold face since her return to the city. The palace medical staff had offered, the healers beckoning her up to the emperor’s quarters, but she had refused each time. The daughter didn’t want that image in her memories. Visions of him in his sickbed from before were bad enough. She fought to pull forward memories from her childhood in his healthy days to dominate her mind instead.
Titus was always joyful, interested in learning something new every day. Reading and gardening. Growing vines and bright flowers on the palace terraces. Worrying about his citizens.
He was a great parent. She would miss him, and so would the empire.
These were all words that could be spoken over the gathered throngs here to remind them, inspire them. But Talia wouldn’t speak. The gathering was silent. All eyes tracked the Aptorian Guards who carried the pallet with Titus’s body. He was covered in a cloth, shrouded from Talia’s eyes. The wind blew over the blanket but didn’t move the tight fabric. It was still and dead like the body underneath.
Gryphons perched on the hilltops behind the crowds. Some of the beasts stood alone, stretching out wings and rustling head feathers. Others sat with reins held by their riders. Talia sought out Axias and located her quickly at the very center of the gathering but apart from the lesser mounts around her. The imperial mount sat back on her haunches, neck erect, and stared at Talia, her eyes never wavering. She fretted about the empress.
Everyone worried for the empire. There was a new civil war and generals and senators fighting over the power her father had left behind. The imperial seat would pass to Talia if the capital would have her. Axias wanted more than anything to protect her rider from that inevitable and heavy burden.
Talia snapped her jaw shut to fend off more quivering behind her lips. She strengthened her spine and set her shoulders just as her father’s procession passed. Her hardened eyes stared at the mound under the cloth and she valiantly fended off all emotion.
She would be strong and prove to the citizens, most especially the nobles gathered, that she was worthy of her father’s throne. Were the Tyrhian Captain Halys in Talia’s position, the warrior would present a wall of strength. Talia would do the same.
Composure was what the empire needed. Air Captain Martius and General Gaius and the loyal legions fought to secure her place atop the empire. The least she could do was fight for them here in the rear within the palace.
She could put up that façade, at least for the funeral. What she would do afterward, when it was finally time to lead and take control and order senators and legions about, she didn’t know. Talia wanted more than anything for someone to talk to about this, like the understanding ear of Martius. But there were too many pressing issues, great and pertinent all, crowding her mind and the brave air captain was far, far away.
Shifting came from Talia’s right as the former emperor’s pallet approached its final destination. Talia turned her head and looked up at the towering form of Verstappas, her personal Aptorian.
The bodyguard had refused the honor of carrying the emperor with the guards. He hadn’t explained his reasoning, but Talia could understand his shame at Titus’s assassination under his watch. The Aptorian had also taken a vow to protect Talia at all costs and wouldn’t leave her side when outside the palace.
The dissonance with this action was that he also didn’t carry a sword. It was some ancient stubbornness from where he was born: the Scipian Mountains in the far south holding the passes to the Rantum Empire.
The guard only carried a shield loose down at his side, his bulging left arm twitching every so often under the weight. His armor was freshly shined without dents or scratches. The guard must be sweltering in the sunlight, even with the cool breeze. But the man showed no weakness. He never wavered.
Talia had lost track of the funeral proceedings. She focused back on the pallet and found that her heart beat as stiffly as the Aptorians moved. They strained under the weight and their arms shuddered as they stopped by the hole and lowered him to the ground. The body stayed tightly wrapped in white.
Talia thought she spotted a lock of long hair fall out from under the bundle. But it was only for a moment and the sight was gone quickly as the guards lifted the body and walked it to the grave.
Her father was rolled into the hole and was gone. Talia closed her eyes and the world left her for a moment. There was only her sadness along with the soft glow of Axias’s presence. When her eyes reopened, she didn’t look at the grave and the Aptorians shoveling dirt on the body. She glanced up the hill and found her mount, stoic and strong. Faithful. Sturdy.
Gryphons were adept at mourning. They needed space and time, but they processed their emotions efficiently. Each mount moved to their next bonding. They held memories close to their heart while flying into their next journey.
Talia didn’t see how she’d ever get over this loss.
All about her were the nobles of Belgada. They feigned sadness. All schemed for ways to get her off the throne.
Her family had been torn apart, from within and without.
Talia couldn’t let the entire line crumble. The Lentilians wouldn’t be pushed aside.
She blinked and failed to keep a drop of moisture from escaping her eyes. It tumbled down her cheek and dropped to the dirt. The Aptorians packed the dirt down level with their boots and raked it to be organized and clean.
The surrounding wildflowers rustled in the wind. Talia’s father was gone.
The crowd dispersed and sound returned to the world with their murmurings and chatter that only grew the farther they moved from the grave. Talia stayed rigid with Verstappas and everyone gave them a wide berth. As the last of the nobles trickled away, Axias came down the hillside and trotted up to Talia. Verstappas didn’t object as the princess mounted and kicked her gryphon into the sky and left him behind. Talia looked at the clouds, away from her father’s fresh grave. They soared over the fields that grew from Belgada’s past heroes and headed back toward the city.
Axias probed gently at Talia’s emotions and took a looping scenic route back to the palace. The hills jutted from the expanse of the city in the distance.
They swept over farm fields and a military outpost used for training. There was a quarry they circled and looked down into and then swept low over the fields of flickering wheat just beyond.
There was a farm complex, a barn and a series of store rooms and a house. A little girl sat on the front steps of the homestead and stared up at the gryphon as they flew over. She waved, unaware of who rode the majestic beast, and smiled without a worry in the world.
Talia longed to be that girl. They could switch places and others could lead and Talia could live in peace with Axias. But the rulers of Belgada needed to be worthy. They needed to protect citizens like little girls on quiet farms.
That was Talia’s burden. Her charge.
The left the fields and flew over the city’s outer walls and higher over the slums and the towering complexes of the wealthy before banking around the Hill of Belgadus and climbing to the gryphon tower at the top of the imperial palace.
The gryphons around the terrace pool scattered to give space and then reconvene to greet Axias, social and happy. Talia dismounted and pushed through the crowd of gryphons. Her walk was stilted as she entered the palace. Her muscles were tight. The halls stood dark and the building closed in around her. She made her way to her quarters and dwelt on her first actions as empress.
* * *
Movement kept Talia’s mind from crumbling. She imagined this was how Halys and the Tyrhians dealt with stress. They wouldn’t allow it space to breathe. Those sea women were always moving and working and sailing toward their next destination. Talia couldn’t be as mobile, but she could act and try to find some momentum.
The palace compressed if she stayed in one room too long and the weight of the building and her father’s throne at its top was always present around her shoulders. But if she focused on her next task and tried to take the next step in the journey to consolidate power, she felt better and somehow more competent.
And this was all in her first few days.
Verstappas took long, slow strides beside her. Talia did her best to ignore the hulking figure.
She hadn’t thought of the Scipian as an oppressive shadow in a long while and she chided herself at the thought now. The bodyguard was good and strong and had been loyal to her family. He was still faithful to them and was an ally needed to keep the throne secure.
The palace hallways grew gloomier the deeper into the complex they descended. Talia couldn’t remember ever going down this far before. There was certainly no sane reason she would’ve visited the prison cells between the palace and the senate building.
All sorts of imperial enemies had been housed in this jail. The Sprawling Tyonix had rotted here after his defeat to General Attalus. Arces Curia and his conspirators were imprisoned after their betrayal of the then Emperor Attalus. There were others Talia would’ve learned about in her childhood lessons but had forgotten. Martius would know them by heart, of course.
The organized stone floors of the palace fell away to a rocky walkway, undulating with age. Two guards stood over a doorway wrought out of iron at the end. These soldiers held their long spears at their sides and their ceremonial senate armor glimmered brightly even in the low light. Their stern faces didn’t lift at the empress’s approach.
Verstappas stiffened. There was a rivalry between the Aptorians and the senatorial guard, Talia knew, the same as the senate and the emperors always clashed.
The door creaked open and a guard stepped out of the prison. He started at the sight of Talia, but then put on a grin worthy of the best thespians.
“Empress Talia, how nice to see,” he said. There was no greeting for Verstappas. “Your father’s funeral was lovely. So sorry for your loss, once again.”
Talia forced a smile in return. “Thank you, Captain Pythias.”
The guard finally took a glance at Verstappas, who stood a foot taller than him. The Aptorian’s advantage was height and reach, whereas the senate guard leader held power behind a stocky frame. Pythias seemed almost as wide as the door behind and just as strong as its iron.
This man led the senate guard and his personal qualms against Verstappas, a foreigner, did little to quell the tension in the room.
“What brings you to the cells this evening? This is no place for the imperial family.”
Talia open her mouth to respond, but Verstappas was quicker.
“Here to speak to the prisoner.”
He didn’t need to specify which one and thankfully Pythias didn’t play dumb.
“Don’t let him infect your mind.” Pythias shook his head and then held Talia with a hard stare. “He’s dangerous, Empress.”
Talia straightened her spine. “So are most men.”
Pythias betrayed the briefest of pauses, a startled silence.
“Yes, so they are,” Pythias said after a few blinks of his hard eyes. The guard took a step forward and stole another glare up at Verstappas.
In response to the movement, the Aptorian shifted in front of Talia, forcing Pythias to shift around him. Talia blinked and missed much of the movement, but she thought the two guards with spears by the door tensed, their grips tightening on the long weapons.
Pythias chuckled once he was around them and left without further words. Verstappas adjusted the shield on his larger left arm. He shook his head and faced the doorway. The remaining guards allowed them to enter.
Inside, the ceiling was low and the hallways cramped. Talia didn’t look forward to walking deeper into the cells. She set her eyes forward and made to push through her fears. But Verstappas held out an arm and directed her into a room right off the entrance hall. The prison guards would bring Bardylis to her.
Verstappas stood by the door of the new room and Talia paced to the far wall. There were torches here that cast flickering shadows but provided more light than the other parts of the dungeon. The pair didn’t have to wait long.
The consul who had led the rebellion against her father was escorted through the door. Talia’s breath caught in surprise. He wasn’t in chains. He wore a clean and freshly pressed toga instead.
His face was clear and just as bright as Talia remembered. His eyes were still sinister and scheming. No dirt graced his hands despite residing in this miserable place below the senate for months.
Talia thought he’d be treated much worse based on his crime and the enemy leaders she’d seen led through the streets in the past. But the man who’d murdered her father was at ease and in comfort.
“Empress,” Bardylis said, giving a bow of his head that was far from genuine.
“I see you’re being treated fairly.” Talia ignored his mocking with a jest of her own.
The fallen consul held out his hands to either side. “I am.”
Verstappas remained silent, looming between the captive and his empress. Talia had come down here for a reason but now she had trouble remembering it. Her mind swam and she soon realized there was anger bubbling up within her. A fire engulfed her emotions. Not even Axias, far above her, could help quell the rising sensation.
This was the man who conspired to overthrow and kill her father. He’d sent assassins into her family’s home and stabbed the ruler of Belgada in the back. This man schemed to capture Talia and imprison her. The empress still remembered the consul smirking at her on the deck of the prison ship.
Talia was lucky to have escaped that snare. This man was cunning; even behind bars he was dangerous.
“I came to ask you about your rebellion,” Talia said after a deep breath. “Why did you seek to overthrow my father? Why toss the empire into turmoil?”
“The same reason all the senators above us fight for power.” Bardylis waved a hand at the ceiling. “Same as all great men throughout history, all the way back to Harpalus and his generals.”
“Power,” Talia repeated. “You rebelled for more, even though you already had enough wealth and fame and…” Her voice trailed off. Its strength gone.
Bardylis scoffed. Then his mouth turned up into a sneer. “Don’t use that tone. This isn’t a disease, at least not a malicious one. Men striving for greatness is what makes the empire great. It’s what pushes us to further heights. Your father didn’t understand and neither do you.”
The empress swore she saw one of the escort guards behind Bardylis nod his head. A coldness gripped the base of her neck as her earlier anger receded. Bardylis could have friends remaining in this complex. Other men like him could target Talia’s own back with their knives.
