Once the all clear was called, a lone figure stalked down the gangplank, his long legs eating up the distance.
King Cyrius Alexus looked around the ruins of Heraklion with disdain.
Nothing like the evidence of failure to make him wince.
Lochagos Aurelius approached him and saluted with his remaining hand.
“Your Highness,” he said.
“Lochagos,” The king acknowledged. “Did you find them?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she began. “But—”
“But? But, what, soldier?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
“Your Grace, I don’t think you will want to see—”
Aurelius’ voice cut off as the crack of the King’s palm striking his cheek echoed through the courtyard. It would be a twin to the bruise already blossoming on the opposite cheek.
“Do not presume to know what your King will or will not want to see, Lochagos,” he said icily. “I’ve already demoted you for your part in this debacle. Don’t make me re-evaluate the decision not to make you a eunuch. Show me.”
Aurelius swallowed hard and bowed his head to hide the anger in his eyes, the bandaged stump of his hand held tightly to his side.
The King followed the Lochagos to the courtyard. The ground was covered with piles of ash and bones. From the number of skeletons remaining, the King estimated that there were at least thirty or so bodies arranged in the square. Illyrians burned the bodies of their opponents in honor of their bravery.
Only one body remained unburnt, covered only by a blanket with an Alexandrian house logo on it. Aurelius’, if he wasn’t mistaken, brought from the transport. A pile of fluttering pieces of cloth clustered next to it.
Curious, the king knelt and examined the fragments. Each was a rectangle of dark cloth about two inches long and one inch high. He picked up one of them and unfolded it. In his palm lay the crest of Alexandria. He looked at the others and saw a smattering of Greek and New Roma emblems as well.
His fist clenched the piece of cloth tightly. They were the emblems sewn to the Mageian uniforms for the Machi.
“Is that it?” he demanded, his tone icy.
“No, sir,” the Lochagos said. He moved to the blanket covered lump, hesitating only a moment before jerking it back.
Maalik’s face stared sightlessly ahead. His arms and legs were laid on the ground in front of him, separated from his torso. One hand grotesquely held an envelope. An envelope with his name on it.
Cyrius knelt and took the envelope from the cold, stiff fingers of his dead son, the only child of his blood to have developed Elusian powers.
He opened the envelope and pulled out the paper, unfolding it slowly.
Cyrius,
Maalik was your son, but he was never our brother.
All your children should have mattered to you.
The world will know Alexandria’s treachery.
-
By him saved, and by him bound
The truth shall rise and now be found
The tiger stalks its ancient prey
Heed now the Keepers of the Way.
