And the further Varius went, the less he recognized what the city had become.
But, of course, he did: the place he’d fought for so long to protect was now itself a battlefield.
It always had been, he realized. But not like this. Blood and rubble in the streets, screams of anguish rending the smoke-filled air.
By the time he reached the densest part of the inner-city action, soldiers within the city had broken into desperate segments as citizens hurled boiling pitch at them from behind houses, poured it from roofs.
Varius’ pride in his people swelled. He’d reported on the tactics of sorcerous traps to the patricians, absolutely. But not only to them, and Aurelian citizens wouldn’t simply lie down and take whatever Caius Sobanus thought they deserved.
He got his own golem between a barrage of pitch and soldiers, defending them. Then as the soldiers began to cheer their good fortune, he directed the golems toward them.
One step. Two.
The soldiers froze.
Varius almost did too.
Then he did what he always did: he steeled himself, and braced for impact.
And so he popped the top of his golem long enough to yell in an instantly recognizable voice that had carried over countless battlefields, “LEGIONS, DISPERSE!”
A beat, where he could practically feel their fear and confusion keeping them immobile.
And then his soldiers—hissoldiers—the ones who’d followed him from the border, took matters into their own hands.
They didn’t help their fellows reform a shield wall to deploy against the citizens.
They ran in and herded their compatriots away.
Following his orders, even now.
The only reason Varius didn’t cry was his body was too caught up in the sorcery of managing a clay army.
An elderly woman with long gray hair, soot covering her hands and face, and an absolutely furious expression stepped out from behind a corner.
“Varius, you had better have a godscursed good explanation for this!” Fabiana hollered at him.
Ha! He knew it. Exultation filled him, relief fast on its heels.
They would be okay. With or without him, they would be okay.
Varius had been practicing with Theira, but it was hard to make a golem’s bow ironic. He must have managed well enough, though, because the old woman snorted, scowled, and promptly snagged a passing soldier by the arm.
“You! Get started gathering the wounded.”
The soldier froze—all of them did—turning as one to the golem Varius’ voice had come from.
No help for it. At least he was wearing his armor this time.
Varius popped the top again, hauled himself up, and pointed at the soldier in question. “Do whatever the hell she says and thank her for the privilege. You destroyed this city, you will earn back the right to call it yours.”
He cast his legatus stare—the one Theira had so recently mocked him for—around every soldier he could see.
Until, one after another, they saluted him.
Not forsaking him.
Theira wouldn’t have done more than raise an eyebrow at him, but that was Theira.
