“I look forward to it, as do my legions. The last time we saw Darrow’s painted ravagers, they were splashing Mercury red with its sons and daughters. Not this time, I think.” He rips the spearhead out of his thigh and flings it away, jams a paste cauterizing gun into the wound, injects, listens to his flesh sizzle, and glares across the tarmac. “Missed the artery,” he says without looking over. “One can feel these things. Let us go see if the Grays need us.”
We cross the spaceport to Rhone’s command control. Demetrius and Drusilla land as well a few moments later. Fully kitted up in exo-armor they are neck and neck on the day for the legion’s kill tally. It’s kept on the legion’s cloud, and updated automatically by their helmet cams.
Drusilla salutes me. “Dominus,Kyber and Markus have freed a cacheof high-value prisoners in the Arbor of Akari. Moon Lords and a Raa. Gaia.”
Cicero turns.
“Gaia’s alive?” I ask as if surprised.
“Yes,dominus. Battered but healthy.”
Cicero breathes out in relief. “Thank Jove, a Raa survived. If their line dies out in this…”
“Why don’t I have a visual?” I ask.
“Signals are slagged in the city proper,” Demetrius drawls. “Ascomanni have tech. Had to rabbit this down the line.” That means the Praetorians are annoyed, privately, at delivering news I already knew. They want to get back to the hunt and get the legion bonus for slaughter-monger of the day. I didn’t know they had the bonus or the competition until two days ago, but recently I’ve been looking at the guard a little more thoroughly. I was glad to learn that Kyber, amongst a few others, doesn’t play their indecorous kill game.
“I’ll accompany you,dominus,” Rhone says, and passes his duties to a subordinate.
“You coming too?” I ask Cicero.
“No.” He turns toward the rifle-fire that still comes from the distant groves. “Less Grays will die if I’m in the field. Where do you need me, Flavinius?”
“Seventh Cohort is having trouble with a tribe holed up in an olive oil refinery. I’ll mark it on your HUD now,” Rhone says. Cicero nods to me and bursts into the sky. Rhone, Drusilla, and Demetrius watch him go like a pack of wolves, admiring, but no less feral.
“I like that one,” Drusilla says. “Hope he comes back.”
“Me too,” Demetrius replies. “Phobos, though. Shame if he slagged up our fine work again.”
“I think he’s learned. Olive oil and not even one masturbation joke.”
“Centurion Demetrius, Decurion Drusilla, open your mouths,” Rhone says. They snap to attention. “B-knives on tongues. Now.” They both stomp their right boot and knives pop up to waist height, they catch the knives and put them to their own tongues. “Dominus,your dragoons stand by to apologize for their insolence. Orders?”
I wave a hand. “Put them to use.”
Rhone turns on them. “Rarity gains privilege, it does not assure it. Respect the hierarchy. Prime?”
“Prime, Dux!”
He steps closer, and whispers. “Flex on yourdominusagain, I will fuck you to death with your own knives. Now go make sure our Sovereign’s friend and valuable ally comes back in one piece.” They replace their knives, salute him, me, then take off. “That will not happen again,dominus,I apologize. And for my language.”
Strange thing is he actually means it. A man with a code, Flavinius. Sadly not one I understand. “Thank you for handling it, Rhone.”
“Markus has relayed your alibi to the Moon Lords. Stick to the script, all will be well. Now to Gaia,dominus? The drags are just dying to see a Raa kiss your feet.”
—
I arrive at the Arbor of Akari to the sound of the enemy’s lamentations. The Arbor where Fá kept Gaia and a choice selection of Moon Lords for me has been liberated by my Praetorians and house legions. Hundreds of injured Ascomanni and Volk prisoners have been herded into the courtyard beneath the Arbor. They wail like hounds to their god.
Markus and Kyber lead out a procession of Golds. The Moon Lords are in a deplorable state from their captivity, a far cry from the haughty figures they cast when they declared war on the Republic. They are beaten, bald, and barefoot as they limp into the silver sunlight.
To Rhone this is just punishment for their hubris and mercy considering their treason. To me it is a tragedy, even if they did lord my own exiled state over me the last time I saw them. Many even called me a snake. Sadly true, but I became a snake only for their protection.
I soften my eyes as I greet them at the top of the Arbor’s steps. “My friends…” I pause, letting them see that I mourn their sorrows but respect them enough to not condescend with pity or condolences. They would never forgive that. Instead, I offer hard facts.
“The enemy fleet in orbit is annihilated. Rescue efforts are being made on every cosmosHauler. My army and allies are deployed hunting down the savages across the Garter and saving as many of your citizens as we can. Our priority is to protect the Garter and restore it to your stewardship. All control established is temporary and for the protection of your citizens and infrastructure. We are not here to stay, only to aid our friends.”
Their thanks are stoic, polite, and dignified.
