Prologue
The eagle rose into the crisp blue morning, and Auda knew the bird’s eyes were on them. It was comforting, she thought, almost as if Caer—that implacable city—were watching over her and her sister, seeing them through the eyes of its famous symbol. She spurred the small grey mare onward, down towards the verdant plains and forests that rolled out endlessly below them. They would make the city proud, her and her sister. Their clan may not have had wealth or land to their name, but the Didian line had always sacrificed for the city, and someday Caer would reward them. Someday—perhaps a day that was now within reach—her family would know prosperity and security. Surely the denarii she now earned would put her cousins, her brothers, her parents on the steady footing they so deserved. Auda turned to her twin and smiled; it had seemed so frightening, when they had been made to sacrifice their eyes, but now she could finally see a path to greater things.
“Josta, what do you think of it?”
Josta looked at her slim grey sister, puzzled by the question. “Of what, sister?”
“All of it. The peaks of the Apis, the valley below us, the clouds above us – it’s so majestic.”
“It’s hardly the first hill or valley we’ve been to, Auda,” Josta replied.
Auda bristled, “well you take my point, don’t you? Who would have imagined two gutter-rats like us traveling to the far-flung provinces on important business of the state? Who would have thought that we would ever meet the Imperatrix? Before this errand, I’d never even felt snow on my face—don’t you marvel at our good fortune?”
“I am trying not to,” Josta rebutted. “We are here to find a witch and bring him to justice, not to sight-see like some fat Colturan lord, writing frilly poetry about trees and philosophy, or whatever it is those sort of men write about.”
It used to be that Auda would blush when her sister chided her like this—either from embarrassment or anger, as the situation dictated. But today her smooth grey skin showed no sign of her chagrin, and for that she was thankful. She missed being able to feel the coolness of the wind on her cheeks, but all in all it was worthy trade if it didn’t give Josta the pleasure of seeing her sister blush.
The two of them traveled in silence thereafter, as the sun rose from its perch just above the horizon to its noonday seat. Their shadows shortened in time with the distance from Seutonum, the border town where the numinatus was said to reside. Auda knew that Seutonum was a small town, little more than a village, truthfully. Its people were of a ferocious and barbarian lineage, just recently domesticated by the civilizing influence of Caer. It was no wonder that such an unruly people would give rise to illegal practitioners of magic. Numinati, she had been taught to call them—not ‘witches’ as Josta had so uncouthly put it. They were not divine, not beyond reproach, just men and women like any other, except that they knew how to harness certain secrets of potential, of possibilities. Well, so did Auda. There was a time when she had barely even known what numina was, let alone thought that she might someday understand its machinations as it coursed through all creation.
She wondered what sort of naked, blue-painted shaman awaited them in the forest. Would he be like the ancient Sivans who set fire to Caer, in centuries past? Would he be able to speak to the trees and the animals, as his forebears did? It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Whatever he could do, whatever he was, he had practiced unlicensed magic within the borders of the Republic, and for that he would stand trial. Nothing could change that now—the sisters were Scinderi, and Scinderi were known throughout the world as tireless and inevitable hunters. Maybe she and sister were not yet as unstoppable as time itself, but that is what the Tertius was for. Thinking about him, Auda could not contain herself any longer.
“Josta, what do you think the Tertius will be like?”
“I do not know.”
“Of course you don’t know, but what do you think?” Auda pressed.
“I think he will be strict. I think he will be focused, and I think we will need to follow his directions obediently in order to keep up with him,” Josta answered.
Auda ignored her sister. “In the academy, I heard from some of the other students that there are less than a hundred Scinderi ranked Tertius or above. Surely he must be a formidable man to have risen so high in the Council, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure that he is,” Josta sighed, and then smiled. “You know what I heard, sister? They say that you must kill ten numinati before you can obtain the rank of Quintus. I can’t imagine how many witches one must have to kill to rise two ranks higher than that. How many wars do you think he has seen?”
Auda paused, considering the question, unaware of her sister’s condescension. “I cannot even imagine. Do you suppose he might have even fought alongside the Imperatrix, in some ancient conflict?”
Josta snorted, “he would be one very old man if that were the case, sister. That old hag hasn’t left the city since before the legions conquered Sila.”
“Josta!” Auda exclaimed, aghast. “’That old hag’ is the Lady of Caer, Her Inevitable Sickle, the Imperatrix of the Sharp Council! How dare you speak with such insolence!”
“Oh hush sister,” Josta laughed coldly. “She’s just an old woman, and I hear that she barely even runs the Council anymore. She’s just a figurehead, a story that mothers tell their children to keep them on the straight and narrow. It’s us, and young Scinderi like us, who keep law and order intact in the Republic, not some crone sitting in a temple who never sees the light of day.”
Auda wished she could blush after all. Instead she gritted her teeth and fumed silently—why did she ever think Josta would appreciate the honor of being a Scindera the way she did? It might just be a way to earn denarii to her sister, but to Auda it was a high honor. Their brothers would never sit in the Senate, and their cousins would never see the glittering cities of the West, but they could take pride in knowing that two of their clan had become Scinderi. They could raise their heads high, and know that the city was thankful, no matter what.
The road that had taken them down from the snowy blue mountains now left the tracts of farmland that had first greeted the sisters, and wound presently through a montane forest. The pines were packed densely around the level earthen track, and their thick needles kept the afternoon sun at bay. Ferns and vines crept onto the edges of the path, seeking to reclaim the line of smooth earth that Caeran men had cut through the woods. Auda breathed deep, letting the thin, clean air fill every vesicle of her city-dweller’s lungs. She held it, savoring every moment of the crisp, purifying breath. When she exhaled, she felt the forest radiating its potential. Every germinating seed, every swaying branch, every whispering breeze—even the wolf pups, and the fawns, and the rabbit kits. She breathed deep once more, welcoming the feeling as she reached further, further, grasping for all the life in this primeval place. It was then that something grasped back. Auda yelped, bolting upright in her saddle.
“What are you yelling about?” Josta demanded.
Auda, paused, searching for that feeling once more, but finding nothing. “Nothing, nothing. Sorry, sister, I must have been daydreaming. Perhaps I dozed off in the saddle. Don’t mind me.”
Josta snorted. “A weapon of the state, and you still lose your head in the clouds. Do try to keep your wits about you in front of the Tertius—I don’t wish to be made a fool of.”
Auda nodded quietly, still uneasy. “Look, I think that’s Suetonum just around the bend.”
“It appears you are correct. Hurry up now, we’re already late to meet him.”
Auda gave her mare a gentle kick, spurring the old horse on towards the village, towards the commander. Her charcoal-grey cape rustled in the wind as they picked up speed, revealing the sheath at her side. Auda absentmindedly reached for the blade, feeling its reassuring weight. Her fingers traced the eagle’s head that was carved into the ebon pommel. No need to be frightened now, no need for the deathless to fear death. She reminded herself of what she was, of what she had become. Josta may tease her and speak down to her like a child, but no one could question her mastery of iron and blood. Steel was a language Auda spoke more eloquently than the finest orators in Caer. She wouldn’t hesitate to carve a numinatus from collarbone to navel, if it came down to that—she had already visited worse fates on other men, after all.
She needed no armor, and wore none. She needed no shield, and bore none. Just her long grey tunic, her hood, her cape, and her beautiful sword of swirling black steel. She smiled as she thought about her blade—Tulla, she called it, like the only woman to be elected Tribune of the People. Tulla was a fine spatha, longer than a gladius, and honed to a far deadlier edge. Made of Marukke steel from far-western Arathava, the surface of the weapon danced with lines and swirls of grey and black patterning. It was these whorls, mimicking a stream of flowing water, that signified the rarity and value of this sword. They said that there was no steel in the world that could hold a point better, or longer. There was no shield that could stand before a Marukke blade wielded in strong hands. And Auda’s hands were very strong indeed. The terrors and misery of a childhood spent in Caeran streets would never visit her again, not with hands like these. Not after what her hands done to those men, not after everyone had seen what was left of them. Auda smiled; the Council had seen what her hands could do, and it had entrusted those slender, smooth hands with the scales of justice.
The sisters rounded the bend in the road as the sun passed into early evening, and the forest began to darken. Small, simple homes came into view, made of wood and thatch and mud. Many of them were little more than huts, with smoke climbing into the chill mountain air through their woven roofs. This was a humble community, to be sure, but Auda admired the quiet decency of the place. There would be no brothels here, no men hawking false goods, nor pickpockets roaming the streets. Just simple families, living in simple homes, raising chickens and pigs and barley. It was important that these people feel secure; it was important that they knew the Republic would watch over them, and preserve their bucolic refuge from the likes of witches and thieves. The children who played in these streets would see a woman like Auda, and know that they were safe. Nothing was more important than that.
As the two Scinderi passed through the wooden embankment that ringed the village, the flat earthen road that the sisters traveled on expanded into a wide boulevard through the center of town, where the longhouses sat. Although also of modest construction, these were clearly the homes of the village artisans and leaders, and it was likely that the magistrate from Bivorum was staying in one of them. It appeared that they had even begun paving parts of the main thoroughfare, in proper Caeran fashion. The trees were few and small in the clearing where the settlement lay, with the thick of the forest just a few yards beyond the walls.
“Auda, there’s the inn, just as Dominus told us in his letter,” Josta observed, pointing to the two-story thatched house that overlooked the main road. Auda nodded assent.
The word “inn” was carved in crude barbarian runes that Auda did not recognize—they were still using the wrong alphabet, but such things take time. The sisters dismounted, and tied their horses to the posts outside the tavern, and entered the dim building through its doorless entryway. The twins’ hobnailed sandals clacked on the hard wooden floors as they moved inside, searching for their master. There were hardly any patrons in the place; a family was eating a roast hen at a table in one corner, and two men were drinking and laughing loudly in another. There were no lute players here, no singers or dancers. Just a dim, low-ceilinged room with one patron who stood out from the others, clothed in all grey and sitting by himself at a table in the center of the room. Auda stepped forward towards him.
“Dominus?” She inquired.
The man looked up, revealing his face—little more than a skull wrapped tightly in the leathery, ebonized skin of a mummy, bearing the distinctive black bandage wrapped around his eyes. “Ah yes, you must be the little doves assigned to me this evening. You’re late,” he croaked, his rasping, scraping voice putting Auda ill at ease.
“Apologies Dominus,” Josta interposed. “We were delayed in the mountain crossing by unexpected snowfall. The horses were slowed significantly.”
“Hmph. One of the many reasons I prefer to travel by foot. I have yet to meet the horse who could keep up with a proper Scinderus on the march. I don’t know why the Council even allows you such extravagances.”
Auda shifted uncomfortably. “You have my sincerest apologies, Dominus. I am Didian Auda, Scindera of the designation Nonus, and this is my sister, Didian Josta, of the same rank.”
“Ah yes, of course. And my name is Titas Calas, but you shall refer to me as Tertius. If the Council insists on saddling me with such a title, and all its attendant horse-shit, then I suppose you ought to actually use it.”
Auda was taken aback by the old man’s language, but replied “Yes, Tertius,” in synchrony with her sister nonetheless.
“So now, doves, let me brief you as to why we are wasting our time journeying to this piss-hole of a town in the backwaters of the Republic,” Titas said, taking a long drink from his cup of wine. He frowned in disgust and coughed. “These savages must have balls larger than Politor’s himself to dare call this vomit wine,” he cursed. “In any case, the magistrate from Bivorum, who is a civilized man and ought to know better, has been convinced by these superstitious provincials that a numinatus is menacing the countryside, stealing livestock and disappearing the occasional hunter for his dark rituals.
“In truth, we are a thousand times more likely to find responsible a pack of wolves or a band of thieves, but as you know we are duty-bound by the great and wise Sharp Council to investigate any magistrate’s claims of magical activity within the borders of the Republic. To that end, we will search the forest in the area of this latest disappearance, track down the perpetrators, and bring them to justice, whatever their nature may be. You will no doubt be doing the people of this suppurating sore of a village some good by eliminating these bandits or animals, but do not expect it to be thrilling, or difficult, or anything like the stories they fill your heads with in the academy.”
Josta nodded obediently, but Auda interjected, “But Tertius, sir, isn’t it possible that there truly is a numinatus hiding in the forests? These people were only recently civilized after all, and—“
“Listen closely little dove,” Titas cut in, sneering at Auda. “I have seen more numinati than I care to recall. More than anyone ought to see, let alone to kill. I know what such men look like, and the trail of dead and maimed they leave in their blasphemous wakes. If there were a numinatus operating in this forest, this village would be burnt to the ground and there would be dying men struggling to hold in their guts with their fingers. You will face numinati someday, of that I have no doubt—but it will be on the battlefield, likely in the West, and it won’t be in this barbarian hovel. Do you understand me, or are you simple?”
Auda nodded, blinking back tears. “Yes, Tertius. I’m sorry, I did not mean to question you,” she said, her quiet voice breaking.
Titas sighed. “Oh hush now little dove, you must be stronger than that. Scinderi do not have the luxury of displaying weakness, especially not when barbarians are around. Come now,” he said, rising to his feet, and dropping a small silver sesterce on the table for his wine. “The magistrate wishes to speak to us before we leave, and we have some time yet before nightfall, when our hunt begins. Let us go hear the blabbering of a fat, frightened fool. I’m sure that will cheer your spirits.”
Auda nodded, and Titas moved past the two sisters, stooping to clear his tall, gaunt frame through the entrance. She couldn’t believe the size of him, now that she saw him standing in the open twilight air of the village. He was two heads taller than the twins, at the very least, but couldn’t have weighed more than either one of them, perhaps even less. His body resembled a male spider, she thought—a small midsection, with unnatural long limbs radiating outward. His spiders’ fingers were pointed and black, so much longer than any man’s fingers should be. He was truly a Scinderus. Someday she would be like him, Auda supposed, gaunt and leathery and elongated. She looked down at herself, wondering how long it would take for her slender, feminine frame to turn into a spider’s body. It was, in a way, reassuring—she would not mind if men’s gazes fixed upon her sword and her bandaged eyes, rather than her figure. Fear was something she would be comfortable to inspire in those who ought to feel fear, those who ought to wonder when their misdeeds would consume them.
The three blindfolded, grey-caped soldiers walked out into the street, heading towards the paved section of the road. A young boy ran out across their path from a small alley, chasing a squawking hen. Stopping briefly, Auda swiftly intercepted the hen, picking it up by its feet, leaning down to the boy and handing the flapping bird over to him.
“Careful there, little man. Go run home and put this back in the coop, will you?” she asked the boy, smiling.
He nodded sheepishly, taking the hen from the slim grey woman, and ran off down the alley. Before he disappeared around the bend, he turned back and waved, smiling. Auda waved back, just as the boy’s parents hurried him into their yard, glaring at the Scindera.
“Tch. Best not to try doing these people too many favors, Didian Auda,” Titas said. “It wasn’t so long ago that those like us were putting their druids to the sword, and relieving the others of their magicks. It was necessary, of course, but such things are not soon forgotten.”
Auda frowned. Too right, she supposed, but then again she would now live long enough to see the day when the past would fade from memory.
The eagle rose into the crisp blue morning, and Auda knew the bird’s eyes were on them. It was comforting, she thought, almost as if Caer—that implacable city—were watching over her and her sister, seeing them through the eyes of its famous symbol. She spurred the small grey mare onward, down towards the verdant plains and forests that rolled out endlessly below them. They would make the city proud, her and her sister. Their clan may not have had wealth or land to their name, but the Didian line had always sacrificed for the city, and someday Caer would reward them. Someday—perhaps a day that was now within reach—her family would know prosperity and security. Surely the denarii she now earned would put her cousins, her brothers, her parents on the steady footing they so deserved. Auda turned to her twin and smiled; it had seemed so frightening, when they had been made to sacrifice their eyes, but now she could finally see a path to greater things.
“Josta, what do you think of it?”
Josta looked at her slim grey sister, puzzled by the question. “Of what, sister?”
“All of it. The peaks of the Apis, the valley below us, the clouds above us – it’s so majestic.”
“It’s hardly the first hill or valley we’ve been to, Auda,” Josta replied.
Auda bristled, “well you take my point, don’t you? Who would have imagined two gutter-rats like us traveling to the far-flung provinces on important business of the state? Who would have thought that we would ever meet the Imperatrix? Before this errand, I’d never even felt snow on my face—don’t you marvel at our good fortune?”
“I am trying not to,” Josta rebutted. “We are here to find a witch and bring him to justice, not to sight-see like some fat Colturan lord, writing frilly poetry about trees and philosophy, or whatever it is those sort of men write about.”
It used to be that Auda would blush when her sister chided her like this—either from embarrassment or anger, as the situation dictated. But today her smooth grey skin showed no sign of her chagrin, and for that she was thankful. She missed being able to feel the coolness of the wind on her cheeks, but all in all it was worthy trade if it didn’t give Josta the pleasure of seeing her sister blush.
The two of them traveled in silence thereafter, as the sun rose from its perch just above the horizon to its noonday seat. Their shadows shortened in time with the distance from Seutonum, the border town where the numinatus was said to reside. Auda knew that Seutonum was a small town, little more than a village, truthfully. Its people were of a ferocious and barbarian lineage, just recently domesticated by the civilizing influence of Caer. It was no wonder that such an unruly people would give rise to illegal practitioners of magic. Numinati, she had been taught to call them—not ‘witches’ as Josta had so uncouthly put it. They were not divine, not beyond reproach, just men and women like any other, except that they knew how to harness certain secrets of potential, of possibilities. Well, so did Auda. There was a time when she had barely even known what numina was, let alone thought that she might someday understand its machinations as it coursed through all creation.
She wondered what sort of naked, blue-painted shaman awaited them in the forest. Would he be like the ancient Sivans who set fire to Caer, in centuries past? Would he be able to speak to the trees and the animals, as his forebears did? It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Whatever he could do, whatever he was, he had practiced unlicensed magic within the borders of the Republic, and for that he would stand trial. Nothing could change that now—the sisters were Scinderi, and Scinderi were known throughout the world as tireless and inevitable hunters. Maybe she and sister were not yet as unstoppable as time itself, but that is what the Tertius was for. Thinking about him, Auda could not contain herself any longer.
“Josta, what do you think the Tertius will be like?”
“I do not know.”
“Of course you don’t know, but what do you think?” Auda pressed.
“I think he will be strict. I think he will be focused, and I think we will need to follow his directions obediently in order to keep up with him,” Josta answered.
Auda ignored her sister. “In the academy, I heard from some of the other students that there are less than a hundred Scinderi ranked Tertius or above. Surely he must be a formidable man to have risen so high in the Council, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure that he is,” Josta sighed, and then smiled. “You know what I heard, sister? They say that you must kill ten numinati before you can obtain the rank of Quintus. I can’t imagine how many witches one must have to kill to rise two ranks higher than that. How many wars do you think he has seen?”
Auda paused, considering the question, unaware of her sister’s condescension. “I cannot even imagine. Do you suppose he might have even fought alongside the Imperatrix, in some ancient conflict?”
Josta snorted, “he would be one very old man if that were the case, sister. That old hag hasn’t left the city since before the legions conquered Sila.”
“Josta!” Auda exclaimed, aghast. “’That old hag’ is the Lady of Caer, Her Inevitable Sickle, the Imperatrix of the Sharp Council! How dare you speak with such insolence!”
“Oh hush sister,” Josta laughed coldly. “She’s just an old woman, and I hear that she barely even runs the Council anymore. She’s just a figurehead, a story that mothers tell their children to keep them on the straight and narrow. It’s us, and young Scinderi like us, who keep law and order intact in the Republic, not some crone sitting in a temple who never sees the light of day.”
Auda wished she could blush after all. Instead she gritted her teeth and fumed silently—why did she ever think Josta would appreciate the honor of being a Scindera the way she did? It might just be a way to earn denarii to her sister, but to Auda it was a high honor. Their brothers would never sit in the Senate, and their cousins would never see the glittering cities of the West, but they could take pride in knowing that two of their clan had become Scinderi. They could raise their heads high, and know that the city was thankful, no matter what.
The road that had taken them down from the snowy blue mountains now left the tracts of farmland that had first greeted the sisters, and wound presently through a montane forest. The pines were packed densely around the level earthen track, and their thick needles kept the afternoon sun at bay. Ferns and vines crept onto the edges of the path, seeking to reclaim the line of smooth earth that Caeran men had cut through the woods. Auda breathed deep, letting the thin, clean air fill every vesicle of her city-dweller’s lungs. She held it, savoring every moment of the crisp, purifying breath. When she exhaled, she felt the forest radiating its potential. Every germinating seed, every swaying branch, every whispering breeze—even the wolf pups, and the fawns, and the rabbit kits. She breathed deep once more, welcoming the feeling as she reached further, further, grasping for all the life in this primeval place. It was then that something grasped back. Auda yelped, bolting upright in her saddle.
“What are you yelling about?” Josta demanded.
Auda, paused, searching for that feeling once more, but finding nothing. “Nothing, nothing. Sorry, sister, I must have been daydreaming. Perhaps I dozed off in the saddle. Don’t mind me.”
Josta snorted. “A weapon of the state, and you still lose your head in the clouds. Do try to keep your wits about you in front of the Tertius—I don’t wish to be made a fool of.”
Auda nodded quietly, still uneasy. “Look, I think that’s Suetonum just around the bend.”
“It appears you are correct. Hurry up now, we’re already late to meet him.”
Auda gave her mare a gentle kick, spurring the old horse on towards the village, towards the commander. Her charcoal-grey cape rustled in the wind as they picked up speed, revealing the sheath at her side. Auda absentmindedly reached for the blade, feeling its reassuring weight. Her fingers traced the eagle’s head that was carved into the ebon pommel. No need to be frightened now, no need for the deathless to fear death. She reminded herself of what she was, of what she had become. Josta may tease her and speak down to her like a child, but no one could question her mastery of iron and blood. Steel was a language Auda spoke more eloquently than the finest orators in Caer. She wouldn’t hesitate to carve a numinatus from collarbone to navel, if it came down to that—she had already visited worse fates on other men, after all.
She needed no armor, and wore none. She needed no shield, and bore none. Just her long grey tunic, her hood, her cape, and her beautiful sword of swirling black steel. She smiled as she thought about her blade—Tulla, she called it, like the only woman to be elected Tribune of the People. Tulla was a fine spatha, longer than a gladius, and honed to a far deadlier edge. Made of Marukke steel from far-western Arathava, the surface of the weapon danced with lines and swirls of grey and black patterning. It was these whorls, mimicking a stream of flowing water, that signified the rarity and value of this sword. They said that there was no steel in the world that could hold a point better, or longer. There was no shield that could stand before a Marukke blade wielded in strong hands. And Auda’s hands were very strong indeed. The terrors and misery of a childhood spent in Caeran streets would never visit her again, not with hands like these. Not after what her hands done to those men, not after everyone had seen what was left of them. Auda smiled; the Council had seen what her hands could do, and it had entrusted those slender, smooth hands with the scales of justice.
The sisters rounded the bend in the road as the sun passed into early evening, and the forest began to darken. Small, simple homes came into view, made of wood and thatch and mud. Many of them were little more than huts, with smoke climbing into the chill mountain air through their woven roofs. This was a humble community, to be sure, but Auda admired the quiet decency of the place. There would be no brothels here, no men hawking false goods, nor pickpockets roaming the streets. Just simple families, living in simple homes, raising chickens and pigs and barley. It was important that these people feel secure; it was important that they knew the Republic would watch over them, and preserve their bucolic refuge from the likes of witches and thieves. The children who played in these streets would see a woman like Auda, and know that they were safe. Nothing was more important than that.
As the two Scinderi passed through the wooden embankment that ringed the village, the flat earthen road that the sisters traveled on expanded into a wide boulevard through the center of town, where the longhouses sat. Although also of modest construction, these were clearly the homes of the village artisans and leaders, and it was likely that the magistrate from Bivorum was staying in one of them. It appeared that they had even begun paving parts of the main thoroughfare, in proper Caeran fashion. The trees were few and small in the clearing where the settlement lay, with the thick of the forest just a few yards beyond the walls.
“Auda, there’s the inn, just as Dominus told us in his letter,” Josta observed, pointing to the two-story thatched house that overlooked the main road. Auda nodded assent.
The word “inn” was carved in crude barbarian runes that Auda did not recognize—they were still using the wrong alphabet, but such things take time. The sisters dismounted, and tied their horses to the posts outside the tavern, and entered the dim building through its doorless entryway. The twins’ hobnailed sandals clacked on the hard wooden floors as they moved inside, searching for their master. There were hardly any patrons in the place; a family was eating a roast hen at a table in one corner, and two men were drinking and laughing loudly in another. There were no lute players here, no singers or dancers. Just a dim, low-ceilinged room with one patron who stood out from the others, clothed in all grey and sitting by himself at a table in the center of the room. Auda stepped forward towards him.
“Dominus?” She inquired.
The man looked up, revealing his face—little more than a skull wrapped tightly in the leathery, ebonized skin of a mummy, bearing the distinctive black bandage wrapped around his eyes. “Ah yes, you must be the little doves assigned to me this evening. You’re late,” he croaked, his rasping, scraping voice putting Auda ill at ease.
“Apologies Dominus,” Josta interposed. “We were delayed in the mountain crossing by unexpected snowfall. The horses were slowed significantly.”
“Hmph. One of the many reasons I prefer to travel by foot. I have yet to meet the horse who could keep up with a proper Scinderus on the march. I don’t know why the Council even allows you such extravagances.”
Auda shifted uncomfortably. “You have my sincerest apologies, Dominus. I am Didian Auda, Scindera of the designation Nonus, and this is my sister, Didian Josta, of the same rank.”
“Ah yes, of course. And my name is Titas Calas, but you shall refer to me as Tertius. If the Council insists on saddling me with such a title, and all its attendant horse-shit, then I suppose you ought to actually use it.”
Auda was taken aback by the old man’s language, but replied “Yes, Tertius,” in synchrony with her sister nonetheless.
“So now, doves, let me brief you as to why we are wasting our time journeying to this piss-hole of a town in the backwaters of the Republic,” Titas said, taking a long drink from his cup of wine. He frowned in disgust and coughed. “These savages must have balls larger than Politor’s himself to dare call this vomit wine,” he cursed. “In any case, the magistrate from Bivorum, who is a civilized man and ought to know better, has been convinced by these superstitious provincials that a numinatus is menacing the countryside, stealing livestock and disappearing the occasional hunter for his dark rituals.
“In truth, we are a thousand times more likely to find responsible a pack of wolves or a band of thieves, but as you know we are duty-bound by the great and wise Sharp Council to investigate any magistrate’s claims of magical activity within the borders of the Republic. To that end, we will search the forest in the area of this latest disappearance, track down the perpetrators, and bring them to justice, whatever their nature may be. You will no doubt be doing the people of this suppurating sore of a village some good by eliminating these bandits or animals, but do not expect it to be thrilling, or difficult, or anything like the stories they fill your heads with in the academy.”
Josta nodded obediently, but Auda interjected, “But Tertius, sir, isn’t it possible that there truly is a numinatus hiding in the forests? These people were only recently civilized after all, and—“
“Listen closely little dove,” Titas cut in, sneering at Auda. “I have seen more numinati than I care to recall. More than anyone ought to see, let alone to kill. I know what such men look like, and the trail of dead and maimed they leave in their blasphemous wakes. If there were a numinatus operating in this forest, this village would be burnt to the ground and there would be dying men struggling to hold in their guts with their fingers. You will face numinati someday, of that I have no doubt—but it will be on the battlefield, likely in the West, and it won’t be in this barbarian hovel. Do you understand me, or are you simple?”
Auda nodded, blinking back tears. “Yes, Tertius. I’m sorry, I did not mean to question you,” she said, her quiet voice breaking.
Titas sighed. “Oh hush now little dove, you must be stronger than that. Scinderi do not have the luxury of displaying weakness, especially not when barbarians are around. Come now,” he said, rising to his feet, and dropping a small silver sesterce on the table for his wine. “The magistrate wishes to speak to us before we leave, and we have some time yet before nightfall, when our hunt begins. Let us go hear the blabbering of a fat, frightened fool. I’m sure that will cheer your spirits.”
Auda nodded, and Titas moved past the two sisters, stooping to clear his tall, gaunt frame through the entrance. She couldn’t believe the size of him, now that she saw him standing in the open twilight air of the village. He was two heads taller than the twins, at the very least, but couldn’t have weighed more than either one of them, perhaps even less. His body resembled a male spider, she thought—a small midsection, with unnatural long limbs radiating outward. His spiders’ fingers were pointed and black, so much longer than any man’s fingers should be. He was truly a Scinderus. Someday she would be like him, Auda supposed, gaunt and leathery and elongated. She looked down at herself, wondering how long it would take for her slender, feminine frame to turn into a spider’s body. It was, in a way, reassuring—she would not mind if men’s gazes fixed upon her sword and her bandaged eyes, rather than her figure. Fear was something she would be comfortable to inspire in those who ought to feel fear, those who ought to wonder when their misdeeds would consume them.
The three blindfolded, grey-caped soldiers walked out into the street, heading towards the paved section of the road. A young boy ran out across their path from a small alley, chasing a squawking hen. Stopping briefly, Auda swiftly intercepted the hen, picking it up by its feet, leaning down to the boy and handing the flapping bird over to him.
“Careful there, little man. Go run home and put this back in the coop, will you?” she asked the boy, smiling.
He nodded sheepishly, taking the hen from the slim grey woman, and ran off down the alley. Before he disappeared around the bend, he turned back and waved, smiling. Auda waved back, just as the boy’s parents hurried him into their yard, glaring at the Scindera.
“Tch. Best not to try doing these people too many favors, Didian Auda,” Titas said. “It wasn’t so long ago that those like us were putting their druids to the sword, and relieving the others of their magicks. It was necessary, of course, but such things are not soon forgotten.”
Auda frowned. Too right, she supposed, but then again she would now live long enough to see the day when the past would fade from memory.
