It felt like he’d only dozed off when he heard a commotion and the sounds of violence. He leapt from his bed and threw on his armor and weapons. He’d done this repeatedly over two centuries, and when he tapped into the extra reserve after slaying and consuming his enemy, he could be fully ready in moments.
He sprinted out his tent into the dark night, his blade naked. He expected to see Goths or maybe some blood demons they missed. It took a moment to adjust to the sight of people in the equipment and garb of Constantius’s legions. The fighting was coming to an end as more Romans surrounded their camp, subduing his men and their Roxolani allies. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked for someone to fight.
His feet carried him toward the sound of a raging woman. When he found the noise, he stopped, stunned. Marpesia thrashed in the arms of a couple legionnaires, her screams of rage only matched by the fury of her body as she tried to kick and yank herself free. Finally, someone wearing the armor and crests of an officer walked up and placed his blade against her neck.
“No!” Lucius screamed, charging forward.
“If you come any closer, I’ll spill her blood into the snow, Centurio,” the officer called out.
Lucius slid to a halt in the snow.
“Drop your gladius.”
When Lucius hesitated, the man grabbed Marpesia’s hair and pulled her head back, pressing the blade to her throat. He could see where the blade pushed into her skin. He thought he saw a glint of blood along a spot where the blade might have broken skin. Lucius’s heart thundered in his chest, his mind grinding to a halt while simultaneously running around in his skull looking for a solution. He let the sword tumble from his hands.
“No…” Marpesia whispered, afraid speaking any louder might push her own throat into the blade.
“If you harm her, sword or no, I will rip you to pieces limb from limb.” Lucius’s voice was low and deadly serious. “You don’t have enough men to prevent that from happening. They may eventually bring me down, but it will do you little good as you bleed out into the snow.”
The man took Lucius seriously, his eyes widening. He cleared his throat. “Well, we can work together on that.” He pulled his blade away from Marpesia’s neck but kept it held up and close.
Lucius looked around him. His men had been disarmed, some forced to their knees. A few bodies lay motionless in the snow. Their captors were waiting for something as they stood static, holding Lucius’s forces immobile. The sound of armored men on armored horses grew from the darkness until it materialized into a troop of heavily armored warriors on horses wearing scale mail, flying the Chi Rho banner of Constantius.
When the men dismounted, they formed around a figure shorter than most of his escort. He was too small of stature to be the Dominus, nor did he have the limp. He pulled his helmet off, handing it to one of his men and turned. It was the little shit that had insulted Marpesia, the Dominus’s eldest son, Flavius Claudius Constantius.
Flavius walked up, nodding to the man who’d been holding a blade against Marpesia’s neck. “Excellent work, you have indeed earned your promotion.”
The man bowed. “Thank you, Caesar.”
Constantius turned and stepped toward Lucius, a couple of his guards moving forward so they could intercept him if needed. “The infamous Centurio Immortalis. You were captured far easier than I thought. All alone in the wilderness with only a few hundred men. Where’s the vaunted Black Legion?”
“It’s not far away. Perhaps if you turn around, you can stay ahead of them.”
Constantius laughed. “Bold even in captivity. I know where they are precisely. My scouts report them still holed up in that pass.”
A man ran up, bowing deeply, and addressed the boy general. “The camp is secure, Caesar. There’s no more resistance.”
“Excellent.”
Lucius stood impotent, his chest heaving with rage. He calculated whether he could reach the son of the emperor. Tapping into everything he had, he might be able to. The two guards picked up on the calculation in Lucius’s eyes, their hands drifting to their spatha. Deciding not to risk it against a man with as towering a reputation as Lucius, they pulled their swords, stepping into ready positions, their shields braced and ready.
Flavius laughed, although Lucius thought he heard a bit of fear in its tones. “If the Centurio moves, kill everyone, starting with the Sarmatian bitch.”
Lucius clenched his jaw. He could no longer restrain the look of pure hatred he directed at the boy who one day would be dominus. His eyes drifted to Marpesia against his will. She practically quivered with rage, her eyes burning into the back of the boy who was playing at power. Flavius’s words burned into Lucius’s head. Marpesia would die first. Fear slithered down his spine and into his eyes as they drifted back to the Caesar.
Constantius saw the shift in Lucius’s eyes, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. He raised his hand into the air. In response, the sword was pressed back against Marpesia’s neck. Lucius’s eyes darted around the camp, seeing blade after blade pressed against the necks of his men or to Marpesia’s Wolf Clan. Short, shallow breaths forced their way into Lucius’s lungs as his body clenched in anguish and rage.
“Let them go,” Lucius said, barely above a whisper.
“What?” Flavius turned his ear to Lucius condescendingly, a knowing smirk on his face.
A little louder. “I’ll surrender, but let them go. I’ll go with you willingly.”
“That’s better,” Flavius said, lowering his arm.
Lucius checked around him; swords lowered but still at the ready. He sought everyone he could until he could see no more as the darkness curtained the rest of his people from view. When there was nowhere else to look, Lucius took a deep breath and let his eyes fall on Marpesia. The look of sadness in her eyes nearly buckled his knees, breaking him.
Her voice drifted to Lucius’s ears. “No…” Her whole body moved as she breathed heavy and fast, her jaw clenching, the fury building in her chest. “NO!” She yanked at her captors, pulling them a step forward until they got her reined in somewhat. She fought like a wildcat, trying to get free, her eyes boring into Lucius. “You little bastard!”
“Shut her up!” Constantius called.
Someone stepped forward and rammed a fist into her gut. Her air wheezed from her lips as she slumped for a moment before renewing her efforts, an incoherent roar ripping from her lips as she tugged forward.
“I said… Shut. Her. Up.”
Lucius, motion slowing around him, watched a punch pound into Marpesia’s stomach, even harder than the last, doubling her over before another punch took her in the face, rendering her a limp mess held up by the two legionnaires tasked with controlling her. Lucius surged forward.
“You little shit!” He wanted to rip Flavius apart with his bare hands. He didn’t care if the swords held at the ready would pierce him; he still would have enough strength to make Flavius pay. He made it half way until his foot landed on a rock under the snow, and his ankle twisted as he tumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees in the snow. He tried to get up but slipped in the muddy, snowy slurry churned up by too many feet, falling onto his face.
Flavius laughed.
Lucius felt hands on his arms, yanking him from the snow. Cold iron kissed his wrists as they quickly fixed manacles into place. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as his chin quivered and jaw clenched.
Flavius walked up and patted Lucius on the cheek. The two men who had Lucius’s arms in their grasp tensed, pulling him slightly back. They weren’t anticipating his power and anger though, and he lurched forward, pulling them with him. Flavius stumbled back, fear shooting across his eyes. Lucius’s captors lifted up, robbing Lucius of his traction and putting painful pressure on his shoulders. His spleen vented, he slumped, his captors strengthening their grip and bracing their legs against further lunges.
Enjoying the impotent rage of Lucius’s breath sizzling in and out of his mouth, Flavius laughed again, notes of relief tinging his false bravado. “I’m feeling generous, Centurio. I’ll grant you the freedom of your men and the Sarmatians. I’m only here for you. You’ll make an excellent prize to present to my father.”
Off in the distance, Lucius heard the angry cries of a horse. He turned in time to see someone drag Moonlight Dancing into the darkness on a long lead. The horse kept rearing, raking her front hooves through the air. As Flavius stepped forward, Lucius was dragged backwards while the boy general bent over and plucked Lucius’s gladius from the snow.
“Ah, the vaunted sword of the Centurio Immortalis.” Flavius looked at the fine engraving, flipping it to look at the other side of the blade. He gripped and swung it about, feeling the balance. He looked to a man behind him. “Be sure to get all his personal effects.”
“Yes, Caesar!” The legionnaire jogged off, signaling a couple men to follow him.
Pulling his eyes away from Flavius, Lucius looked at the slumped figure of Marpesia still held aloft in the hands of her captors. He thought he heard a faint groan from her, her head rolling on her neck of its own accord. She’d have a blinding headache when she came to and a burning inferno of rage that would quell the effects of the headache—his fierce Marpesia.
A man ran up and saluted. “Caesar, we have everything.”
“Good. Let’s go before anyone tries anything stupid,” Flavius replied, turning away.
“Caesar, what about this one?” said one of the men holding Marpesia.
“Leave her, she’s more trouble as a captive than she’s worth. We can’t offend our allies,” the boy Caesar sneered.
They dumped her in the snow. As they dragged Lucius away, he thought he could see more signs of her stirring before he could no longer turn to look. As much as he wanted to resist, he knew it meant the life of his men and Marpesia. He couldn’t stand the thought of her dead because of his actions. He wouldn’t sacrifice her life on the altar of his pride. As much as he wanted to yell, to tell her what she meant to him, he’d pushed her away out of his own fear of being hurt. And now, he might never see her again.
Lucius’s eyes drifted down, watching the ground absentmindedly. As they neared the gate, Lucius identified the drifts in the snow as bodies, some wearing the black of his legion, some the woolens and scale of the Roxolani, and some the purple of Flavius’s guards. As his eyes phased to blurriness, the faces of his men flashed into his mind as he passed their corpses, trying to avoid recognizing his dead but failing. When they walked past the young face of his secretary, the night sky turning the blood-stained snow gray, Lucius closed his eyes, caring not if he tripped or if the two men half-dragging, half-escorting were inconvenienced.
Martininius had just earned his fangs, just become fully one of the elite of the legion who could claim such an honor, and now he was dead. Not at the hands of the nightmares they hunted in the name of protecting humanity, but at the command of a duplicitous, power-hungry boy with more legions than sense. So much promise…wasted.
He quit caring, merely going through the motions as they forced him onto a pony, tying his legs together with a rope slung under the horse’s belly. They bound his hands in front of him, his captors holding the reins as he became one more piece of baggage on their march to meet what Lucius guessed were the several legions the boy Caesar commanded. He’d not have penetrated this deep into the lands of the empire’s barbarian enemies and dubious allies without a sizable force to protect him.
Lucius fell into a numb stupor as they rode into the night. He’d won the battles he’d been ordered to fight, but had lost the war he’d never wished to be a part of. After two hundred and forty-six years of life and survival, he’d been captured by an ambitious boy.