Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands by Michael R. Hicks Read Free Book Online

the fastest pace the carriage could manage. “We’ll join the rest of the guard force here on the ring road, then we’ll head north. The baggage train, assuming all goes well, will catch up to us tomorrow evening at Ostia.”
    “Uncle,” Valeria asked, glad now that she could speak normally, “could I please check on Hercules?”
    “When we’ve rendezvoused with the others. I don’t want to leave you with just us for protection any longer than necessary.”
    Disappointed, Valeria didn’t argue. As long as Hercules didn’t voice his discontent, he was fine.  
    The darkness gradually gave way to morning twilight, and the growing glow on the horizon threw the city into silhouette. The Temple of Jupiter, which was said to be even grander than that of Old Rome, stood atop the highest point in the city. She caught glimpses of the roofs of some of the other temples, the upper part of the palace, and of course the Colosseum. It was a beautiful city in the daylight, the white marble and gold gleaming in the sun. But at this moment, as the darkness was gradually retreating before the dawn, she was stricken with the certainty that something evil stalked the city, perhaps even the Empire itself. The sensation was every bit as chilling as what she had felt before they passed through the Arch of Drusus, and far more intense. She wondered if that was how the oracles felt when they had their visions, and suddenly wished she had thought to consult with one before she’d begun her journey. She believed in the gods because that was what one did as a Roman, but her beliefs had never been put to the test. She looked again at the palace, wondering about her parents.
    “Marcus,” she asked, “are Mother and Father in danger?” She turned to look at him. “Tell me true.”
    The centurion remained silent for so long she thought he might not have heard. She was about to repeat her question when he said, “You’ve studied our history.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “Of course.”
    “How many emperors have sat the throne in the five hundred years since the Third Secession War?”  
    “Thirty-eight.”
    “And how many of them died of natural causes?”
    She paused before she answered. “Three,” she said in a small voice.
    Marcus nodded. “Three. And two of them died suddenly and at a rather young age, don’t you think?”
    “Yes. Pelonius thinks they were poisoned.”
    Marcus grunted agreement. Then, after a moment, he said, “I’ve never understood it myself.”
    “What, why someone would poison an emperor?”
    “No, I don’t understand why anyone would want the bloody job in the first place. As a soldier, I usually know who my enemies are. For an emperor, anyone and sometimes everyone could be your enemy, depending on the circumstances. Loyalties change as ambitions grow, and you might not even know that someone who was a friend yesterday is an enemy today.” He shook his head. “With a chance of only one in almost forty to die at a ripe old age as an emperor, your father would have had much better odds to go to the gods in peace had he remained a general. War is far kinder than politics.”
    “Then why did he do it?”
    “Because he’s a good Roman,” Marcus told her. “All men who set foot upon the cursus honorum dream of someday sitting on the throne, and any one of them who says otherwise,” he cast an eye at Paulus, “— are you listening, boy? — is a bloody liar. Very few have what it takes, and fewer still will live long enough to have the chance to become emperor. But if that chance comes, not a one of them would think of not seizing it. It’s in their blood. And so it was with your father.” He paused a moment. “He’s a good man, girl, the finest I’ve ever served. But his life, as well as your mother’s and your own, is under threat of a hidden sword every day, and every day that threat grows just a little bit more.”
    “You’re not exactly putting her fears to rest,” Paulus