Chapter 1

The rain poured down upon the trio of men in purple cloaks as they walked from the carriage to the door of the villa. They ducked under the covered veranda and stood before the great carven double doors into the house's compound.

"Quite a nice place for a retired soldier," said Prefect Mallius, eyeing the quality stonework and woodwork of the house. He tossed back his cloak's hood, revealing a handsome face and severely trimmed hair, military style. He looked to his companions.

The man to his left tossed back his hood as well, Senator Flavin Marus, he was a pudgy man with a bald head, kept shaved once he started loosing his hair. He seemed the kindest of the men before the villa doors, though, and in truth probably was.

The other man, standing to Mallius' right lowered his hood lastly, revealing a missing eye and a long scar running down one cheek from that wound. He was Sendrus, Prefect Mallius' advisor, and, it was generally known, enforcer and spy. He held the title of Senator, from a nearly peopleless portion of the empire, where he was the titular representative.

Marus looked at the prefect. "I understand Verus built this home mostly with his own labor, and that of his sons," he said, eyeing the building with an equally critical eye, but with much less suspicion.

Sendrus looked at it with his single eye, and with a very different set of standards than the other two men. He had already detected three ways to enter the home other than the door. Like most Abian homes, there were no windows on the ground floor. Likewise, there were only three entrances: The one they now stood before, a side entrance, and the servant's entrance. Over their heads were some narrow windows, but even they were meant to discourage footpads, with heavy wrought iron bars crossing them and dividing them into two.

Having let most of the rainwater drip from their cloaks, Prefect Mallius reached toward the ornately carved oak door and to the massive brass ring in the middle of one. He let it fall against a brass plate and it hit with a loud thud.

A moment later, the door opened silently on well-greased hinges, and a wizened old face peered around it. Upon seeing the purple robes and the face of the Praetor, he gasped and pulled it open hurriedly, standing to the side. "Welcome Praetor, to the home of Verus."

"Primus Pilum Verus, don't you mean?" asked Mallius.

"Lord Praetor, he has commanded we call him but Verus," said the old man, pushing the door shut behind them. "He says he is no longer a soldier."

Marus cast a sidelong glance at the praetor but held his tongue until the old man had shuffled off, saying, "I will fetch Primus Pilum Verus now milord."

When the old man was gone, Marus turned. "I told you this was unwise, he no longer seeks to bear the rod of command," hissed the senator.

Mallius sneered at him. "You underestimate my resolve that he do what I wish of him," he said, pulling five small scrolls from his leather belt pouch. "He will pick up the rod, if I command it."

Sendrus stood silently and moved back toward a corner of the antechamber they were standing in. He said little, even in comfortable surroundings.

Long moments passed, and finally, they heard a heavy tread approaching them across the tiled floor of the villa. Verus rounded the corner, the very image of a Abian Centurion. He was tall and had broad shoulders. His hair was unkempt, and had streaks of gray now among the shining black it had been. His face was strong, though, and his eyes were keen, their brown piercing and backed by formidable intellect. He stopped when he saw the trio and regarded them, then forced a smile to his lips, it was not a very convincing one.

"My lord praetor," he said, walking forward, and putting his hand to his chest, fist clenched and bowing his head. "Welcome to my humble home."

The praetor said, "Your home is lovely, Primus Pilum, and I am honored to be allowed inside."

Verus nodded. "I may ask, however, as pleasant as your visit shall, I'm sure, be, why you have come so far from Presium Prime?"

"A man who gets to matters, which is exactly why I am come," said the praetor. He looked at the tall, retired Centurion. "Primus Pilum Verus," he said in a formal tone, "the empire needs you to return for one mission."

Verus did the one thing that none of the three men expected, who had each expected something different, one had expected rage, one violence, and one quiet acceptance. However, what the retired Centurion did was laugh.

They stood, blinking at the outburst of laughter and unsure what to do with such an emotional reaction. Finally, the chuckles subsided. "My lord praetor, but I am retired, and of little worth to the empire, regardless, being an old man."

"Verus," said the praetor in a more friendly tone, "you are still the finest leader we have ever had, on the field and off."

"I'm sorry, Praetor Mallius, but I refuse," said Verus. "I am a soldier no longer." He had served fourty years in the legions, and had earned his retirement thrice over. There was no law nor power in the imperium that could force him back into yoke to the state.

The praetor looked at the old soldier levelly, "That is your final word?" he asked.

"It is," said the former commander of the Eighth Legion, also called the Hammer of God.

"Very well, Primus Pilum, I cannot force you," said Mallius, half turning, then he said. "As my visit is cut short, perhaps you could help me with a small detail of it." He turned back around and regarded Verus with hostile eyes. "I am required to deliver these unto some lads of the area." He held out the five little scrolls. "Perhaps they might be better given over to them by someone they love, like their grandfather."

Verus' eyes widened at the sight of the five Notices of Draft. "You cannot be serious!" he said, his face growing pale. "They have never... "

"Primus Pilum Verus, you underestimate our need, we have suffered great losses to four legions in the Windy Isles. Those pesky rangers and elves are tenacious. The legions are undermanned and need healthy young men to rebuild their ranks." The praetor's eyes flashed. "Unless we can broker a peace agreement with them, and soon, we will need reinforcements, it is that simple. And your grandsons would make fine legionnaires."

"You want me to broker a peace agreement?" asked Verus.

"Exactly," said the praetor. He saw he had won, already.

Verus' eyes fell to the floor. "My understanding was that they were not even talking anymore," he said.

"They are not," agreed Mallius, "but the elves have agreed to hear the words of one of their own, Lady Emogen."

"She is but half-elven," said Verus.

"It is enough in this case," said the praetor, "they have agreed to speak with her, and she has been authorized to lay out a peace plan."

Verus nodded. "And the reason you need me?"

"Simple," said Mallius, "to make sure she gets to the elves safely. You see, the men of the Windy Isles are not as keen as the elves to make peace. They will abide by an agreement, but they will play no part in helping form it, and officially, they have adopted a no quarter policy."

Verus shook his head, "Why would they do that? The men of the Isles are reasonable folk."

"It may have to do with the captured prisoners of war being shipped off as slaves to our lands here in Abia," said the praetor negligently, I do not pretend to understand their mind.

The retired Centurion looked at him in disbelief. "You took them as slaves before the conquest was complete?" he asked. "Did you simply wish to incite them to resist more or were you planning on fighting to the last man of them?"

"I plan neither," said the praetor, shrugging, "I plan on you and the lady brokering a peace deal with the elves."

Verus sighed. "I have little choice, lest I wish to see my grandsons die in that meat grinder you call a war."

"It would be so if you refused, for certain," said Mallius, I have a ship awaiting your arrival in Presium Prime on the morrow." With those words, the praetor turned and opened the door and left, followed closely by Sendrus.

Marus lingered a moment, his face apologetic and his eyes refused to meet the old soldier's. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, then turned himself and left, pulling the door shut behind him with a last furtive glance at the hard eyes of Verus.

Back in the city, the capital of the Abian Empire, Presium Prime, the Praetor of the Senate, Mallius, stood on the balcony of his chambers in his palace. He looked back into the room, where Sendrus sat in an ornate padded chair. "Because, I do not intend either him or Lady Emogen to return, or even make it to the elves," he said. "Those rangers will cut the two of them apart in the jungles of those accursed islands."

"That is far from assured, milord praetor," said Sendrus, taking a sip of wine from a silver cup. "If Verus is half as resourceful and skilled as they say, he may well get them across the island to the elves."

"That, my old friend, is why you will be there already," said Mallius, "to make sure he doesn't get so resourceful."

Sendrus smiled. "Ah," he said, "but why are you telling me just now?"

"Don't you like surprises?" asked Mallius. "And the greater surprise is your pay."

Sendrus tilted his head slightly, like a dog listening to his master. "What might that be? for you have already made me wealthy."

"I know you have an eye for the Lady Emogen," said the praetor.

The assassin nodded. "Indeed, she is an exotic, lovely creature."

"After her mission fails, by her own betrayal, of course, I am confident she will be sold into slavery. I can assure you there will be only one bidder for her ownership."

Sendrus' eyes glittered at the thought of not only having the lady, but owning her outright, as a personal slave. "And all I have to do is eliminate Verus?"

"Yes, and make sure she gets out alive, to stand trial for the failure," said Mallius, "I will see to the rest, I have a justicar who owes me a huge favor in Remless."

"You will try her in such a tiny port town?" asked Sendrus. "Surely, it will be appealed."

"Justicar Ulanus' decision will not be overturned, he is too highly regarded," said Mallius.

"And why, lastly, do you want this 'peace agreement' to fail to come to fruition?" asked the assassin.

Mallius smiled. "This war has been unpopular from the start. When those barbarians in the Windy Isles kill one of our most beloved heroes, the people will become incensed. Especially since he was trying to hold out an olive branch to them, and had come out of retirement to do so, such self sacrifice. We will have all the resources we need to smash the Windy Isles under a decade of legions, rather than the undermanned four we have been forced to use."

"Now," said Mallius, "it is time for you to take ship and get to the Windy Isles."

She was as lovely as the people had said, and Verus, though now nearing sixty, was not immune to that beauty.

Lady Emogen was the darling of the people's eye in Presium Prime, she was always seen as kind, and was stylish, and most of all, beautiful and charismatic. As she stood on the boards of the dock, looking at the galleon that would take them to the Windy Isles, she radiated likability.

Verus swallowed, and kissed his eldest son on the cheek, taking up his rucksack and walking toward the ship. As he approached her, the lady turned her silvern eyes upon him. "Primus Pilum Verus!" she exclaimed, a smile forming on her lips and radiating form her, making his heart thud in his chest all the harder. She walked up to him and put her hands upon his shoulders. She was a tall, slim woman, despite her half-elven lineage. She bent forward and kissed his cheek and a wash of sweet cinnamon flowed over him.

"Milady Emogen," he said, stammering slightly. "You are as lovely as always, and that is only exceeded by your grace."

She smiled. "A general of men and a sweet-talker of women," she said, tilting her gaze slightly up to him. "I see now I will have to keep my wits about me this journey."

A crewman walked up to them and said. "They are ready for you to board, milady and sir," he said, bowing.

Emogen reached out a slender hand and took Verus'. "Please, steward, show us the way to our cabins."

Verus felt cool fingers in his hand, and despite that it very nearly burned him, sending spikes of heat up his arm, his breath was even short.

She looked back toward him. "Primus Pilum Verus," she said, "do you think this parley will work?"

"Please, milady, just Verus. And, yes, if you are brokering it, I feel it will be quite easily done," he replied.

The steward showed them to their rooms, cramped cabins across the hall from one another.

"We're neighbors, how delightful," she said. "I look forward to working closely with you, Verus, your reputation as a strategist and leader is legendary." She lowered the gauzy shawl that she had been covering her head with, revealing her golden hair and gently pointed ears. "Frankly, I feared they would send me with someone who surely would get me killed."

"I will do all in my power to ensure that does not happen," said Verus, bowing.

She reached out and took hold of the sides of his head, lifting him and kissing each cheek, her warm, soft lips brushing one, then the other. "I know, and I am immensely gladdened," said Emogen.

He was breathing in small gasps as she released his head and he felt himself stumble a bit. She smiled brightly and turned about. "Will you come to eat dinner with me this night?" she asked over her shoulder. The long strips of cloth that made up her gown moved as she did, revealing tiny flashes of skin beneath them. "I will promise to wear something more appealing to the eye."

"Certainly, milady," he replied automatically, though his mind was far from operating at full capacity.

He knocked upon her door and she opened it, standing before him in a short skirt that was slit high on the left and right sides. Her midriff was bare, displaying a tummy that had only the slightest hint of roundness to it. His eyes moved up, with effort, past her slim waist and to her sizable breasts, which were being held at bay by a halter top, that crossed over them then about her neck. He looked at her for a long moment, noting that she was showing a really impressive amount of skin.

She smiled "I thought, perhaps, traipsing through the woods in a gown would be less than ideal," said Emogen. "This outfit is very elven in look, and quite easy to move in."

As he shut the door, she demonstrated the mobility that the short skirt and half-top gave her by adopting a pugilistic pose that caused him to chuckle, which set her to giggling. "I hope that mobility of that nature will not be necessary," said Verus. "I intend to avoid all contact with the rangers."

"A wise choice," she said, "I hear they are formidable fighters, especially in their own territory."

He nodded, watching her long form as she moved toward the table that had been set for them. He noted standard fare on half the table and a wide variety of fruit and vegetables on the other half. "You do not eat meat?" he asked as he walked to the table and pulled out the chair on the fruit and vegetable side for her.

She smiled brightly. "A leading question, Verus, but, yes, I do, but only in small amounts." She took the proffered seat and glanced toward his pants with obvious intent. "Except in certain situations, where I consume it voraciously."

Verus sat across from her and regarded her with a smile. "Milady, you should not toy with an old soldier's libido, especially one who has been alone so many years."

Emogen cast her eyes down and her face became less happy. "I apologize Verus, it slips my mind that you lost your wife seven years ago."

"She lived a full life, but I do miss her," said Verus. His smile turned very wry, "I especially miss her touch."

They ate in near silence, speaking only a little on their mission to come. Once they had finished, though, and the steward had cleared the table, Emogen said. "This mission frightens me."

"It is dangerous, milady, I'll not lie to you," said Verus.

She nodded. "My father was a Windir Elf," she said. "These are, in part, my people. It pains me to know we are at war with them and that they would kill me if they caught me and found out I was Abian." Her eyes welled with tears. "I fear dying a failure at the hands of my father's folk."

Verus was unsure what to do, he reached out with a napkin and caught her falling tears and wiped her eyes gently. "Well, it is my job to see to it that doesn't happen, and if it is in my power to ensure it doesn't, it won't."

The next morning, the steward reported that they were nearing the Windy Isles. "I surely hope no trimarans come across us before we make the shallows," he confided.

"Agreed," said Verus to the young man.

Elven trimarans were alarmingly effective combat vessels, fast, though not maneuverable. They were large, and worst of all carried a ram prow, or more realistically, three, one at the leading edge of each underwater sponson and support boom. They could hole a ship easily, and with a good wind behind them, cut a ship in two. Their high maindeck gave archers a distinct advantage, and the elves were artillerists without peer, able to use the deck-mounted ballistae to inflict terrible damage to their opponents before they were even in bow range.

It was indeed a good thing to not see one.

As he walked onto the helmsman's deck, he looked about them, and saw Lady Emogen approaching. It was a windy day, but not poor weather, the ship moved along under her sails smoothly, despite the choppy seas. He peered over her shoulder intently, then walked to the helmsman. "Have you a glass?" he asked.