A few moments later, Lord Cereus arrived. Among the Citizenry of the Realm, Cereus Macius was something of a rarity-a silver-haired, elderly man. Either he had lacked the talent for preserving his outward youth, or he had simply never bothered to maintain it. There were rumors that Cereus’s furycrafting abilities were somewhat stunted when it came to watercrafting, though Amara had no way to know if the rumors were based on fact, or if the fact of his appearance had given birth to the rumors.
Cereus was of medium height and slender build, with a long, morose-looking face and blunt, strong fingers. He entered, two hard-faced men flanking him, hands on their swords. Upon seeing Bernard and Giraldi, the two men paused and narrowed their eyes. Bernard and Giraldi returned their scrutiny with matching impassivity.
“I wonder, Countess Amara,” Cereus murmured, his tone whimsical. “Are we to let them sniff one another’s rumps and become friends, or should we tie their leashes to separate walls to avoid trouble.”
“Your Grace.” Amara smiled and rose, bowing deeply. “They mean well.”
Cereus took her hands in both of his, smiling, and nodded back to her. “You may be right. Gentlemen, if there’s fighting to be done tonight, I’d prefer that it not be in my garden. Very well?”
The two bodyguards nodded and withdrew by half a step and no more. Giraldi grinned and went back to his food. Bernard smiled and bowed to Cereus. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“Count Calderon,” Cereus said. “Welcome. Though I fear you have come to my city at a most unfortunate time.”
“I am here, Your Grace,” Bernard said firmly. “And I offer you whatever aid I can provide.”
“Thank you,” Cereus said, no trace of irony in his words. “Countess, are the others coming?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said. “But it may take more time. Most of the survivors were badly traumatized by the city’s panic.”
Cereus grunted and lowered himself stiffly onto a richly, beautifully carved wooden bench. “Understandable.” He squinted at Bernard. “Your sister, the…” He blinked as if mildly disbelieving, “… Steadholder. The woman Steadholder. She’s a talented watercrafter, yes?”
“Yes,” Bernard said.
“How is she?”
“Exhausted. Sleeping,” Bernard replied. “She’d had a difficult day even before the stars changed.”
“The panic was extremely painful to those of sensitivity to such things. If there is anything I can do to help her, please send word to me,” Cereus said.
Bernard bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Grace. Your offer of secure quarters was more than generous enough. She’s resting comfortably.”
Cereus squinted at Giraldi. “Is that ale? Real, honest ale?”
Giraldi belched.
“Crows and thunder,” Cereus said. “Do you have another mug, soldier?” Giraldi did. Cereus sipped, let out a long sigh, and settled back down on his bench. “My daughter, you see,” he explained. “She’ll not let an old man have a well-earned draught. Says it isn’t good for my heart.”
“Got to die of something,” Giraldi observed. “Might as well put back a few pints while you wait to see what it is.”
“Exactly,” Cereus said. “The girl’s got a heart of gold, but she doesn’t see that.” He glanced over his shoulder, at the battlements rising above the garden, and the old lord’s face settled into deeper lines, marks of worry and grief etched in the shadows on his face. Amara watched as he settled down to sip carefully at the ale and wait for the others to arrive. It didn’t take long. Within half an hour, High Lord Cereus’s little garden was crowded with visitors. “Well,” he said, looking around with a somewhat lost expression on his face. “I suppose we should begin.”
Cereus rose. He stepped up onto his bench with an apologetic expression and rapped a ring against his now-empty mug. “My lords, ladies. Welcome. Would that it were a happier occasion.” He smiled faintly and gestured. “I have asked you here on behalf of the First Lord and his Cursor, Countess Amara. Countess.”
Lord Cereus stepped down from the bench with a visible expression of relief.
Amara bowed her head to Cereus, took a small coin from her pocket, and dropped it into the pool, murmuring, “Amaranth waters, hasten word to thy master.”
The water’s surface rippled around the vanished coin, then began to stir. Then an extrusion of water rippled forth and resolved itself into the form of a tall, slender man in his late prime, colors slowly seeping into the shape of his tunic and breeches, forming into the blue and scarlet of the House of Gaius. Similarly, his hair became a seemingly premature grey-white, though he had seen nearly fourscore years.
Amara bowed her head. “My lord, we are ready.”
The First Lord’s image turned to face Amara and nodded. “Go ahead. Lords Atticus and Placidus”-he made a gesture as two more watery forms began to take shape on either side of his own-“will be joining us as well.”
Amara nodded and turned to face the others in the garden. “My lords and ladies, I know that the past few hours have been confusing and frightening. The First Lord has instructed to me to share what information we have about recent events.
“We do not yet know the background and particulars of the attackers who struck last evening,” Amara said. “But we do know that they attacked almost every member of the Dianic League, as well as the faculty and staff of the Collegia Tactica, the captain and Tribunes of the First Ceresian, and a number of visiting military officers who were attending a symposium at the Collegia.
“The assassins proved deadly and efficient. High Lady Rhodes was slain, as was High Lady Phrygius, Senator Parmos, and seventy-six other Citizens who had been targeted by the assassins. Several more citizens, including Lady Placidus, are missing.” She reached into a pouch at her side and drew out the hinged metallic ring of a discipline collar, a slaver’s device used to control troublesome slaves. “What we know is that each of the attackers wore a discipline collar, like this one. Each of them bears an engraving that reads: Immortalis. Each of the men involved in the attack appeared to be twenty years of age or younger. Each of them displayed an almost superhuman ability to withstand pain, and they were apparently acting without fear or regard for their own lives.
“We are fairly certain that these Immortals, for lack of a better term, are slaves trained, conditioned, and collar-disciplined from childhood to be soldiers. Simply put, they are highly proficient madmen with no conscience, no doubt, no aversion to pain, and a perfect willingness to sacrifice their own lives to accomplish their mission. Fewer than one target in four survived the attacks.”
Quiet comments went around the little garden. A large, heavily built man with dark hair and an iron grey beard, wearing Legion armor, rumbled, “We all have some idea what they can do. But do you know who sent them?”
Amara took a deep breath and said, “Full, legal corroboration should be complete in a few days, but the given the timing of events, I am confident of what we will find. Last night, apparently simultaneously with the attacks here, Lord Kalarus mobilized his Legions.”
Several people drew in sharp breaths. Low mutters ran through the garden again, voices quicker, nervous.
“One of Kalarus’s Legions assaulted the western foothills of Parcia and diverted the Gaul through the floodplain. The Third Parcian Legion was forced to abandon the stronghold at Whiteharrow, and Kalarus’s Legions now control the passes down out of the Blackhills.
“At the same time,” Amara continued, “two more Legions assaulted the camp of Second Ceres, taking them completely by surprise. The attackers offered no quarter. There were fewer than a hundred survivors.”