"Scortius had us check the entire length of the dam for settling..." Sextus continued, lips pursed. "The whole face is starting to crack. You know the project has been a rush from the beginning—well, we've never sealed the inner face of the dam—and now the levee itself is soaking up the river water, getting heavier and heavier. Without deep stone pilings, the entire structure is just too massive for the underlying silt to support."
"I understand." Aurelian's face cleared. The prince snapped his fingers, and a runner jumped up. "A message for Scortius, at the Reed Sea dam," he said to the boy. "The Persians are preparing to attack. The dam must hold for another day. He must stand by for a mirror signal. Hurry!"
The boy scrambled off through the crowd and was gone. Aurelian turned back to the two engineers. "Have there been any Persian raids on the area around the dam?"
Sextus shook his head. "In that morass? No, my lord. All quiet."
"Very well." The prince looked down at the parchment map on his table, thoughtfully stroking his beard with powerful fingers. The paper showed the environs of the town, with the Nile channel just to the west, then the four Legion camps arrayed between the outskirts of Pelusium and the secondary, inner wall of the fortifications. A dry canal between the secondary wall and the first, facing the Persians in the east. Another dry channel—an old irrigation canal—fronted the forward Roman position. Each half-mile along the outer works, a square bastion jutted back from the earthworks. The second wall was also provided with strong points, each offset from their companions in the forward wall.
"We expect a massive, sharp attack somewhere along the line today. There is no 'funnel' in the ground to the east, no natural avenue of advance. It's all open, rolling dunes, salt scrub and scrawny trees." The prince measured the map with his hand. "Their army is mixed, horse and foot alike. Were it mostly horse, I think they would attack along the axis of the old road—the footing is better. But now... I think they may attempt to strike at the southern end of the fortifications."
Sextus and Frontius examined the map. The Roman walls ran south into the huge extent of swamps and bogs making up the reed sea. Another five miles south of the last Roman bastion, the dam lay hidden among the sprawling wetlands. The junction of the marsh and the fortified walls was held by offsetting way forts, the two dry canals and—behind the entire defense—the camp of the First Minerva, their own veteran Legion.
"You think they'll try and break through, to swing south of the town," Frontius said. "Cutting us off from retreat, save over the Nile bridge. We'd be bottled up in Pelusium itself."
Aurelian nodded, but he did not seem convinced. "There's no reason to besiege the town—not if they can isolate us here and go around. Then we'd be forced to abandon the entire position, to fall back and defend the delta and Alexandria. The bridge is narrow—we'd take some time withdrawing across the span. So—I want the two of you at the southernmost mirror tower by daylight. If the Persians break across both ditches, I want the dam opened."
Sextus saluted, acknowledging the order. "Should we give the men in the forward works time to fall back across the second canal, if the first wall is breached?"
Aurelian's lips quirked into a grim smile. "Once the dam is opened, the canals will flood all the way to the sea within two hours. Time enough for the Persians to get their neck out of the trap. But I will not be there, Sextus. You will have to use your own judgment. Of course, when I send the signal—"
"—we will obey instantly, Caesar!" Frontius managed a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Good. Now, go." Aurelian turned away. Servants were waiting with his armor, a single-piece breastplate of Indian steel, etched with the eagle and laurel crown of Rome and designed to fit over a mail shirt. Other slaves held his long single-edged cavalry sword, a plain, battered helmet, and a broad leather belt. Both engineers saluted, then hurried out. The southern mirror tower was five miles away, down roads sure to be crowded with men moving up to the fortifications.
In the east, the sky was still dark, without even a hint of the coming sun.
—|—
Zoë knelt on the rolled-up edge of her cloak, among a field of stumps, beside the old Roman road. Lines of men in armor tramped past along the raised highway, starlight glimmering on their helms, each man watching his file leader, following the bare gleam of hooded lanterns. The armies of Persia, the Decapolis and the Arab tribes had been in motion for more than two hours. Zoë shut the sound of boots and sandals on stone and sand out of her mind, fingertips pressed to her temples. She let her mind settle, let her thoughts calm.
One by one is one, she thought, two by two is four. Three by three is nine. Five by five, twenty-five. Seven by seven... The pattern steadied her, let the physical world fall away, a veil of silk unclasped. The so-familiar image of a dodecahedron spun in her thoughts, burning bright, brighter than the pale stars. Only a bitter taste in her mouth and a half-heard chirping of crickets sullied the vision. The presence of the lord Dahak was constantly upon her, a greasy tight film on her flesh, hidden iron in her mind.
The sorcerer crouched in the fallen orchard as well, though he wore the tall, powerfully muscled shape of his servant, Arad. The iron mask, the jackal snout, were bent as if in prayer. Zoë turned her attention away, banishing a familiar distraction.
He is well made, whispered a faint, thready voice in her mind. My beloved.
The dodecahedron swelled, split apart, fractured into dozens of similar geometries, then split again. A flood of shining motes darted away and Zoë looked upon the hidden world, blazing bright.
The columns of soldiers shone with ruddy light, the road a dull blue streak, the distant fortifications of the Romans a shining golden wall. Immediately to hand, the shape of the jackal was a black void, without the inner fire of a human soul or even the flickering pattern of an animal or bird. Behind the sorcerer, beside Zoë, Odenathus was also preparing himself, a steady forge-red pattern, all confidence and strength.
Auntie, be quiet, Zoë thought, only the barest fraction of attention upon her mind's companion. I must prepare. There are Romans to kill. Despite everything, the prospect roused a trickle of anticipation in her heart. The voice dimmed, though the Palmyrene girl could half-sense loss, sadness, and a flicker of electric blue eyes. Our master is distracted, but he is not a fool.
I understand. The Queen's voice receded into an inner, unmapped distance. Dusares watch over you, child.
Zoë grimaced, though her waking mind continued its plunge into the matrices of the hidden. A pattern of defense built around her, swirling with half-seen glyphs and words of power. She reached out to Odenathus, felt his familiar thoughts, then the shield of Athena was complete, a steadily burning blue-white sphere. One edge of the pattern enclosed the jackal, though the ebon power within the dead shape distorted the smooth surfaces, making them bend and dip like cloth pressed down by a leaden weight. The Palmyrene woman concentrated and the shield sluiced away, leaving the jackal alone and outside its aegis. The blue-white dome strengthened.
Ready? Zoë's thought brushed against her cousin.
Yes, he said and a warm sensation of eager confidence washed over her. Do you hear the horns?
Zoë let her awareness recede a step, allowing her physical senses to flood back into focus. Her skin tingled with the chill of the night; her ears heard the soft wail of horns, the quickening steps of men on the highway, the snort of horses.
The attack is beginning. She rose gracefully, feeling the mailed shirt bind against her chest, the weight of her helmet tight upon her head. The jackal echoed her motion, though the man Arad was nearly naked, only a loincloth of white cotton around his hips. Odenathus stood as well. The two Palmyrenes looked to the jackal, poised, ready to strike at the enemy.
We wait, came the powerful, crushing thought of the Lord of the Ten Serpents. Let the armies become locked in battle, all fury and hate rising up, the sky filled with spears, arrows, stones. Then the Roman wizards will be distracted and we will move against them.
His will gripped them like a vise, holding them powerless. Zoë felt darkness flood into her, felt the Queen flee deeper into the inner void, felt her limbs twitch with Dahak's intent, nerves burning with fire. She hunched down, bowing at his side.
Yes, great lord! Zoë's and Odenathus' screams were indistinguishable.
Good. Good. The power turned away for an instant, focusing on the rippling, incandescent wall of golden light. Zoë gasped for breath, wild thoughts hurrying through her mind.
What happened? Tears spilled on the ground, her arms and legs spasming. He's not afraid! He was afraid before!
She froze, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Dismay rose in her, icy water spilling into a shattered hull. What if he was only pretending fear? A ruse to snare treachery?
With a tremendous effort, bringing to mind a calming meditation, she drove the thoughts of murder and insurrection from her mind. A cold clarity settled over her.
—|—
Sextus jogged south, measuring his stride, conserving his breath. Frontius was lagging, still cursing under his breath, anger radiating from every pore.
"Dick-licking bastards! How could they steal our mules?"
Sextus ignored his friend, swerving around a wagon rumbling past. The road on the second wall was crowded with men; cohorts tramping past, torches held overhead, wagons filled with bundles of arrows, coffers of sling stones, more spears, healers in white cloaks, caduceus staves over their shoulders. The engineer pushed through a crowd of Blemmyenite archers, feathered plumes dancing over shaven heads. Sextus broke through into a clear section of the road. Furious himself, he glanced over his shoulder for Frontius. "Don't waste your..."
The eastern sky was glowing a pale pink. Tiny, crescent-shaped clouds caught the dawn as she climbed up over the rim of the world, burning like spilled, molten gold.
"Shit!" Sextus scrambled up the nearest steps to the fighting wall. A dim light spilled across the land, picking out the roofs of the watchtowers on the first wall, ignoring the deep cavity of the dry canal. Frontius clambered up, puffing, unable to speak, his breath spent. Sextus wiped his forehead, fingers brushing against chilled metal. He stared out across the sprawling fortifications.
The edge of the sun peeked over the horizon, a single burning golden dot.
Sextus swallowed. The world seemed very quiet, still, without motion or sound.
Distantly, attenuated by the cold air, a drum boomed out a solitary deep note.
Frontius leaned on his knees, gasping for breath.
The drum boomed again and the eastern sky was suddenly filled with a black cloud, winking with silver. Sextus watched the arrows rise—so many! How could there be so many!—and then plunge down into the forward works. The sound of metal rattling on metal, raining down on wood and stone, reached across the distance. An abrupt roaring sound followed and Sextus saw a mangonel set behind the Roman lines wind back, pause, then release with a thrumming snap. Flaming pitch flew up, arcing into the sky, trailing smoke in a spiral. Thousands of tiny figures, red cloaks black in the poor light, rose up along the forward fighting wall, javelins, spears, bows at the ready.
A great shout rang back from the heavens. Flights of arrows plunged down. All along the Roman lines, mangonels and scorpions bucked and heaved, flinging burning stones, red-hot pitch, spears into the killing zone within the outer canal. Tiny figures of men toppled back from the wall. At this distance, Sextus could not see their wounds, but his memory supplied the bloody, crushed faces, the sightless eyes.
"Come on," Frontius grabbed his shoulder. "We've got to get to the signal tower."
Dust began to puff up into the sky. The sun, huge and distorted, was over the horizon, blazing light slanting down, right into Sextus' eyes. Half-blinded, he turned away. They started jogging again.