"What has happened?" The prince's face was taut with fear as he brushed his brother's welcoming hand aside. Maxian stared into the wavering vision burning inside the ring of the telecast. "Is this Egypt? Why is it so dark?"
Galen turned, caught short by Maxian's angry demands. "Yes, this is Egypt," he said in a measured voice. "The sun is setting."
The prince did not look at his brother, all attention focused on pinpoints of light scattered in deep shadow. Sunlight still gleamed on a few spires rising from the smoke-fogged warren of Alexandria. The Nile channels gleamed pewter, beginning to catch starlight in their waters.
"Show me Caesar Aurelian," Maxian commanded, raising a hand. A faint sound, like a ringing bell, hung in the air. The two thaumaturges yelped in alarm, starting wild-eyed from their couches. The disk blazed blue-white, flooding the room, forcing Galen to turn his head, gritting his teeth in pain. Both of the scribes cried out in surprise.
The Emperor blinked, then opened his eyes to a suddenly darkened room. He whistled in surprise. The telecast looked upon Aurelian, his red beard tangled and shining with sweat, mouth moving soundlessly. The stocky prince was in a tent hung with lamps, new wrinkles around his eyes, hands moving in sharp gestures. A crowd of Roman officers stood around a campaign table littered with maps. Aurelian turned, fist clenched, his face blazing with purpose.
"He lives," Maxian said, relief plain in his voice. He brushed sweat from his brow.
"He does." Galen waved the clerks out of the room. Both women tiptoed away. The thaumaturges looked to the Emperor for guidance and he tilted his head towards the door. They fled. "Maxian, our Horse is fine. There was a battle today, but—all things considered—it went well. Very well."
Maxian turned to his brother, a ghastly expression on his face. "I dreamed... I dreamed he was dead. His face was pale, blood streaked the water, lapping over him..."
"Nothing has happened to our Horse," Galen said firmly, taking Maxian's shoulders in hand. "Nothing."
Shoulders slumping in relief, Maxian sat heavily on the table. Behind him, the vision of his brother continued to declaim, now indicating the maps with a stubby finger. The officers leaned close, faces intent on the diagrams.
"I couldn't sleep," Maxian said softly, avoiding Galen's eyes. His right hand batted at the air beside his ear. "Voices were whispering, telling me things—they said Horse was dead, cut down, lungs filling with water—and I could do nothing. Everything was in ruins..."
"It's not true," Galen said, managing a very tired smile. "But I have the same dreams, when I try to sleep, filled with disaster and calamity." He rubbed his eyes. "In truth, this battle today was the first good news in weeks."
"I should be there," Maxian said, sitting up straighter. He glared at his brother. "The Persian sorcerer is there, isn't he?" The prince turned to the telecast, taking obvious comfort from the sight of Aurelian in good health. "Show me the enemy," he said in a commanding voice.
"No!" Galen lunged forward, then pulled himself up short. I can't control the cursed thing with my fists... "Maxian—if we can see him, he can see us!"
The scene shifted with dizzying speed, flashing over flat-roofed buildings—a towering wall—men marching along a rampart studded with stakes and towers, winging over trampled grass and boggy ground. Maxian grimaced, looking pained. Galen made a halfhearted gesture at the disc. The Persian camp swelled into view, tired, curly-bearded faces flashing past.
"Please, Max, they don't know we can watch them!"
Growling in disgust, Maxian sketched a sign in the air and the disk abruptly went dark. A whining hum skittered down, then bronze clattered on stone as the sphere of fire hissed into silence. A low, ringing tone bounced and jangled from the ceiling as the last, innermost gear rattled from side to side, then lay still.
"Your secret is safe." Maxian's voice was surly and the prince drew himself up, lips curled in almost a snarl. "And I am safe too, trapped here in Rome, while our soldiers bleed in some Egyptian field, and my brother tries to hold back sorcery with nothing but mortal bone and muscle!"
"Maxian." Galen's voice was cold and held a quelling edge. He matched angry glares with his brother. This time, Maxian did not relent or look away. Instead, Galen did. The Emperor sat down on the edge of the table, bone-deep exhaustion flooding back, stealing the last fragment of hope he'd clawed from the ruin of the Persian attack. "Listen. Today the Persian army made four full-scale assaults on the defenses of Alexandria. They did not stint themselves—I watched your Persian sorcerer rage for the better part of a day, trying to throw down the rampart and those towers—and they failed."
The Emperor opened his eyes, giving his brother a frank and appraising look. "You were not there. Our best guess is Aurelian managed to save a few thaumaturges from the wreck of Pelusium, and they are holding on, working only to defend, not to attack. The Persians were forced to strike directly into our fortifications, man-to-man, steel against steel. Our old Horse and his men held and made the Persians—and their Greek and Arab allies—pay dearly."
Maxian's tight, angry expression softened a little. "But..."
"Listen to me, just for a moment. Then you'll have your say." Galen paused, struggling to arrange his thoughts, to remember everything he held in play. His memory was beginning to fail, battered by too little sleep and too much to do.
The prince almost spoke, then gestured sharply for the Emperor to continue.
"The Persians are far from home," Galen managed to say, after two deep breaths. "Their numbers are limited and by our count, only half-again Aurelian's strength. But we hold a strong position. The harbor remains open, for they are loath to commit their fleet for fear of ours, so Alexandria will not starve. I have sent letters to the comes Alexandros in Constantinople. In another week, perhaps two, the remains of our fleet will be able to shift his army to Egypt. Then we will outnumber the Persians by two to one."
Maxian's eyes blazed. "I can be in Egypt in three days," he cried.
Galen did not respond and the prince flushed, stung by his brother's icy demeanor, then sat down again.
"When our fleet approaches the Nile mouth," the Emperor said in an even, steady voice, "the Persians will sortie to destroy them. On another day, I would gladly accept a sea battle—our fleet would be packed to the railings with legionaries—and victory would be likely. But on this day... We have been watching the battle closely and you should know the Persian sorcerer is no longer alone."
"I know," Maxian said sharply, "a dog-headed man fought beside him at Constantinople, though I thought it destroyed..."
Galen's lips twitched into a wintry smile. "The Jackal lives. There are two others, apparently equal in strength."
"Two more?" Maxian stared in surprise.
Galen nodded, rubbing the back of a knuckle against his eyebrows. He squeezed his left eye shut, trying to quell the tap-tap-tap chipping away at his concentration. "Yes. A man and a woman. Their faces are shadowed and indistinct, but we think they are Greeks." The Emperor shook his head, sighing. "The city of Palmyra had a great school and many learned sons and daughters. I wonder... no matter. No matter."
"There are four of them?" Maxian sounded ill. He sat down.
"Four." Galen's face was grim. "Can you defeat four sorcerers?"
"I... Perhaps." The prince swallowed, rubbing his temples. "How many Legion thaumaturges can accompany me?"
Galen did not answer for a moment. His eyes narrowed in calculation. "Tell me this, brother. Can you protect our fleet against them, if you stand one against four?"
"Of course—" Maxian paused, then turned his head to listen. His expression twisted into frustrated anger. "No, no, I cannot. Not if the Serpent engages my attention—then the others will savage our fleet. Each ship will require a thaumaturge aboard, to see to its defense."
"We account barely twenty Legion thaumaturges still in the West." Galen's voice was heavy.
"Only twenty?" Maxian's eyes widened in shock and a taint of despair crept into his voice.
"Twenty. Aurelian had a round dozen with him and they are dead or pressed to the limit in Alexandria. More died before Constantinople and Alexandros' Gothic Legion, for all his valor and their skill, accounts none among their number." Galen spread his hands. "The Eastern Empire's wizards are scattered, slain or fled. So... I have you, and these twenty."
"How many ships are in the fleet?" Maxian bit his thumb, staring into an unguessable distance.
"Two hundred, large and small, and they will be stretched to the limit to carry Alexandros' army."
The prince took on a pickled look, grinding his fist against his teeth. After a moment, he gave his brother a sick, exhausted look. "I can't protect so many. If these Persians can handle fire, they will wreck half the fleet, or more, before we can make harbor."
Galen nodded. "I thought as much." He essayed a smile, but knew the expression was no better than a death's head. "I am not a wizard, yet I can listen and learn and count as well as any man. This is not easy to say, but..." Then he stopped, grimacing at a bitter taste in his mouth. "We are outmatched for the moment. We need to buy time."
"Time for what?" Maxian's voice rose, frustrated and angry. "What difference will a week make, save the Persians may find a way into Alexandria and our brother and thousands of Roman soldiers will be dead?"
"Be quiet and listen!" Galen snapped back, his patience eroding. "I have been following the reports from your workshops in Florentia very closely. In three weeks, the first of your flying machines will be complete. In four, they will all be ready to fly." He raised a finger sharply. "When they are ready, you will take them to Egypt. The fleet will arrive at roughly the same time. With the long eyes of your iron drakes, we will be able to spy the Persian fleet long before they can see us—I hope to reinforce the city before the enemy can respond. And when he does..."
"I will be waiting, in the sky." Maxian's lips stretched in a feral grin. "Their fleet will be helpless against an attack from above."
"Even so," Galen said, showing a little of his own satisfaction. "The odds will shift in our favor, I think."
Maxian's exhaustion faded, bunching his fists eagerly. His spirits revived, then worry clouded his face again. "Four weeks..." He stared at the quiet, still telecast, then back at Galen. "What if our Horse can't hold the city that long? What then?"
Galen shook his head sadly. "He has to hold on, piglet. We don't have another option."