- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Writing Levels
- Douche
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
Far and wide, in cultures beyond number, there are legends of messengers. Ningishzida, the Siberian Sun Bird, Amnael, Hermes, Thoth and Gabriel; many more. In their deeds were great beginnings and momentous change, and in their hands the secrets of alchemy and magic. Their path was ever lonesome; their burdens harsh.
Yet there is no denying... they were herald to the turn of history.
It is fitting, therefore, that this story should begin with three messengers...
Marius had been an unremarkable soldier in his 30 years of life. His one claim to glory was that his great grandfather was among the men who discovered the body of Brutus, in the last days of the Republic. But riding such coat-tails and brought Marius little renown, and his time in the Legion even less so. Yet between the days of marching and battling savages in the Eastern Campaigns, this young Legionnaire had studied with a passion the languages of the known world, and by his linguistic talents come to the attention of his Centurion. Five years later, he was the finest of the Nuntius... the Messengers of Rome.
By aid of the Cursus Publicus, the imperial postal system, Marius's journey south had been a pleasant one. His horse had been refreshed at villages along the way, and with the official seal of the Emperor on his documents there had been no obstruction. He had crossed the sea with a Phoenician trader and come to port in Alexandria. There, with the arrogance only a soldier of the largest empire in history could sport, he had defied conventional wisdom and bought another horse from a bemused camel-trader. And from there, he had begun his journey into the desert.
He carries a message... for the Queen of Egypt... for the one who was dead but now reborn.
* * * *
Cynrig had nothing of arrogance about him, and while his Roman counterpart had won safe passage with the weight of authority, the old druid had crossed the Northern Wilderness with a manner most opposite. A shambling, wrinkled shell of a man, Cynrig had been ignored by every village and raiding party that encountered him. As one would neglect a fool or a wounded animal, the druid suffered no set backs. And as for what perils nature may have thrown, his journey was a story of rivers parting, roots untangling and mountains shedding snow. It was whispered that the earth was friend to old Cynrig.
Or at least he had a friend in Maerlön. The High Druids had arrived together from the ruins of Roman Britain, agents of the esoteric circle which had liberated the Sceptered Isles. And now with wit and barter, with cunning and mystique, these old sages were uniting their Barbarian kin throughout the North. Cynrig, as predictor of the tides, had done his best to assist, but Europe had proven no great place for his talents. He already felt strange without the sounds of the oceans in his ears. So Maerlön had sent him deeper into the heartlands, perhaps as shamanic punishment, or perhaps so he might again feel useful.
And so, with frail and ponderous steps, the old druid Cynrig crosses the border between the Roman outposts. He carries a message for Caesar - a proclamation locked in his memory. And though the sea is far behind, he feels the tides of something greater up ahead.
* * * *
Nabirye had expected little from this life. From a family of handmaidens in Cairo, she had been raised with the idea that women have their place and joy is something only gods can render in the worlds beyond death. As much was implied in the state of Egypt - a bleak and desert realm extolling heavenly titans and funeral pyramids, as if nothing but a single nation preparing for death. And yet with Cleopatra's return all things had been inverted and not least the traditions of family.
Cleopatra had proclaimed that women were as mighty as any creature of the world, and on this storm Nabirye had risen. By the beauty of her glyphs and her study of the Gallic tongue she had won a place in the envoys. And on her queen's behest she had learned the ways of the desert and brought the light of Egypt to all corners of Africa. She was, if anything, a symbol in these times, of how a woman could follow the footsteps of a man and do as he has done. And in this Nabirye revelled. Years apart from her mother and sisters only hardened her spirit. And when the court of Cleopatra bade her ride to Tunis and cross the sea to the port of Massalia, her hesitation was only fleeting.
Now Nabirye ventures north through Gaul, her dark features veiled, with a scroll inscribed with a message for Maerlön.
Today is the Ides of March. Before the sun is out, these three messengers will die.
Yet such is the part they play.
In the shedding of a herald's blood, all stories are unfolded.
Yet such is the part they play.
In the shedding of a herald's blood, all stories are unfolded.
CHAPTER ONE
The Ides of March
The Ides of March