Cursors's Fury

“My fame precedes me,” the Maestro said. He pushed the heels of his hands against the small of his back and winced, stretching. “You have the advantage of me.”

The man saluted, fist to heart, Legion fashion. “Lorico, sir. Valet. I’ll be working for you.” He waved, and a young page came over to take the horses.

Magnus nodded and traded grips with the man, forearm to forearm. “Pleased to meet you. This is Subtribune Scipio Rufus. Centurion Antillar Maximus.”

Lorico saluted them as well. “The captain is having his first general staff meeting, sirs, if you’d care to go inside.”

Max nodded to them. “Lorico, could you direct me to my billet?”

“Begging your pardon, centurion, but the captain asked that you attend as well.”

Max lifted his eyebrows and gestured to Tavi. “Sir.”

Tavi nodded and entered the tent, glancing around the place. A plain le-gionare’s bedroll sat neatly atop a battered old standard-issue travel chest. They were the only evidence of anyone residing in the tent. Several writing tables stood against the walls of the tent, though their three-legged camp stools had been drawn to the tent’s middle, and were occupied by one woman and half a dozen men. There were another score or so of armored men crowded into the space the tent provided, all of them arranged in a loose half circle around an unremarkable-looking bald man in armor worn over a grey tunic. Captain Cyril.

Legion armor always made a man’s shoulders look wide, but Cyril’s looked almost deformed beneath the pauldrons. His forearms were bare, scarred, the skin stretched tight over cords of muscle. His armor bore the same red-and-blue eagle insignia Tavi had seen on Lorico’s tunic, somehow embedded into the steel.

Tavi stepped aside to let Magnus and Max enter, and the three of them came to attention while Lorico announced them. “Subtribune Scipio, Astoris Magnus, and Antillar Maximus, sir.”

Cyril looked up from the paper he held in his hand and nodded to them. “Good timing, gentlemen. Welcome.” He gestured for them to join the circle around him. “Please.”

“My name is Ritius Cyril,” he continued, after they had joined the circle. “Many of you know me. For those who don’t, I was born in Placida, but my home is here, in the Legions. I have served terms as a legionare in Phrygia, Riva, and Antillus, and as a marine in Parcia. I served as a Knight Ferrous in Antillus, as a Tribune Auxiliarus, Tribune Tactica, and Knight Tribune, as well as Legion Subtribune. I have seen action against the Icemen, the Canim, and the Marat. This is my first Legion command.” He paused to look around the room steadily, then said, “Gentlemen, we find ourselves in the unenviable position of pioneers. No Legion like this one has ever existed. Some of you may be expecting to serve in a token fighting force-a political symbol, where the work will be light and the business of war will seldom cross paths with us.

“If so, you are mistaken,” he said, and his voice turned slightly crisp. “Make no mistake. I intend to train this Legion to be the equal of any in the Realm. There is a great deal of work ahead of us, but I will ask nothing more from any of you than I do of myself.

“Further, I am as aware as any of you of the various agendas of the lords and Senators who supported the founding of this Legion. Lest there be any misunderstandings, you should all know now that I have no patience for politics and little tolerance for fools. This is a Legion. Our business is war, the defense of the Realm. I will not allow anyone’s games to interfere with business. If you are here with your own agenda, or if you have no stomach for hard work, I expect you to resign, here and now, and be gone after breakfast tomorrow.” His gaze swept the room again. “Are there any takers?”

Tavi arched a brow at the man, impressed. Few would dare to speak so plainly to the Citizenry, of which most of the officers of every Legion were members. Tavi glanced around the gathering of listeners. None of them moved or spoke, though Tavi saw uncomfortable expressions on several faces. Evidently, they were no more used to being spoken to in no uncertain terms than Tavi was to hearing them so addressed.

Cyril waited for a moment more, then said, “No? Then I will expect you all to do everything in your power to fulfill your duties. Just as I will do all in my power to aid and support you. That said, introductions are in order.”