Page 7 of Firebird
He stood next to me, looking below.
As commander of this invasion, I’d remained in human form, fully clothed in regalia fitting my station. Generals no longer needed to shift into half-skin and get bloody on the battlefield. We’d earned our right to keep our hands and uniforms clean. It was a sign of power when you ordered commands for battle without ever letting your dragon loose.
But each soldier knew that I could shift in a blink and take their head off if they stepped out of line. Our beasts gave us dominance over every battlefield, but when released, they were also predatory, single-minded monsters. If the officers didn’t know without a doubt thattheir general was the most dominant beast among them, then their dragons would never submit to his command.
I’d earned my right to stand on this hill and command from afar—no matter who my uncle was. Every soldier in my legions knew it.
“No bands of Celts beyond the fire line?” I asked.
“None.”
The Celts were vicious and cunning. They often held back a band of warriors to catch Romans unaware with archers and spear-wielders who’d tipped their arrows with poison. This particular region of Celts had bested my predecessor, Legatus Bastius, three times. Allegedly, they had some sort of sorceress who aided somehow, but that was still a mystery.
My uncle, the emperor, finally invited Legatus Bastius to dinner at his palace in Rome after his third defeat. They’d grown up together. Bastius was nervous nonetheless. My heightened dragon senses detected the sweat he reeked and his increased heart rate as Bastius took his seat on a cushioned chaise across from me for our meal.
He was told the emperor would discuss strategy for his next invasion. Instead, my uncle fed him a grand feast, let him fuck one of his slaves during dinner, and laughed over their old conquests in Germania. Right as Bastius was regaling us with a story of one of his bloodier kills, my uncle staked him to the wall with his own gladius through the throat, then gutted and beheaded him.
When he was done, Bastius’s beheaded carcass bleeding on his marble floor, Uncle Igniculus stalked across the deadly silent room, still full of his party guests. He stopped and stood in front of me in half-skin, speckled in his former friend’s blood.
“Congratulations, nephew.” He’d pressed his bloody palm flat to my chest, yellow eyes glittering with his dragon. “Or should I say, Legatus JulianusIgnis Dakkia.” He always liked to emphasize the names we shared in common.
That’s how I received my promotion. That’s why I was standing here now, ensuring this Celtic tribe didn’t escape yet again.
“Be sure to get their king’s head. Uncle will want it for his Wall of Victory.”
“It will be done,” agreed Trajan.
A female shout echoed from the distant encampment, followed by growling and laughter, drawing my attention.
Though I couldn’t admit it to anyone but Trajan, I didn’t want senseless murder taking place under my command. Bastius had been a sloppy general, letting his soldiers become undisciplined with his lack of leadership. I wouldn’t have my men murdering women and children for fun when the battle was over. I’d heard about how they’d raped and pillaged and destroyed an entire village in Thrace before burning it to the ground.
Since I’d inherited this defiant rabble, I’d been forced to harshly discipline a number of soldiers. Some had nearly died from my punishments. But strength was power and the only way to control them was through brutal force.
A woman’s scream echoed up to us again.
“They aren’t killing the prisoners, are they? I want a large haul for the market.”
“Not killing, Legatus,” answered Trajan. “They found the Celtic witch. Just having a little fun with her.”
I cut a hard look to him. He recognized I wanted a full explanation without me even asking. We’d been friends before I’d become his superior, and he knew me better than any other.
“The sorceress who’s been helping the Celts defeat us so many times before. They cornered her. Going to take turns with her before they hand her over to themangones.”
“In half-skin?” I demanded to know.
“Only Silvanus is in half-skin.”
Ire flamed at the thought of the savagery these men had bestowed on too many already. It wouldnothappen under my command.
“There will be nothing left to give the slave master when he’s done.” Marching forward, I commanded, “Follow me.”
My dragon pulsed a hard beat behind my breast, burning to cut loose and show Silvanus and his lackeys what terror truly felt like, the kind of terror they were bestowing on the witch below. I didn’t care if she mystically aided the Celts. This was vengeance because a woman bruised their egos.
I knew how brutal Silvanus could be without any cause at all. They’d kill her for sure if they violated her in half-skin. Above all else, he was defying my orders. Andthatcould not be tolerated.
Officers towering above me in half-skin, along with human soldiers—common-born Romans—turned as I crossed the battlefield. They stepped back, clenched their right fists, and struck them over their hearts in salute and submission, eyes straight as I passed. The reek of burning bodies filled the air, the smell of victory.
Trajan trailed a step behind me and to my left as was proper of a general’s second. The raucous laughter lilted closer as I stepped into the line of trees. Themangonesloaded his newly acquired property into carrying nets—women, children, and the few men who survived the battle. Though there were also female warriors among the Celtic men. They’d catch the finest price at market.
