10.

Flame whipped. 

Xeator felt heat rising not too far behind him despite the leeward drift. Before him, the glint of Valerius' dagger wavered in Ariadne's hands. 

"What favor?" she asked. 

"He tried to warn and save me many years ago, but I didn't listen. Now I'm sad and wroth and have to make do with one eye." He couched up a chuckle, his eye boring into hers. "Don't make the same mistake I did. Listen! Take Tribune Valerius with you and his best men. Leave now!" 

She shook her head. "And what're you going to do with Julius? If he comes back, he must have left Lorenzo to Quirinus. And if I leave now, taking Valerius with me, you'll succeed in isolating him from everyone he can trust. Somebody must warn him about you, wouldn't you agree?"

Stumped for a reply, he licked the back of his teeth, his lips hanging apart for air. Around them, soldiers bowled to their positions by the command of a man with a rather chubby face. Lextus Frontinus, the mind behind the building of the Dam of Uruk, had instructed planks to be hauled, revealing hidden trenches woven into the earth like wefts and warps. 

"Open the gate!" At the fall of Frontinus' voice, water rumbled from height through an aqueduct into those cuts between yurts, daring the ferocious fire with such equanimity replete with contempt. 

Xeator looked over his shoulder with a half smile, in awe of Frontinus' unparalleled talent. And it took him aback how much reverence he felt of late for Julius, his foe, his friend, his brother from what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

No longer the boy he had known with so much pride that verged on insolence, Julius had grown into a man of charisma and foresight. He truly had done well, having endeared himself to such a quirky genius as Lextus Frontius that came once or perhaps twice in a generation. 

While Xeator regretted to acknowledge, he felt inexplicably glad at the same. And it thickened the plot now knowing that no one in the realm could guard the north better than Julius and the North Legion under his command. 

"Fine," he said at length. "Let's wait for Julius. I'm sure he and I can cook up a plan." Frowning with a smile, he looked to the east, where the sun had risen, large and maroon behind thick smoke, his thoughts racing. 

When Lorenzo left Pethens, he received a direct order from Marcus Uranus himself that no harm should come to his daughter. This had put Lorenzo between a rock and a hard place, and the impossible position meant room for negotiation. Julius could well leverage Ariadne for his autonomy in the north, inducing a peace treaty with Lorenzo. However transitory, the treaty would put their civil war to an end so they could unite and fend off the Turisians. Omari Ahmed must have anticipated it. To engage the Renanians in an internecine melee to the Turisians' benefit, Ahmed must angle to remove Ariadne. 

What if they could trade? What if… 

His thoughts crashed. 

In the flying smithereens of possibilities, he realized that the crux of the maelstrom took its root in the what other than the how: He no longer knew what it meant for him to win this war. 

Hoofbeats thundered from the south. He turned to the sound. A column of riders drove up clouds of dust as they approached. At the front, a stallion as white as the spires capped in snow crested into view, and whose mane rippled as if gleaming silk. On the back of the stallion rode a man well-built and impressive. Clad in scaled armor and a helm with a silver tassel, he held his torso in parallel with his mount. His fur surcoat snapped behind him while he and his stallion leaped as one across the ditches, drawing an elegant arc. At the crack of the rein, the stallion whickered, rearing on the hind legs, and the man vaulted off. Bounding up to them, he swooped up Ariadne in his arms.

"You alright?" he asked, pecking her forehead. A frown kneaded his brow as he saw the dagger in her hand. "What're you still doing here with Valerius' dagger? Shouldn't you be preparing to leave?" He turned, redirecting his gaze to Xeator tethered to the flagpole. "Who's this?"

Xeator chuckled, tilting his head. "Oi, don't look at me. I've been begging your wife to leave since I got here."

The man in the scaled armor let go of his wife. Padding to the flagpole, he doffed off his helm. "Who're you?"

He took a dare, looking into those cerulean eyes he could still recognize. Words rushed up his throat only to find themselves tangled in knots. "Gods blight," he hawked up the words at length. "I've been asked the same question so many times today I'm not so sure I know the answer anymore." 

"You've been asked, true," Ariadne edged in. "But you've never answered." 

"With all due respect, my lady," Xeator replied with a flippant shrug. "Since we met, I've helped you convince Tribune Valerius to transfer your rations to safety. I've urged you to leave, as did your lord husband. I've even volunteered to be pinned to a bloody pole! What else do you want from me?" Before she could retaliate, he snapped his gaze at the man he had vowed to take down. "Man to man, General Julius, I have one request. I'll help you gain legit autonomy here in the north on one condition that you overlook who I am." He heard a crack, the shattering of wood as another tent toppled in flames. The wind whipped and wailed. 

Julius regarded him. An untamable shock of brown curls straggled about his angular face. "You think I care about that?" he scoffed, his voice deep, riddled with indignation. "You think I started the rebellion to divide the country I've died defending?"

Xeator chuckled, dropping his gaze. "You want your father to walk free. That can't do. And you know it. He has been charged with mutiny. Even with the grace of all the gods on your side, he can't be helped. The best you can for now is to convince Pethens that you're not your father. While you might have acted on your ire and announced independence, you're still loyal to the realm."

"Easy for you to say," Julius raised his chin, his cerulean eyes derisive. "Would you leave your father to rot?"

"No, but neither do I have a future to think about," Xeator flicked his eye at Ariadne. "A cohort of sellswords led by Omari Ahmed is rescuing Lorenzo now as we speak. And when they arrive, they'll be after your wife and your child. They're your leverage."

Julius glowered. Tucking in his chin, he bored into the blond man's eye. "Who are you? And what did you do?" 

"He had infiltrators set fire to our camp to lure you back," spoke Ariadne. "Once you're away, the mercenaries they hired went to rescue Lorenzo." 

"Your wife is truly impressive." Xeator shrugged, bobbing his head. "And believe me, I've never said that about anyone…" His voice trailed off as Julius swung up an arm, delving callused fingers into his neck. 

Choking while he laughed, Xeator held the other's gaze. "Marcus wouldn't hurt his own daughter," he croaked. "His goal with this war was to contain you! Play it right, and you may actually have the north! Think about it!" As he felt the strain around his neck drop a pitch, he pressed on, "I'll help you if you agree to my only request. Do we have a deal?" 

The hand around his neck slipped away. Xeator shut his eye, panting. Had it not been for the bound that tied him to the flagpole, he would have dropped to his knees by now.

"You said Marcus wouldn't hurt Ariadne." Julius' voice. "Go on."

In a fit of cough, Xeator inclined forward and lifted his eye. "You're far too deep in the game, General," he wheezed, displaying a lopsided grin. "You need some distance away from the board to gain a better outlook. By far you've made two mistakes with the what. One is what to bargain for, and two, what to bargain with. As I've said, your lord father is already a scuttled ship. Why sink with him? Other than trading everything you have for a lost cause, you should bargain for your autonomy here in the north with your wife and your child she carries." He dropped his head backward, his lips parting. Air felt even thinner as time slowly progressed. 

"She's your other half, indeed," he plowed on. "But don't you forget that to our Praetor, she'll always be his daughter, and it is with her, not Lorenzo, your bargain begins. So long as she's alive and well, you have room for negotiation with Pethens. That said," Paused again by a cough, he heaved. His chest rose and fell while his lungs toiled, taking in the scanty air. "Standing in your way are the Turisians, who want to exploit our rift so they can breach our borders and seize the Dam of Uruk. Besides settling the score with you, Omari Ahmed will do what he can to have your wife killed so as to rid you of your leverage. He's your problem. Lucky for you, the problem can also be a solution. We must entice him."

"Be careful if you're to suggest using my wife as bait," Julius growled before turning on his heel to Ariadne. "It'll be alright," he reassured her, stroking her cheek; the menace on his face melted to a half-conscious grin. "Let's get you out of here now." 

She smiled in reply. 

Behind them, the maroon sun hung low, bruising the sky purple and red. 

"I wouldn't, General. Not anymore." Xeator hollered with all the air he held in his lungs, his head tapping against the flagpole cold as ice. "If she left earlier, she might still have a chance. But it's too late for that now. Lorenzo's men will be all over the area trying to intercept. And if you plan to escape through the defile," he swung his head, gesturing to the north, where the steppe narrowed into a gap winding further north between crags. Joined by the crenelated bridge were the wind-beaten battlements clinging to the sheer slopes, and the watchful twin towers rose high from either side. "The road to the north is treacherous, and you'll need to send at least your best cohort just to be safe. But by doing so, you weaken yourself while she attracts notice, which is the last thing you need for an escape." 

"What about the route you used?" Ariadne challenged without taking her eyes off Julius. "You and the infiltrators, how did you get here?" 

"I wouldn't recommend it, my lady," he snorted, smiling wistfully. "We climbed over a snowcap and swam across the Uruk."

Narrowing his eyes, Julius wheeled around. "I can understand the mercenaries risking a brutal death in the river for the gold they must have been promised. But what do you get from any of it? Even more unsettling is the question why," he paused for a mirthless chuckle, padding back and forth before the flagpole. "You took your chance to ruin me, and you almost had it. Why sabotage your own plan now? Seems to me you're at quite a variance with yourself, no?" 

"Gods blight, are we at war or symposium?" Betraying no answer, Xeator teased in reply. The unrelenting gaze of the other man continued to drill, burning him like ice. He looked away. "The longer we yap, the less time you have to your advantage. Lorenzo and Ahmed should be on their way here soon."

"You spoke as if it's already a fact that Lorenzo is rescued, and Quirinus defeated." Julius sneered, his hand about the hilt of his sword. "I trust Quirinus, and that he alone can take out a hundred sellswords."

Xeator bit his lip, evoking the game they used to play outside the castle of Pethens. Put into positions only the men you can trust, and trust them once you put them in their positions, he thought. How little have you changed! 

"I admire your confidence in your men, General," he said, his voice soft, his breaths heavy. "But there are more than just a hundred sellswords." Chill air chafed his throat. He coughed more. "Has your mole informed you about the lucky centurion who miraculously bounced back to life? The secret of his luck, according to the tale spread among the men, was to sew a chip of a blade to the lower back of his hauberk. For good luck, every soldier has emulated. But I guess such nonsense, much unlike an order, didn't make it in the dispatch to you." 

Julius glared. His fist doubled around the hilt. In a motion excruciatingly slow, he drew his sword, making the steel moan as it came out of the sheath. "I've agreed not to ask you who you are," he said, the sharp tip of his blade prodding in Xeator's eyepatch. "I said nothing about keeping you alive." 

"Fair play," Xeator shrugged more; his lips resumed a lopsided grin. "However, if you do come across another man with one eye you wish to threaten, threaten him by pointing the blade at his good eye. The anticipation of utter blindness is more dreadful than the certainty of death." He traced with his eye along the blade, extended as though Julius' arm. "But what does Lorenzo dread to anticipate? Or the Praetor? Is there anything the Turisians wouldn't want to lose? Those are to your advantage, and I suggest you start from there."