Twami was a kitten that old Edmund had bought as a pet to ease his loneliness, always treating her very well.

I had seen her a few times at the market while she was busy shopping for her owners, and after his death a couple of weeks ago she had been taken to the ghetto waiting to understand what would be done with her.

When Jorn and I arrived in the square, the situation was nothing short of explosive; Daemon and a dozen of my companions were all that stood between Beek's men and Twami, who clung to that super-gifted cow Lori trembling with fear.

"What's going on?"

"Thank goodness you're here," Daemon said as if I was his savior. "They want to enter the ghetto and take Twami away."

"What?! For what reason?"

"It's easy to figure out!" snapped the Commander. "That old fart Edmund was a known reunionist, and we have proof that a secret meeting took place in his house shortly before his death to plan an attack – the same attack in which they killed two of my men! That animal must have certainly heard or seen something, so I want to question her to find out what she knows."

"This is beyond ridiculous," Daemon said. "Twami barely understands our language. What on Earth could she tell you?"

"Moreover, there is not a single judge who would accept the word of a slave against that of a free citizen. Anything she can tell you would be useless."

"I'm tired of you brats! I said I would arrest her and I intend to! Soldiers, take that beast!"

At that point, I instinctively did something I never thought I'd do: I drew my sword and pointed it against him.

"Stop! That's enough!"

To my astonishment, my men did the same, and in the space of a moment a wall of shields stood between that kitten and Beek's men, and Beek turned red with rage.

"How dare you raise your arms against us? We are the delegates of the people of Eirinn and of Her Majesty the Emperor! The representatives of the law!"

"I've already sent a letter to the Governor, and he has authorized the declaration of a state of emergency. And as you should know, during a state of emergency, the management of the ghettos comes entirely under the control of the legions. You are no longer entitled to stay here."

In the meantime, a small audience of slaves had formed all around us, watching with obvious astonishment my companions and me protecting one of them.

"I hear your grandfather was a well-known Reunion sympathizer too, boy. And your father and mother, too. Maybe I should have a chat with her and search her a bit."

I don't know what kept me from driving my sword into his neck.

"Get out of here, you damned lunatic. And take this gang of butchers away with you."

He growled like a mad dog on chains, but he knew his hands were tied.

"Don't think it's over here, you filthy beasts! You may be safe here, but out there you are still in my power! Wait and see!"

As if we didn't feel safe, my companions and I kept our shields up until we saw Beek and his men disappear beyond the gate, which we closed once we got out with a new set of padlocks.

"It's like he said. We can protect them while they're in here, but the mines and sawmills remain under militia control."

"Can you get Twami off work?"

"I can do better. I have a friend in Basterwick. He and his family are looking for a new housekeeper. I'll get him to buy her."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Daemon. I've never liked the way we treat these poor people. After all, there was no slavery in Eirinn before it was assimilated by the Empire."

Meanwhile, Beek's men had reached the top of the hill to the east overlooking the valley, standing and looking at us as if challenging us.

"I won't be able to keep things under control much longer, Septimus. Whether they are slaves or free citizens, one cannot reason with the starving for long."

"Yes, I know. We are actually investigating. I can't promise you anything, but maybe there's a slim chance we'll be able to recover some of the supplies."

"What are you talking about? I thought it was all destroyed in the fire."

"I can't tell you more right now, but I promise if we come up with anything I'll let you know right away."

"I must stay here to keep order and I can't help you. But if you really have any idea whatsoever that will get us out of this powder keg, in Heaven's name do something about it."

We watched as Daemon visibly worried and with downcast eyes remounted his horse to ride back to Dundee.

Not that we were in a better mood.

"Thank goodness he's here. Anyone else would have already lost control of the situation by now."

"And we must do our part, Jorn. Let's find those thieves."



While the Empire liked to pompously call what for a hundred years had been nothing more than occasional skirmishes with the Union "border wars," no one wanted to go back to those days.

This was the reason why no man's land was created, establishing a two-mile free zone along the entire border between Saedonia and Patria, which in Western Eirinn was marked by the course of the Jesi.

Jorn and I moved through the trees like burglars invading another's home. We knew we were taking a big risk. Even though there were only two of us and without armor, if we were discovered it would have resulted in a serious diplomatic incident.

"Are you sure this is the best way?"

"Absolutely, Decurion. The traces are clear. Five people, including at least one monster. Probably a feline."

"You're good at reading tracks. You could compete with Daemon."

"My father was warden of a prison, before ending up in it for the debts he had accumulated. No one could follow fugitives in the swamps like him. Here we are. Their camp should be right in front of us."

It would not have been easy to subjugate five bandits who probably also knew how to fight, but we could count on the surprise effect and catch them in their sleep.

Before we could get within sight of their hiding place, however, a pestilential smell we both knew quite well passed under our noses.

"Decomposition," I said, "There's something rotting up ahead."

With no more fear, we advanced at a brisk pace following that stench, and when we finally arrived at our destination, we were both overwhelmed by discouragement.

The camp was in a pitiful state, and it looked as if an enraged tarkana had leapt upon it.

As Borg had said, they were definitely Torians, and among them was a tiger in Mahardian clothing. Their heaving weapons nearby proved that they had tried to defend themselves, but whoever had confronted them had shown no mercy.

"By Gaia," Jorn said. "Who could have done such a thing?"

"Surely there had to be at least a dozen to make such a mess."

As if that weren't enough, the flour had fallen from its pallet during the battle covering itself with water and mud, and the little food left had made the wild animals happy.

We couldn't let it end like this. Not after having worked hard and risked so much to get to that point.

"Let's look around. Maybe we'll find something out."

We rummaged everywhere – in the traveling bags, inside the tents, and even in the pockets of the corpses – until Jorn recovered a half-burned parchment from an extinguished fire covered in scribbles that I didn't understand.

"It's written in the Torian language. It looks like a list."

"Can you translate it?"

"I think so, just give me a second."

The amazement that appeared on his face as he managed to decipher the text is indescribable, but nothing compared to what I felt when he revealed its contents to me.

It was a list: a list of names.

Names I knew very well. Next to it was a detailed description of the quantity of stolen goods they'd bought, which kind, and how much they'd paid to get it.

"They're some of the most prominent families in the province."

"Maybe the killers were disturbed and had to flee before they were sure it was destroyed."

"Who cares? Quick, let's take it to Daemon. Maybe we can still hope to recover something."



It was difficult for any bailiff to accept a list recovered from a robbers' den as evidence, but Daemon was the Sheriff, and as long as he took responsibility for his decisions, he could do as he pleased.

And he certainly didn't lack courage.

In the days that followed, we turned inside out not only the Dundee region but also the whole of West Eirinn, from Basterwick to the Castle, making scores of arrests.

Merchants, petty bourgeois, village chiefs, and even some nobles.

Of course, most of them denied responsibility, but the evidence we found in their possession was more than enough to land them in slavery for the rest of their days, at best.

The truly ironic part was that most of them were either foreigners or locals who had made their fortunes by cooperating to varying degrees with the imperial authorities.

We also managed to recover some stolen goods – not a lot, but just enough to get by until spring.

There was one name, however, that left Daemon and me literally speechless. A name we had wanted to keep for last, ordering our men not to lift a finger until the very end; not because we cared about him, but because we wanted to fully enjoy the moment when we could finally get him out of the way.

When we entered Wallace's shop together with a handful of soldiers, yet another argument over money was underway between Mary and her father, with an inevitable show of hands. Giselle was also with us, as a witness whose word had been decisive in obtaining permission to proceed with what we were about to do.

"You never lose the habit, do you bastard?" Daemon said cracking his fingers with obvious pleasure.

"What do you want? I'm not at all cheerful this morning."

"The honor is yours, Septimus. And hurry, otherwise I might do something stupid."

"Doug Moray! I'm arresting you for theft and receiving stolen goods!"

My men had to jump on him all together to be able to immobilize him.

"Let me go, damn you! What are you talking about? I'm innocent!"

"Everyone else said it too. Too bad here is a list of buyers found in the camp of the thieves who looted and destroyed the barn, which also includes your name."

"What are you talking about? I didn't buy anything!"

"I don't doubt it, since as a down-and-out you are you could never have afforded such an outlay. What you did was pluck one of those thieves at a card table, and accept a supply of stolen goods in payment for your winnings."

"And if you're thinking of trying to deny this, forget it." Giselle intervened: "I saw you with my own eyes playing cards with that strange fellow and signing the bill. You bragged about it for days. Really, what idiot goes around telling the rooftops that he accepted stolen goods in payment?"

"I repeat I don't know what you're talking about! I played cards with a Torian a few weeks ago, but the bill I signed was only a promise to pay in cash."

Naturally, we searched the store thoroughly, finding the said note in a secret false bottom in the store cashier and ascertaining once and for all that the drunk must have been drinking even more than usual that evening. Or he was deliberately lying.

"And this? It's clearly written here that you accepted a supply of food in payment. Since the fire only happened the night before, are you really telling us you didn't know it was the stolen supplies from the destroyed warehouse?"

"No wait, I've never seen that card in my life, I swear!"

"Do you keep denying the evidence? Do you see it or not your signature right here? And if you hope to get away saying you were drunk, it will be useless. Given what we've been through, I doubt the judge will accept such a justification."

"This is all a hoax! A conspiracy! Tell the truth, it was you! You want to frame me! Mary darling, tell them too! Tell them they're wrong!"

Instead, Mary's face said something else. Indeed, I will not deny that I had never once seen her display such a sinister grin – she almost scared me.

"You'll not escape the gallows this time! Take him away!"

"With pleasure, sir!"

The sight of that violent drunkard thrown weeping on the cart to be taken to the castle put us all in a good mood. Finally, me, Daemon and Giselle had managed to get that ogre out of Mary's life once and for all.

"You don't have to worry about the store," Daemon said before our friend could say something. "I asked the Governor for a personal favor. From this moment on, the store immediately transfers into your ownership. No supervisors or trustees."

"Thanks, Daemon. Thank you all."

"You're welcome, I've been waiting a long time to get this satisfaction. But now that I think about it, who's going to pay his back bill at the inn?"



That evening, the Mayor invited us to the tavern and offered us all a drink, thanking us on behalf of all the citizens for what we had done.

As for me though, I felt I had very little reason to celebrate.

Certainly, by recovering at least some of the stolen food, we had saved many lives and averted a famine in the middle of winter. But despite our efforts, it was clear that the image of the Empire and its rulers hadn't come out all too well from all that story.

First the attitude of the Governor, more interested in his cursed party than in the fate of his subjects, then the savage hunting of Beek and the militia, and finally all those respectable names we had thrown into jail.

In all of this, the fact that the heroes of the day were two stubborn legionnaires and an imperial Sheriff was hardly convincing enough to change the way the people of Dundee, if not all of the province, viewed their rulers.

And I admit that many of my certainties had also suddenly weakened.

I had enlisted in the legion because I believed by doing so, I could protect my friends and my land, but when my intervention became necessary, I had done everything but follow orders, right because the Empire I trusted had failed us.

What was I fighting for?

Could I really consider myself a legionary in the service of Saedonia? Or did I subconsciously still think and act like an Eirinn?

Inevitably, I ended up drowning my doubts in cider, drinking one mug after another, as everything around me started spinning more and more.

If I had known what was about to happen, I would have stopped in time.



There was a reason why, first as a general and then also as a ruler, I had done everything to limit the access of young soldiers to alcohol. Put too much liquor in a recruit's hand and he'll drink himself sick.

For me, drinking was not a problem; perhaps it was due to my trained physique, or perhaps I had inherited from my old life that famous steel stomach of mine, capable of withstanding even arsenic.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the same for my drinking companions: Septimus had collapsed by the third glass and would have sobered up in the courtesy room of the inn, while Jorn was so drunk at the end of the evening that I had to carry him out on my shoulder.

The question lingered: was that list true?

Mostly yes.

Borg had only had to spread the word and immediately a pack of hungry sharks had plunged into it, eager to speculate as much as possible on the scarcity of food to line their pockets.

Of course, those stupid raiders had not happened in those parts by chance. There was always an abundance of organic waste in no man's land, I'd just had to pick those skilled enough to carry out the plan I'd created.

I was a little sorry to deceive Scalia into telling her that they were hunters from Torian in search of slaves, but I couldn't risk a shrewd person like Jorn noticing the presence of only one assailant by inspecting the wounds on the corpses.

Naturally I had taken the liberty of replacing a name or two from the list, in order to get out of my way those people that I was sure would have something to say about what I was about to cause.

In order to convince Borg to give up such a profit, I had been forced to partially reveal my cards, promising to involve him as soon as possible, in a deal whose profit margins he could not even dream of.

As for Doug, the idea of adding his name to the list had come to me at the last moment, but luckily for me it hadn't been difficult to nail him properly. That idiot was so drunk that night that it was enough for me to put on some exotic rags and paint my face in the Torian way for him not to recognize me. Imitating his signature and replacing the bills in the chest of the store had been much more difficult.

With that drunk out of the picture, Mary would have a free hand in running the shop for the next two or three months, and by watching her I might have definitively confirmed her talent for business matters. Not to mention the consideration she now surely had of me.

Septimus and Jorn had also played their roles well. Although it could be a risk to stand next to soldiers capable of putting their conscience before the orders received, I knew I could not do without them, so for the moment it was a gamble that I could not avoid taking.

Some might say that I forced things, but from my point of view that was not the case.

For decades, the Empire had been gradually losing control of many of its regions including Eirinn, entrusted to incompetent officers and governors in the name of a system that privileged lineage over talent.

I had only opened the eyes of even the most skeptics.

Such a thing was probably bound to happen sooner or later anyway, as I for one knew that in the long run the discontent generated by such a level of misgovernment always leads to a revolution sooner or later. Unfortunately, time was not a luxury I had, so I was forced to artificially speed up a process that was in any case inevitable.

Now it was just a matter of waiting a little longer. Tempers were tense, and anger was spreading... hunger would do the rest.

For the moment, all I wanted to do was to carry Jorn back to the fort and toss him into his bed before his drunken grunts got on my nerves.

"Thanks for your help, Sheriff," he muttered. "I really don't know how we would have managed to fix all this mess without your help."

"Don't mention it. And just call me Daemon. Either way, I should be the one to thank you, since your intuition managed to solve this crisis."

Eventually, the poor guy couldn't hold back any longer, and curling up in a corner he vomited everything he had in his stomach.

"Come on, I'll take you to the fountain. A good sip of water is what you need."

"You know what? I was thinking about something."

"That you should limit yourself in drinking? I agree."

"What if we was wrong?"

"About what?"

"Everything. At first, we had no idea what to do, then the solution to all the problems literally happened in front of us. All of the sudden. Without actually doing anything."

"You're underestimating yourself, in my opinion. If I remember correctly, it was you who discovered how those thieves had managed to plunder the warehouse, and it was also your idea to go and look for them in no man's land."

"That's what I can't stop thinking about. Why didn't those who attacked the camp bother to erase their tracks? Why didn't they take that list of names away instead of leaving it there at the risk of being found? Besides, finding evidence of the men's corruption was all too easy."

"It is said that foolish men always think themselves smarter than others. I'd say this proves it."

"However, some of them seemed genuinely surprised by our allegations and by the compromising evidence we found on them or in their homes. My father always said that no matter how much a criminal may deny his guilt, because you can always see the lie in his eyes. And that's what I'm sure I didn't see."

"Looking into the eyes of a thief or a murderer is different from trying to look into the eyes of a merchant, a trafficker, or any other individual in the usual business who has made lying his religion. Trust me, some people would be able to sell you even the sun."

"Maybe. Maybe you're right."

Meanwhile we had reached the fountain in the square, still functioning despite the freezing night, and Jorn immediately stuck his head under the water jet to drive his hangover away.

"Nothing better to sober up. Now a good drink, a good night's sleep, and I'll be ready to start again."

"Anyway, I must admit that you surprised me. I honestly didn't think there was room in the legions for people who know how to use their brains. With the refined mind you have, you could be much more than a Decurion's steward in a remote place like this. With all due respect to Septimus, of course."

"I really don't mind being here. I feel this is the right place to do my part as a servant of the Empire."

"You may not have noticed, but the Empire isn't particularly loved around here. And after all this, I fear it will only get worse."

"That's exactly the point. I know the Empire is not perfect. In fact, I wouldn't even say it's fair. But things can change. The new Emperor is different from his predecessors. With him as ruler, the Empire could once again be a beacon of hope and rebirth, just as it was after the end of the Holy Wars."

"Sorry if I sound brutal, but I don't think he's doing a good job. To the East, the revolt of the barons is expanding every day, to the West, peace with Connelly cost him a hundred million goldies and ten thousand square miles of territory – provinces which had belonged to Saedonia for two hundred years. And despite the armistice with the Union, I assure you that there are few here who think that things have really improved."

"But something is happening. After all, he's just a man, and peace certainly doesn't happen overnight. But I have faith in him, and I've decided to do my part to help him turn things around. That's the purpose of my life."

That's why I've always hated ideologues – just give them a little leeway and they'll immediately start thinking inappropriate thoughts. And those who combine ideology with idealism are the worst of all, because they would be willing to have their eyes gouged out rather than face reality.

"Do you know what? You're right. You need a good sip of water."

Such a pity. I could have used someone like him. But unfortunately for him, he had chosen the wrong cause to devote himself to.