Videssos Cycle, Volume 1 Read Free Page B

tried to stand against me and found he could not,” Marcus replied, annoyed that his enemies, too, found it odd for him to carry a Celtic sword.
    “It came of its own free will, did it?” Viridovix murmured, more surprised now. “Well, indeed and it’s a brave blade you have, but you’ll find mine no weaker.” He drifted forward in a fencer’s crouch.
    Celtic nonsense, the tribune thought; a sword was a tool, with no more will of its own than a broom. But as he brought his weapon to the guard position, he suddenly felt unsure. No trick of the setting sun now made the druids’ marks stamped down the length of the blade flickerand shine. They glowed with a hot golden light of their own, a light that grew stronger and more vital with every approaching step Viridovix took.
    The Gaul’s sword was flaring, too. It quivered in his hand like a live thing, straining to reach the blade the Roman held. Marcus’ was also twisting in his hand, struggling to break free.
    Awe and dread chased each other down Viridovix’ long face, harshly plain in the hellish light of the swords. Marcus knew his own features bore a similar cast.
    Men in both armies groaned and covered their eyes, caught in something past their comprehension.
    The two blades met with a roar louder than thunder. The charms the druids had set on them, spells crafted to keep the land of the Gauls ever free of foreign rule, were released at their meeting. That one sword was in an invader’s hands only powered the unleashing further.
    The Celts outside the embattled circle of Romans saw a dome of red-gold light spring from the crossed blades to surround the legionaries. One Gaul, braver or more foolish than his fellows, rushed forward to touch the dome. He snatched his seared hand back with a howl. When the dome of light faded away, the space within was empty.
    Talking in low voices over the prodigy they had witnessed, the Celts buried their dead, then stripped the Roman corpses and buried them in a separate grave. They drifted back to their villages and farms by ones and twos. Few spoke of what they had seen, and fewer were believed.
    Later that year Caesar came to the land of the Lexovii, and from him not even miracles could save the Gauls. The only magic he acknowledged was that of empire; for him it was enough. When he wrote his commentaries, the presumed massacre of a scouting column did not seem worth mentioning.
    Inside the golden dome, the ground faded away beneath the Romans’ feet, leaving them suspended in nothingness. There was a queasy feelingof motion and imbalance, though no wind of passage buffeted their faces. Men cursed, screamed, and called on their gods, to no avail.
    Then, suddenly, they stood on dirt again; Marcus had the odd impression it had rushed up to meet his sandals. The dome of light winked out. The Romans found themselves once more in a forest clearing, one smaller and darker than that which they had so unexpectedly left. It was dark night. Though Scaurus knew the moon had risen not long before, there was no moon here. There were no massed Celts, either. For that he gave heartfelt thanks.
    He realized he was still sword-to-sword with Viridovix. He stepped back and lowered his blade. At his motion, Viridovix cautiously did the same.
    “A truce?” Marcus said. The Gaul was part and parcel of the magic that had fetched them to this place. Killing him out of hand would be foolish.
    “Aye, the now,” Viridovix said absently. He seemed more interested in looking around at wherever this was than in fighting. He also seemed utterly indifferent to the danger he was in, surrounded by his foes. Marcus wondered whether the bravado was real or assumed. In the midst of Gauls, he would have been too terrified to posture.
    He glanced from his sword to Viridovix’. Neither, now, seemed more than a length of edged steel.
    The Romans milled about, wandering through the open space. To the tribune’s surprise, none came rushing up to demand putting