Free Phoenix Rising by Jason K. Lewis Page B

Mama,” Ursus said sullenly, elbowing his brother gently in the ribs. “We wouldn’t really have had a duel.”
    “If that’s the case, do you mind me asking you both why you are wearing your swords?” Ellasand flicked a finger towards the sword belts they both wore.
    The boys exchanged a look and then turned back to their mother, identical expressions of regret – that Ellasand had little doubt were contrived – on their handsome young faces.
      “Forgot we had them on,” they replied in perfect synchrony.
    Ellasand sighed. They are still so young, still as they were when they were children in so many ways . “You will report to Darcus at once and have him return your swords to the armoury. I will not have you carrying dangerous weapons around the house unsupervised.”  
    “Sorry Mama,” said Accipiter. “But we were just with Darcus, and Andiss, and Dexus at sword practice.” He smiled winningly. “We just forgot to hand them back... honest.”
    Ellasand frowned. “I don’t want to hear any more. I will be speaking to Darcus about this in the morning and we will know the truth of it. Just do as you are told.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Go on now.”
    The boys exchanged dejected looks and turned towards the door. A dark shadow flitted across them.  
    Ellasand looked up; she expected it was Martius, or perhaps Darcus looking for the boys. Come to chastise them, perhaps.
      The man in the doorway was a stranger. And he held a drawn sword.
      Elissa let out a piercing scream.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Martius

    MARTIUS SAT AT THE desk in his study reviewing troop manifests. It was a thankless task, but a necessity. He paused to rest his eyes and looked out through the open window in front of him. The garden was in its full glory on both sides, the prize going to Ellasand’s ornamental beds, where her roses were stealing the limelight once again.  
    At the opposite end of the enclosed courtyard stood the kitchen. Outside its door, the cook, Glacis, sat on the steps, taking her turn at the butter churn as she chatted to the freed slave, Sissa. Glacis began to sing as she often would, in the evening as the sun began to set, her voice high pitched and melodic. She recited an ancient hymn to Terran, high god above them all.
    Glacis and Sissa often sat in the same spot of an evening, and it cheered Martius on occasion to stop work and watch them at their duties. His household was a happy one – which was by no means the norm in the Empire – and it gave him a huge sense of satisfaction to see it.
    He regularly sat at his desk these days, poring over figures and reports from all over the Empire, gathering intelligence from hundreds of disparate sources. It was the job of the primus general, and since the shock of the decimation, Martius had taken extra care to ensure that he knew what was happening throughout the Empire.  
    He heaved a weary sigh and dropped the report he had been reading. It told of yet more unrest in the Xandarian free states. This time it was Bodrus – birthplace of Xandar the great himself – jostling with its smaller neighbours for control of the lucrative gold trade from the Peonian hills. The city-state of Bodrus had dispatched cavalry to harry the wagon trains from Peonia, and there were reports of hijackings and merchants killed for the ore they transported. It would be a small matter, Martius thought, to dispatch the Forty-second auxiliary, stationed on the nearby desert border with Farisia, as both a show of force and not too subtle reminder that the free states were free in name only. Their independence a mirage stemming from empty promises made by Xandar himself over a thousand years ago, before he set off on his frenzied quest to forge an Empire.  
    If creating an empire is actually what Xandar meant to do, Martius reflected. He may just have wanted to keep on conquering until he reached the edge of the world. The great king may have had no thought for what he left in his