The Knife In the Dark: Three

Chapter 12, Tale Four: The Knife In the Dark -- Part 3 pic and text

Lucius barked at him to get the guards, and prepare the crosses, and Inculta’s mind whirled, furiously calculating. He had followed Caesar, had trusted and respected him. The man had awakened him to purpose, had shown him a greater vision of the world that had called greatly to his spirit, and he had followed him, done his bidding without doubt or question. Caesar was the greatest of men, and under his leadership the Bull would have thrived, the most dominant force in the world. But now Caesar was dead. The Legate was in control of the army, the demon of fire and blood. Lucius yelled again for him to get the guards, and in his mind he felt it all come to a head, freezing in place in a vital alignment. He had calculated, and he had made his decision. He stepped forward. Lucius didn’t turn around until the knife slid in under his ribs.

“What?” he gasped, and then choked, blood bubbling up on his lips. He looked back at Inculta, frantic and shocked, pain warring with disbelief in his eyes. “Vulpes. . .” he croaked, faintly.

Inculta looked down at him. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said. Then he twisted the knife in his side and yanked it back out viciously, blood flowing out in a flood. Lucius went limp and Inculta let him fall to the floor, he writhed slightly and then he was still. Inculta looked up to see the other two staring at him silently, and he beckoned to them.

“Come with me.” He took a few steps and saw that they did not move. “Quickly you fools!” he hissed at them. “It will not be long before this scene is discovered, and if you value your lives you will be gone well before that happens! Now move!” They looked at each other, and started to follow, pulling their hoods over their heads. Silently, shadows flowing, they moved through the camp, most still sleeping, and made their way back out the small postern door and down to the little boat. At the dock, for a moment, they faced each other, and then he spoke to them again.

“It will not take long, with Caesar dead, for the Legate to attack the Dam. I do not believe that you are on our side, I do not believe that you ever truly were, so I tell you this for you to be ready. It will not be long.” He started to turn away when one of them, the man, called after him.

“Why did you do this?”

Inculta turned back to see them looking at him, hoods down, and he could see their eyes clearly by the moonlight. The man’s held nothing but confusion, but the woman’s. . . he smiled, and it was her that spoke: “A scapegoat loses its power to motivate when it’s nailed to a cross for all eyes to see.”

His smile widened, became much like a wolf’s. “It is a pity that we did not reach you when you were a child, Courier. A pity that even if we had you would not have been trained, as a woman. It gives me much to think about. There is much of the Bull in you. I wonder where you got it from.” He straightened. “The Bull will survive this war. I will ensure that it happens.”

“Then, by rights,” she said, “we should kill you here, shouldn’t we?”

He laughed softly. “Of course you should, and were our positions reversed, I would show no hesitation. But you will not, because you think yourself cleaner than me. But by all means, take my life if you will, I will not be able to stop both of you together.”

They stood that way for a few moments, then finally she turned away, getting into their small boat, and the man followed her. Inculta watched them row off into the darkness then turned away, moving back towards the camp, mind calculating. He had preparations to make. Many preparations to make indeed.