The Forum of Constants was a long, bright stretch of road scything through the eastern portion of Byzantia. Its flagstones were smoothly weathered, packed tight, and polished to a mirror shine. Every step Libro made felt even, assured, even if he didn’t feel the same way. Inside, he felt hollow and afraid, his breath hitching and clicking in the back of his throat. He was home, he kept reminding himself, and yet Byzantia seemed more alien to him than ever before.

Maybe it was the gnawing quiet that chewed at his guts. Maybe it was the echoing boom of marching feet amidst the Centums, roaming eyes brooding over the cityscape for any sign of danger. Maybe it was the statues of the Empress they passed every ten paces, glaring down at them with hard eyes set behind a cold, featureless mask. Whatever the case may be, he was liking none of it. Not the empty shops, nor the barren streets,  or the abandoned homes. Even the alleys, once choking with vagrants and wild cats, lay still and lifeless as the grave. As if the entire population had simply disappeared.

A glint of light on a nearby roof caught Libro’s attention. He looked up to see something golden staring down at him behind a curtain. A twitch of cloth and it was gone. A chill ran up his spine. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked away, focusing instead on the flagstones. Nothing, it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him again. The signs of an overactive imagination his mother used to say. Better to simply ignore it.

Someone tapped a finger on Libro's shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, fists raised, only to find Culter staring at him, bored eyes staring back at him. “What is it?” he demanded, voice still raspy with shock.

“Over there." Culter pointed. “People.” Indeed there was, Libro realized. Two of them at first, but as he drew closer more and more began to file out of the houses, out of the alleys, standing directly in the Guard’s path until there were nearly a dozen in total.

Libro’s heart began to race. Something didn’t feel right. The people were looking directly at him, hands behind their back, each wearing a strange, golden mask, molded in the visage of a sneering face.

The marching ground to a halt as the masked men made clear they weren’t moving. A ripple of contention swept through the Guard. Libro looked to Culter for answers, but the man appeared just as clueless. Or indifferent, it was hard to tell coming from the albino.

“Breathe,” Libro muttered as he pushed past the other Centums till he stood directly before the masked men. Their leader, a gaunt looking fellow in a butcher’s apron, watched him in silent contemplation, dark eyes glinting beneath the mask.

“Excuse me.” Libro tried his best to muster some sort of authority into his voice. “I must ask that you remove yourselves from the Forum at once. The Vangen have to reach the palace as soon as possible and you are standing in the way.”

The gaunt fellow raised a finger to his mask, tap tap tapping at his cheek. “The Vangen is it? Palace was it? No, no my friend. You shouldn’t be heading there right now. It’s a right mess, that place. Practically in shambles by now, what with all that rebel business. No, I think it would be best if you turned yourselves around and marched back where you came from.” The man’s words did not bode well with the other guardsmen. Some of the Centum’s stepped forward, rattling axes, cursing, spitting, making all kinds of rude gestures.

“Get out of the way you damn pillock!”

“Fecking lunatic!”

“Move!”

Libro opened his mouth to tell the masked fellow otherwise, but his words quickly dribbled out into a squeak the moment he noticed more masked men approached. They appeared from the corners of alleyways, in shop stalls and windowsills, on rooftops overhead, even more boiling out from the distance. A whole army of them it seemed, swarming from every nook and cranny, filling the once empty streets of the Forum.

“I think you misunderstand me, friend.” The gaunt fellow revealed his hands. One of them held a rather large butcher’s knife, all rusted and spotty with gore. Libro's grip tightened around the pole of the standard, his heart practically jumping into his throat. “I’m not asking you to leave. I’m telling you.”

“Now just hold on a second here.” Libro flicked his gaze towards Culter. Where the albino had once been, now only empty space remained. “Shit,” he murmured before turning back towards the masked group. “We don’t need to resort to violence here.”

The gaunt man stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. A cold, hard and cruel sound that was soon joined by the other masked men. More weapons appeared. Tanning knives and farm cudgels. Pitchforks and sheep shears. Hunting bows and crudely made arrows. A citizen’s arsenal by the looks of it.

“Violence you say?” The gaunt man gave one final chuckle before taking a step forward. “Maybe not for you, but I am of a different opinion.” Libro realized too late what he meant before his laughter turned into a war cry and the masked men charged.

*

It seemed the city was not as vacant as was once thought, Dux realized. The moment the Vangen had started marching, he’d noticed masked men watching him from the rooftops. They did their best to try and hide the fact, but damn if it wasn’t a piss poor attempt. Amateurs, the whole lot of them, but it still left the hairs on Dux’s neck standing at attention.

Without warning the front column of guardsmen came to a grinding halt. Dux stopped in his tracks, grabbing Civis by the collar before he went nose first into a Centum’s back.

“Gaah,” Civis choked as Dux yanked him back. “What was that for?”

“We’ve stopped.” Dux pointed up ahead. “Something’s up.”

“Probably that damned bookworm’s fault." Civis adjusted his cloak, lips pursed like some henpecked socialite witnessing an unspoken rule being broken. “Probably tripped over his boot laces, the idiot. Why you put him in the front of the column is beyond my understanding.” Dux glared at him, the kind of look given when matters were not up for discussion. Color drained from the Legate's face and he quickly backpeddled. “Not that I’m questioning your orders, sir.”

“It’s Captain.” Dux made sure there was plenty of iron in his tone. “Besides, give the lad some slack. It’s not his fault we’ve stopped. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Hmm?” Civis eyed him curiously. “What do you mean, Captain?” Nox stepped past and patted him on the shoulder, nodding over at one of the abandoned homes. Not so abandoned now, as a masked man swept back into the darkness just out of sight.

“Not alone,” Nox said.

“We most certainly are not,” Civis muttered. “Nido’s tits, is it an ambush?”

Dux nodded gravely. “Most definitely. No doubt they’ve got us surrounded. I’ve counted thirty so far in the houses to our left. Forty or so on the right. I can only assume more are going to show up behind us. We’re boxed in.”

Civis swallowed audibly. “What should we do?” Nox’s answer came with the sound of his crossbow priming open as he slapped a bolt into the chamber. He looked to Dux for approval.

“Fire at will.” Dux slapped his helmet on and pulled his ax free. “Ambush!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “Too arms men! Too arms!”

*

The line in front of Regis ground to a halt. He dug his heels into the flagstones and skidded to a stop mere inches from the guardsmen in front of him. The others were not as lucky. One bumped into Regis much in the same way one would bump into a tree, tumbling back into the shocked arms of the man behind him.

“What are you doing?” Regis turned and grabbed hold of the disheveled guardsmen, pulling him to his feet. “The Captain ordered all of you to march.”

“Columns stopped,” the Centum muttered.

“Columns stopped?” Regis repeated him with an air of frustration in his voice. “Well why the feck is it?”

“Don’t know.”

“Go find out then!”

The man didn’t need telling twice. He pushed past the column towards the Captain, disappearing amidst the throng of confused bodies. A hard, heavy sigh slithered out of Regis then. He ran a hand over his face, tugging at his beard with frustration. It was unwise letting the men see him angry, but it was hard not too. Being placed in the back felt like being a squire on kitchen duty. Next to useless and stuck with that damned magician too boot. Curse his luck. Curse the whole damned city too for all that it mattered.

As if on cue the magician hobbled over to him, looking more close to death then usual, his skin was a pale, waxy color, dark bruises under his eyes like two thick saddlebags.

What’s got your goat?” Magus asked. At the very least his humor was still intact.

Regis huffed. “Could ask you the same. You look shit.”

Magus gave a weak laugh. “I feel like shit. There’s too much magick in the air. All of it roiling like a poisonous fog over the city. It’s what happens when you have too many of my kind gathered in one place. Makes it hard to breathe sometimes.” He coughed wetly into the crook of his elbow. “Have to concentrate just to keep it at bay. A tiring endeavour I assure you.”

Regis found himself frowning. “And here I thought your Wyrdling magick was going to be helpful for once. What use are you to the Vangen if a little bad air can do you in?”

Magus laughed, much to his surprise. “What use am I?” The magician asked. “As useful as a blunted sword I’d imagine. I was keen once, sharp and dangerous too, but those days are long gone.” He coughed hard into his sleeve. “I’m more of a decoration now.”

Regis glared at the withered old man. “What are you going on about?”

Magus rolled his eyes. “You’d think a man your age would understand such metaphors, but you’re still just as brash as you were twenty years ago. I’m old, you shitling. I’m not a well of limitless power as I once was. That dried up a long time ago. Serving nearly a hundred different companies, kingdoms and Empires will do that to you.”

“Hmph." Regis curled his nose up at that. “Sounds like coward's talk to me. Why the Empress ever let someone like you join the Vangen, I’ll never know.”

Magus shrugged, not appearing to care in the slighest. “Who knows. The machinations of that woman is beyond most men’s understanding. Perhaps she keeps me here for her amusement, hoping that I’ll have my skull caved in one day. Perhaps she saw something in me that others could not. I honestly don't care either way. Better to serve her then anyone else. Less eyes to keep me up at night.”

“Eyes?” Regis started to ask before a noise drew his attention. A raucous clamor erupted from the middle column. Sounds of battle, men screaming, metal clashing.

Regis had his axes out in an instant, eyes scanning over the horizon. Masked men poured out of the buildings, from empty doorways, alleyways and sides streets. All dressed in black robes and wielding crude tools that had no business on a battlefield. 

One of the masked men charged at Regis, stabbing at him with a tanners knife clutched in both hands. Regis sidestepped the meager thrust and brought his axes down, disarming him. Where once his hands had been, now only two bloody stumps remained. The masked man barely had a chance to scream before Regis beheaded him. The body stood there, as if surprised by its own death, before slumping unceremoniously to the ground.

“Looks like the Ministry knows we’re here. Guess today won’t be a complete loss.” He twirled his axes and looked over at Magus. “If you’ve nothing better to do then stay out of my way, old man. And while you’re at it, try not to die.”