Empire Under Siege Read Online Free Page A

his fifty years, his silvering hair the only real sign of ageing. Close observation revealed creases on the forehead and around the eyes, but other than this his olive complexion seemed to have made Martius immune to the rigours of time.  
    Turbis wondered what it would be like to stand before the dark god for judgement. Would he be found wanting? Or would he pass into paradise and join Symia? His mind drifted despite the jolting gait of his mount - back to the early years. Returning from the sand wars, Turbis had been hailed a hero, the saviour of the Empire. The old emperor had heaped honours upon him as if they were trinkets or sweetmeats handed out to a child. Overnight, General Turbis found he had become the most powerful man in the capital, and a household name. Senators, merchants, bankers – all courted him, believing perhaps that some of the glory, the power that he had won so hard in the sweltering heat of the eastern desert would rub off on them. The truth was that he hadn’t cared. For Turbis had gone to war through a sense of duty - pounded into him by years of legionary service - to protect his country, but also to protect his new wife; to secure their future and the future of their children to come. Not for glory, not for honour, but because it had to be done.
    Antius Turbis had saved his nation, although the true threat of the sandmen had never been properly measured. Turbis wondered now, looking through the lens of a lifetime of ambition, whether the politicians of the time knew that a good war, an external threat, kept the population focused and reduced internal strife. He was content though, regardless of the politics, to bathe in the glory of his victory.
    Turbis’s horse stumbled, wrenching him back to reality as he fought to stay seated. The jarring gait of the mount reminded him that he had not ridden for a very long time. Martius, ever young, ever strong, rode directly ahead, looking like the image of Xandar himself after his victory at the battle of Adarna.
    Turbis remembered the first time they had met. Martius had been a cohort commander, still in his early twenties. Turbis had been suspicious of his reputation, which, even then, had preceded him. The young Martius had a reputation for risk taking and disregarding the traditions of the legions. It was for just such a misdemeanour that he had been summoned to stand before his general.
    “Do you know why you are here, commander?” Turbis had made a point of not deigning to raise his eyes to look at the youth before him.
    “Yes, General,” Martius had replied, his tone properly deferential. “I refused to lead my cohort after the tribesmen that attacked my legion camp yesterday.”
    Turbis turned the page of the ledger he was reading. “You refused an order from your commanding officer, eh?”
    Martius had shifted his weight gently. “I believe I did, sir.”
    Turbis looked up into Martius’s eyes - he had never forgotten the indomitable will that he sensed in the man even then - and he saw that Martius would not try to make excuses; the man had made his decision and he would live with the consequences. Sighing, Turbis had closed the ledger, the large book thumping closed with grim finality. “You believe you did? Is that all you have to say for yourself, Commander?”
    Martius had shrugged his shoulders gently. “I merely answered your question, sir.”
    “Do you know what the penalty is for insubordination in a time of war, Commander Martius? Do you know what will happen to you?” Turbis had snapped in reply.
    Martius had shrugged again. “I believe the maximum penalty is death, sir.” His face betrayed no emotion.
    “And do you think that because you come from an influential family you will be spared this punishment?” Turbis had sighed in exasperation. The imperial army was full of aristocratic young men out to prove themselves before entering a life in politics and, for the most part, Turbis despised them all.
    Martius had met