Day of the Damned

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General Jaxx approaches a wall and spins on his heel, his timing perfect as his left boot stamps on marble, his step echoing like a rifle shot off the walls of the emperor’s audience chamber.

Twenty paces later, he turns and heads back. He marches with the iron determination of a man who remembers being whipped for marching out of step. In that memory he’s eight, his first year at the Academy.

A fire burns in the great fireplace. OctoV likes to be warm. Or maybe he just likes his generals to be uncomfortable. The emperor wears full dress, and expects his officers to do the same.

The difference is he wears his lightly.

On the wall OctoV takes salute from his victorious troops. One of them is the general’s great-grandfather. He stands behind a major in the Wolf Brigade, whose fur cloak must be vile in that heat.

General Indigo Jaxx is both younger and older than his emperor. OctoV was fourteen when the general was born. He was fourteen the year the general’s father was born. He’s been that age for as long as anyone can remember.

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