This week, we're pleased to welcome author Alison Morton with the third in her Roma Nova series, SUCCESSIO. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. One lucky visitor will get a free copy of Successio. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.
Roma Nova – the last remnant of the Roman Empire that has survived into
the 21st century – is at peace. Carina Mitela, the heir of a leading family, but choosing the life of an officer in the Praetorian Guard Special Forces, is not so sure.
She senses danger crawling towards her when she encounters a strangely
self-possessed member of the unit hosting their exchange exercise in Britain.
When a blackmailing letter arrives from a woman claiming to be her husband
Conrad’s lost daughter and Conrad tries to shut Carina out, she
knows the threat is real.
Trying to resolve a young man’s indiscretion twenty-five years before turns into a nightmare that not only threatens to destroy all the Mitelae but also attacks the core of the imperial family itself. With her enemy holding a gun to the head of the heir to the imperial throne, Carina has to make the hardest decision of her life…
“Sassy, intriguing, page-turning… Roma Nova is a fascinating world” - Simon Scarrow
**An Excerpt from SUCCESSIO**
I
It was far too quiet. Only an occasional owl call, the odd flutter of feathers and pitter-patter of a small night creature. Sure, the training area was literally kilometres from anywhere, somewhere called Norfolk, but a hundred people couldn’t stay that quiet, not even – arguably – the best special forces in the world. Beside me, the two centurions, Livius and Paula Servla, were motionless; I couldn’t even hear them breathe. I peered through the face veil hanging from my helmet. My eyesight was still good at thirty-nine, but I didn’t see a thing in the dawn light. I relaxed; we had a full five minutes before we needed to move.
I’d been crazy
to agree to take part in this exercise; I’d sat at a desk for too long.
Commanding Operations did not mean taking part in every exercise. It’d
been my vanity that made me put myself down for the ultimate – training with
the British special forces. No, against them. Even more insane. I was no
slouch and worked hard to keep my fitness up, but I really should have left it to
the super-fit like Paula and Livius and, of course, Flavius. But a small
country like ours didn’t refuse such invitations twice and the competition to
be picked for this exercise had been near lethal.
Each year we
invited a small number of allied countries’ special troops to Roma Nova to take
part in our annual fitness-for-purpose exercise; thanks to our legate’s
connections, there’d always been some British. Very effective and highly
competent, they were reserved at first, like they’d swallowed some kind of ‘how
to behave abroad’ manual, but by the end of the week, they’d usually relaxed.
But this was a first for us to have an exclusive exercise with them, and on
their ground.
The first
night we’d arrived, we’d had all the ‘swords and sandals’ cracks in the bar
from those who’d never met us. Sandwiched between New Austria and Italy, people
thought Roma Nova was a cross between the Sound of Music and Gladiator
with a dash of Ruritania thrown in. But when their commander welcomed us
formally the next morning, he told the assembled host troops about our
sixteen-hundred-year traditions and that the Praetorian Guard Special Forces
were just as fearsome as they’d heard. And that Roma Nova had survived, clawing
its way through the centuries, was in no small part down to the Praetorians.
The British grunts tried not to appear impressed, but I saw a little more
respect in their eyes after that.
Livius lifted his index finger a few millimetres from his rifle and glanced over at me. I gave a hint of a nod. Ahead of Paula and me by a body length, he started crawling forward. Using our elbows, we pulled ourselves behind and a little to each side of him across the forest floor covered in pine-needles. Three others, Allia, Gorlius and Pelo, followed in the same arrow formation. Reaching the crest of the washed-out shallow valley, we spread out behind it and froze.
After five minutes watching and listening, I nodded and Livius took Allia and Pelo into the trees behind us and set off for the other side of the depression. Raising my hand a couple of centimetres from the sandy ground, I signalled Paula to maintain position here. I grabbed my assault rifle and in a crouching run made my way to the dip twenty metres away at the entrance. I glanced up to see Gorlius scrambling up into one of the trees behind Paula to act as lookout. As he drew one of the new individual cam nets over himself, he disappeared. I pointed my pocket scope up at him. Even his heat signature was pretty near neutral. Expensive but impressive. Now we waited out ten minutes to let the wildlife settle back down.
‘Contact.’ That one word hissed in my earpiece told me Gorlius had spotted them. We’d tabbed to this location by forced march – an old Roman tradition – so we could surprise them. And there they were, walking single file, sweeping their route with their eyes and weapons, watchful, but not wary. Too professional to make any unnecessary noise, they were nevertheless a little over-relaxed.
Their
commander sent two ahead to check. Now they concentrated, their weapons raised
and arms and legs tensed. Just before they reached the edge of the depression,
one turned back to the commander and shook his head.
Livius dropped the two of them in rapid succession. Allia and Pelo launched at the main group from the far point and downed another three between them. Paula slammed the radio operator to earth, pinioning his flailing arms and legs. Gorlius fell on two others. I tripped the last one as he tried to escape and jammed my weapon in his throat as he attempted to struggle up. I didn’t need to look at my watch to know we’d done it in under two minutes. Hm, slowing up.
We secured and tagged them. While Livius and Pelo
swept the back area for a possible second patrol, Paula scanned their radio
with an electronic logger.
‘Can’t see any
transmission within the past ten,’ she said, looking up. ‘But I think they
check in every thirty.’ She spoke in fast street Latin in case any of these
clever boys turned out to be linguists.
I turned to
their officer, Lieutenant Wilson, from his jacket tab. ‘Now, Lieutenant, I hope
we’re not going to go formal here. I just need you to confirm the time of your
next radio check.’
‘Not a chance
in hell.’ His eyes half closed and he snorted.
I sighed and
signalled Allia forward. From her sleeve pocket she extracted a slim tin
containing two syringes and an ampoule, knelt down by the officer, prepared a
needle and waited for my confirmation.
Buying links:
SUCCESSIO is available through your local bookshop or from Amazon and other online retailers here: http://alison-morton.com/successio/where-to-buy-successio/
Social media:
You can read more about Alison, Romans, alternate history and writing here on her blog at www.alison-morton.com
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/alison_morton
Amazon
UK author page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Alison-Morton/e/B007JZ1XRS/
Amazon
US author page: http://www.amazon.com/Alison-Morton/e/B007JZ1XRS/
