"The Dextera were decimated, yet still one stands for them. Despite being cast out."
Rico looked up from his list, still sitting at the table he struck the deal with Salius over. Eyes narrowed. He leaned his head a bit, checking around the other tables. The crowd shifted over the hours. Currently, he looked to be the only one not nodding agreement to the loud mouth of Strabo Cato.
Wisdom told him to avoid the bait, wait a bit, then walk out. Pride said walk over and deck the blowhard. Anger agreed with the latter. Age told him the best solution was to find someone younger to deal with the younger man.
Tonight, after a long day thinking over supplies needed, making arrangements to get his own weapons and gear back from those holding them, Rico was not in the mood for reason. Strabo Cato would hound him regardless, seeking some way to discredit him further. His clan was one of the few mainland ones known to be regarded as "pure" enough by the islanders for him to enter their realms. Laying down two coins, Rico quietly murmured something.
The fool took the bait. "Oh, mumbling about buying your way out of trouble? Did that work when I was allowed to winnow out your precious century?"
Raising his eyes, Rico found the face he hated most, still unbroken. He started to speak, but found another taking his side.
"Sextus Strabo Cato. Still threatening young Custorae today?" The feminine voice held more than an edge. It dripped venom, and the accents the fool tried to mimic. "Plan any more adventures to send one into without permission of your betters."
Rico leaned back, not sure if he should take offense at being lumped in with lady riders, or admire the guts of the numena, taking on one of the few who still wore the blue mark of the Centuria Sinistra openly. Cato, apparently, never expected one of those he served turning on him.
Twisting a bit in his chair, one arm draped over the back, Rico let his smile show. "Cato getting his ears twisted by an islander, I should offering odds on the winner."
He winced at the glare the woman tossed him. "Stay out of this (vagrant)."
Rico stood, pushing his cloak, showing the one item he already recovered. Light gleamed off his chablys lorica, highlighting the jade inlays of the Centuria Dextra. The crimson cape marking him as under the Imperatrix's orders, not any others. "Oh, I think not. Cato badgered me first. I think I'll pull rank and age on you, (young woman)."
Eyes met his with anger fading to doubt, eyes noting the breast plate and few other marks of rank. "Centurio?"
He let his head incline barely a finger's breadth. "Cato, care to repeat what you said about my Hundred again?" His hand settled onto his gladius, a ceremonial, but functional, weapon.
Cato's grin prompted Rico to glance around the room. Mostly islanders, a stacked deck. The few exceptions were two elves and dwarf seated across the room, and a strange humani wearing the leathers of the Kensori, rare to be this far out, but not unheard of.
"Draw that blade and die, as your decimated ones are doing now, Centurio!" Cato drew his gladius. The proprietor of the tavern blanched, but dared not challenge a member of the Left Hand.
"Is that The Cato? The last of his clan?" An elvish voice, high and filled with mirth, rang out bell-like in the room. From the dwarf.
"Pumillo, you should have been slain at birth." Turning on the misshapen elf, stunted limbs, slightly deformed face from some congenital defect, Cato's grin brightened for a moment.
"Good thing we are both on leave, eh consorbrinae?" The elf to the stunted one's left rose. In full Legionairre attire, neat, trim and ready for a fight.
Their other companion rose, hand resting on the hilt of an acinias of the Custos, but one far more decorated than a standard service one. "Yes. Besides, I am sure that our gubenatrix could take half this room, and the Loricus the other. Shame that our Praetor has yet to join us, he would enjoy watching this fight."
Cato sneered, still not making the connection that Rico's mind found.
"You can call me Rico, young Varus. But this is my fight, and the tres triconis can watch and learn skills they may not yet learned."
The misshapen numen refused to back down, nor did the others show any sign of letting Rico take on the whole bar alone, At his waist hung not the weapons of his own kind, but an ax and daggers. On his back rested the spatha sword of the eastern kinsmen. "Sorry, Didius. He wants me dead, I get to defend myself."
"Personally, the Dux told me to stay out of trouble tonight, but I never listen Avunclus." Billenius drew the fancy blade, revealing a chablys blade covered in arcane sigils, each glowing with power folded into the steel during its forging. "Besides, I saw us walking out of this shambles this morning in my dreams."
Now others stirred. Dreams spoke loud among their folk, warnings from the gods, and many here apparently heard of the boy's seer powers. Many grins at slaying a main-lander faded from mouths and eyes.
The female stepped aside, placing herself nearer his table. "No, it's both our fight. Not yours."
"Milady, I am Quintus Norbanus Rufinus Norbanus. I cannot, by my code of honor as a legionnaire, allow a lady to fight alone against such odds."
Glancing around, Cato tried again to stir up the mess a bit. "The seer has renounced his powers, refused to enter the temples. The gods will abandon him." Grinning, he looked again at Rico and the woman. "Please, choose your side wisely, Decima Hantia Urbana Mithria."
Drawing her weapon, the numena smiled grimly. "You stain my name speaking it, meddler. I asked no favors, the position I held gave far more potential than the one you forced upon me by interfering with my superiors."
"You will choose for your blood. Or die here."
Billenius chuckled. "I have seen something else this morning, Dom Strabo." Resting his free righ hand on the misshapen one's shoulder, his face turned grim. "You will die amid snow and ice, under an club in this one's hands." Eyes narrowing, his voice took on a strange echo. "But as you said, I could be wrong. It could be your death is now, by the blade of light in a dark bar."
One other rose, A heavily built Domorushtuun, black skinned, well muscled, bearing no weapons. "Varamus will not fight alone, and I too have an complaint against Strabo."
Now many backed away. The tongue the southern man spoke was not that of the Urukian tribes, but Latin, with an accent all recognized.
"Draco." The whisper in the quiet room spread one thought. There was a fourth member of the Triconis, a young dragon, scoin of the great dragon of the mountains towering over the town.
Cato now started to back pedal, but some fool from the Insulae drew and swung at the dwarfed one. "Death to the twisted blood that stains our race!":
Rico felt steel enter his hand, wishing for more than who already choose his side, Cato moved not towards him, but the young seer. Something the Triari said the night before came to his mind.
"According to the great augur of the Parcae, the boy is at risk from the Cerulean Century. Guard him from the Left Hand, if you can."
Chairs and tables spilled over, combatants moving fast to overwhelm foes. Steel and chablys clashed in one spot, as Ringelius the dwarfed elf dropped several with a single swipe of his ax, ripping guts open to spill over the stone flagging. Rico found himself pressed backwards, away from the others, two foe wielding iron tipped spathae. Lacking his shield, the numen found himself spending time blocking blows, unable to press either safely.
The female charged her opponents, knocking one aside, a thrust ending the other. Spinning withdrawal let her lay a superficial but annoying cuts along his foes' backs and buttocks. Using their pain filled moment, Rico sliced the right hand opponent's sword arm, forcing a drop. Back striking high, his sword slit through the other's neck. Noise behind him forced Rico into an about-face, blade barely blocking a crippling leg blow. This time three fellow elves faced him, each in Left Hand regalia.
Luckily, the Centuria Sinistra rarely fought sword fights, allowing him a slight advantage. Their skills leaned towards subterfuge and magics, steel being used only ignominiously from behind. Facing an opponent left their weaknesses at formation fighting exposed. Using soft twists of his blade, Rico maneuvered the center numen's blade into the off hand of the right foe, freeing the left for a gut feint rising above a breath later into a shoulder unprotected by armor.
Around him, several other fights raged. The seer proved skilled at saber dancing, drawing foes commitments, permitting the boy rapid forward thrusts, most to disarm or wound, but several islanders lay dead in his corner. The large man proved beset, unarmed combat leaving him deprived of offense, but using throws effectively. Until two dropped after heads smashed together under his hands.
A back touched his lightly, the woman proving her skills against foes lacking the reach her acinias gifted strikes with. Accepting the situation, glad his back now guarded, his blade danced again with his still standing opponent. The elf's skill at blocks hinted fencing training, but the soldier's spatha lacked speed such demanded. It required a dozen passes for his blade to find flesh and finish the numen.
Two heads bounced in front Rico while seeking his next foe. The axe of the pumillo sang wildly, ripping the air, scoring each swing. Cato danced his way clear, seeking the doorway. His back open, Rico made a rush, point seeking a kidney. His foe detected his advance, sidestepping it.
Leaving the young Custor seer facing Strabo's blade as Rico staggered past them.
Blades danced a few minutes, Sextus Strabo Cato's experience forced the boy into retreat, pulling the fight away from Rico. He cursed Fortuna, the goddess of luck softly, finding his way now blocked by several scoundrels he knew well. Elves he aided in discharging from the Legions.
"Well, the Optio who turned his back on us, Cadamus." The speaker was dark of hair and complexion, a numen descended from the clans of the Insulae Australius.
"Yes, Morentius. The famed Optio Loricus, now fallen on hard times." The blade this one held gave Rico pause. The metal held the blued silver tinge of steel, not chablys' bronze to gold hue. The heavy glove worn, not to mention the large brass quillions at the hilt, spoke the danger that metal held for elves.
"You betrayed us all, giving aid and information to the enemy before the battle there at the Crystal Wastes. And after, you tried to poison our own. All in the name of blood purity, yet we are all of the Numeni, Decimus Daetilus Cadamus. Nor is Decimaustralis Patavinus Morentius less guilty in those crimes." Nodding to the heavy poison metal broadsword, Rico settled his stance. "Speak with your spathae, only your skill at arms will accent the words of the lex talionis you seem certain to invoke."
Mentioning the Law of Revenge, foundation block of the code for duels and revenge killings disturbed them a bit. Merontius almost sheathed his blade, stayed only by Cadamus' hand.
"Yes, we invoke the Lex Talionis." The snarl from the dark skinned one barely carried amid the din the various fights created.
"I, Decimus Loriocus Didius Loricus, accept your foolish challenge." Left hand grasping a bowl filled with steaming soup, Rico grinned. "Ave atqua vale!" The bowl sailed towards Merontius' face, scalding liquid reaching his face before he dodged it. Lifting his blade from its low left guard position, Rico twisted his body to the right, presenting a narrow target for Cadamus' deadly blade. The blow missed, his foe spinning aside, to his own right. Into his half blind comrade. Tangled by the move, they fell, Cadamus atop Merontius.
A single strike, fast and clean left both elves mortally wounded, his gladius severing the great abdominal conduits transporting blood. Morentius attempted to escape the skewer, rolling left, forcing Rico's gladius through his spine. The motion enlarged his comrade's wounds, speeding death's icy hand on them both.
"You betrayed the codes." Cadamus sought Rico's eyes.
Sadly shaking his head, Rico withdrew his blade slowly, both elves crying out painfully while their life bloods mingled on the stones below them. "You broke the code, fool. Iron weapons, not offering solo combat. Your deaths reflect your lives. Treacherous to the end."
Turning his back, seeking further contest, the words of curse from Cadamus haunted him. "Memento mori, Optio. Resurgam." Remember you must die, preceding I shall rise. The vow to carry the feud beyond the grave, to their next lives.
Rico waved off the promise, right hand granting them both a nasty hand gesture, implying they lacked manhood. "Requiescat, both of you. For my part, the feud is done."
"I shall not rest until your anima is bound, never to return." Voice fading to a whisper, Cadamus passed away. Merontius lingered long enough to cast his own curse. Ignoring it, Rico worked through carnage he'd not expected. Despite their superior numbers, all but a few foes fled or lay wounded or dead. Only two fights still raged. The Custora against the most brutal Left Hand Centurion, Decimillius Orbillius Sticcius. Her blade yielding far too often under his blows. The other fight shocked the veteran.
Young Varus, bearing only a few minor cuts, tip touches at best whose bleeding was more nuisance than danger, pressing the Centurion hard suddenly. The Custor's acinicas darted about, parrying each blow the older elf attempted, sliding smoothly in for a cut of his own and returning to the appropriate guard hold for his opponent's position. Cato held his side, lorica discarded nearby, buckles cut from it speaking its demise early on.
Rico nodded, watching the young elf hold his own. A fatal mistake, Cato thrusting beyond balance, won the match at last. The boy danced aside, over two corpses, laying a kick upon the presented fundament. Instinct granted Cato respite from joining many comrades. He dropped his weapon to catch the wall. Saving him the indignity a weapon lodged in a wall might cause. Though, not the lost pride being knocked out by the same wall would cost him.
Blood gurgling throat noises turned Rico towards the Custora. Sticcius staggered back, throat damaged. The elf finished the move in some islander flourish, overly showy, not something he encouraged those under his command using.
Few others remained. Most still standing sought the various exits, before the local constabulary arrived. Inside moments, only Rico, the Custora, young Varus and the legionnaire Triconis remained of the standing, Sticcius staggering away, seeking medical aid. Looking around, then meeting eyes, all four smiled.
"Well, what shall we tell the magistrate?" The Legionairre asked.
"The Dux will hear us, patruelis. Highest ranking non-involved officer in the area." Varus glanced upwards, cleaning his saber carefully by touch.
Laughing, the Custora held out her left hand after sheathing her sword uncleaned. "I'd say we let the fates decide that, Varus."
The boy set his hand over hers, palms touching, sharing the blood staining them. The legionairre added his closed fist beneath them, supporting the vow. Shifting his weapon from left hand to right, Rico touched his fist atop. "Comitis." His word sealed the blood deal.
Turning, shock hit the veteran of many bar fights. A single bottle of wine still stood on one table nearby. Leaning out to grab it, his balance off a bit, he offered a proposal. "A drink to seal our pledge?"
Billenius answered first. "Should we not use that for a round of cottabis over who speaks to whoever tries our case?"
Mention of the chance game where one tossed droplets of wine tripped Rico's own gallow's humor. The table failed holding against the shaking laughter caused. Later, he took pride over not breaking or spilling the wine.
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