The night we announced the start time of the race, the course and terms the town turned to a center of celebration. For the first time in decades, the two most hallowed lines of steeds would face off again. It still took several days to prepare the course, and have the judges make it to the checkpoints. Time to get both riders and their mounts used to each other. Time enough for traps to be laid, as Norbanus and Didius both caustically pointed out. Norbanus stormed off to his room after the announcement. Didius joined me at my table, the old warrior being tired, he claimed, and needing to sit. As he sat silently at my table, his back to the wall, like any true veteran prefers, I noted that while he was silent, his aura moved as if he were speaking. That he had taken my normal seat alone spoke volumes of his disapproval.
There are many ways of silent communication. There are the languages of hand gestures, blinking codes, and the melding of minds that is called telepathy. Many others, I was sure. Once I found that two criminals I had been trying to catch passing secrets in the Amoeni Terrai had used the way they moved pieces on their daily game board to transmit the information. Some are complex, others so simple they go unnoticed to all but the most astute of observers. A short fall of sands check of others’ inner flames told me that Cethegor’s flame spoke when Didius rested, and vice versa.
I chuckled, and called for a plate of the soft, fluffy cakes that Yevgenie’s wife had spent the day baking, sizing, and making that sugar laced confection paste that only bakers use. “Talking about me behind my back, viri honestus?” I asked, as the server left us, to gather my plate of delightful sin.
I could tell I had hit the mark, by the physical shift of the two spearmen. That is when it came to me, that insight into their relationship. The legions are very strict about age requirements, and after three centuries, all but the highest officers, and those legionnaires with the greatest of skill in arms and teaching of their usage are retired. There was no such camp here in Pelori, as it was outside the empire. The legion here was only a supply station group, on the south road to the Amoeni Terrai, that eastern part of our lands, cut off so much from us by the desert, and other things. So, with Cethegor somewhere between my age and Didius’ years, he was just at or beyond that retirement.
There were, however, temples of my folk here, from the days when it was part of the empire of the Jai’. Temples, complete with flamenis, lay folk and local worshipers among both Numeni and those of mixed blood here. Those temples had members of the Ordo Tertius, Triarium to guard the temples, the flamenis, and others of import. I was of both those latter categories. As the envoy of the exiled Imperatrix, I was important, and as an augur, I was a flamen of Tushna, as well as the Parcae.
The words of Didius in the temple came back to me. “Know this, you were under my hand, or the hands of one of us, at all times..” Perfidio and the Gods on all sides! The Triari were acting not just to save the temples! It was becoming clear to me now. In the lifting of the spears, the Triari were choosing, one by one, to stand against the Decuria, or join them.
Damned if as I took my first bite of a pastry the visions came from the Parcae, sending me back in my chair with the muscle spasms that far too often accompanied prophecy for me. I silently cursed them for the vindictive bitches they were to interrupt a man's sole remaining pleasures. Not that they would give in, as they pulled my mind from the bar.
The world around me faded, as I entered the realm of possible futures, and saw the gladius and hastas clashing. In their midst were the axes and hammers of the Karleekie, before one hammer that bore a blizzard in its wake tore through the vision. Flames and death had been everywhere. Skeletons walked out of the shadows, and the fires became snakes of flame. Then I was in a hall I could not make out the details of, one filled with arrows, darts and knives ripping the air. Then the walls fell away, leaving a swirling whirlwind all around me. I felt myself drowning in the waters that fell from the sky. Again I saw three hasta raised in the air, against dragons that fell from the sky to attack the spearmen. Then all my senses failed and I knew of nothing, not even my normal pains for a time.
I was coughing when conscious thought returned to my skull. Didius and Cethegor were standing around me. They had not interfered, having served in the halls of the temples, they knew what a prophetic spasm was. I was choking still on that treat I had bitten into when this sending of the Parcae had come to me. As I may have said before, my Dark Mistresses are nasty pieces of work, to deny their servant such a small pleasure.
After I had recovered, and happily, my dessert had not been replaced, the triarium had me stay seated, while Norbanus
We spent the next two days working to make sure that Gerrae would be able to accept Furius on her back, as well gathering those supplies we would need for the next leg of our journey. I even ventured out several times, not just to the stables and running track on the east end of town, but into the market once. I knew I was pushing my luck and tempting the Dark Mistresses, but I had needs as did everyone else. I desired teas, and my friends, despite having long knowledge of my tastes at the temples in Jugusium and before, had not the skill at finding those herbs and leaves I preferred. Nor did they approve of my other vice, one I could indulge in here freely, as I sought out the purveyors of henbane, and a carver of pipes. That night, as others smoked near the fire, I joined them, using a tool one of those purveyors had made to bring a coal from a fire safely to a pipe, one of the curved stemmed bowls I preferred. Though I admit, others had to guide my hands to the fire safely each time.
Gerrae had proven to trust Furius enough for several short rides, I just hoped I could convince her for the race to abandon me for a short time. Whenever I was near, she found me, as her ultimate sire had so often, making me wonder if the power of the Custodi to gather the friendship and help of animals was still with me, despite my no longer being able to wield either sword or bow. Her flames were always looking for me, I could tell this as my inner eye cleared more, henbane being a sovereign against poisons of the mind. I could clearly see auras at what for others was the ultimate limit of their perception. I could sense in a slowly blurring sense for nearly a stade or more again. Still not quite back to what I had achieved on my trip to the Deamon Mountains, but further than any time in the last thirty years.
There still sat around me a feeling of unease, as if something, or someone, were watching me, with malice in that gaze. As this was Pelori, and just a few stade north lay the Paths of Damnation, I did not attribute all that feeling to those of the Centuria Sinistra who were in town. In the mountains above lay the lair of the Queen of Flame, the Igni Regna, who had taken my eyes. Who feared my return, and desired me, above all the other survivors of that night, dead. Umbradinor in our youth, had many times, after spending time with his sire or dam, spoken of the fact that all drakonis have some ability in the powers of precognition, and that ability varied from intermittent and weak to constant and powerful. That she had not anticipated far enough in advance to keep me from getting one of her eyes as well pointed her abilities to the former not the latter.
At the rising of the sun on the day agreed upon, most of the town turned out to watch the riders take the early paces. I wondered how long the race would truly take, for if word of Pulvis was true, then this would be a far faster and enduring pace than most races on this course. For this race, with the climb, the record was five days, three glasses and nine fingers of sand. It had stood since the race of Turbator against Eurus, with myself and Drinius on the backs of the steeds.
I had chosen to sit on a roof, as my seeing the race was secondary to reading the auras of those around me. Also, I did not want Gerrae to run towards me, rather than the butte in the distance, low on the horizon to the southeast by my memory. As the sun came over the horizon and its first rays of sun touching my skin, I heard the sharp report of one of those deadly little hand lead hurlers of the Karleekie, that launch their lead sling stones by igniting a powder to a contain fire that propels the little piece of lead to speeds beyond that of all but the largest of bows. I observed the mixing auras of rider and steed tore into the desert, along a trail lined with folk nearly two stade out towards the sands and furnace of that arid place if those describing things to me were.
Others on the roof called out the race for me, speaking of strides, the way each rider sat in the saddle and the like. All the way, though keeping stride with Pulvis, Gerrae’s aura had leaned back towards town, where I was. I knew then, this was the mount I was intended to have ridden at this time as a Custos. I also understood that it would break her spirit if I did not try to communicate with her if or when I had to leave her behind. That might be a very difficult conversation to attempt, for the language of horses and onageri was as much relayed in body position and movements as it was their neighs and huffs of breath. And very much of it was just in eye contact.
As they pulled out of that lane, at last Gerrae caught on that this was not just any kind of race, but one of speed and endurance. At the very edge of my vision, where everything blurred together, she poured on the speed as Yevgenie sighed in disappointment beside me. Perhaps Furius had told her to run, or more likely, the thrill of the race at last ignited her spirit.
Listening as Didius spoke softly, telling us what his weak and my absent eyes could not see. Gerrae showed the speed she had on my ride just days before, though the Triari thought it was not as fast, more measured, as if she could tell this would be a longer run, and one she must conserve strengths until the end to win. Below, I could hear the crowd as well, marveling at the speed of the onageri, their lines, and wondering if the combined line proposed would deliver the promise both showed.
Gambling is something all sentient creatures I have ever encountered seem to share. They will all place something on the line, and take some risk of loss, to increase what they wager, be it coins, gems, land, slaves, or any thing else one can dream of. Even the gods are said to gamble, though how that fit in with the rulings of the Parcae and other gods of fate, I dared not dream of, lest I be driven insane. Yevgenie had come to this roof with us, and grunted in disgust.
“The wife is going to kill me. Lets go, Billenius. Seems I have to help make a large number of dessert cakes.” Having a face that is frozen by injuries really is a pain. Right then, I would have gladly traded all my wealth, save the pastries I had just won, to give that small smile of “Their mine, hands off” to Didius. I must have conveyed it some other method though, as the old Numen was laughing and apologizing for eating my dessert the few nights before as we descended the stairs to the street.
****
The road south took three days to travel, and was jammed with those who also were going south to see the finish of the race. By the noise of it, Pelori must have been near to a ghost town, like those of the Western Deadlands or the vast Ruinsland to the distant east. I had enjoyed the afternoon of that first day of the race by eating my cakes, which Yevgenie’s wife had already finished making. She berated him loudly in the kitchen, making me embarrassed, until she brought them out herself at mid-afternoon, as the serving girl brought my tea kettle over from the fire to let me brew a simple mint and tea mixture for the afternoon’s repast. By the gasps of the room’s inhabitants, I knew this plate was not a normal one.
“Bah, relax, Gospodin Varus, I knew he would lose. I grudge you not the cakes. We here owe you that and more, for the one on the mountain has not come down to town or sent her minions here as often as she had before you challenged her.” She set down the plate, and took my hand gently in her own callused and sticky one, which told me she had made that glaze icing for cinnamon rolls that I so loved. The one with honey, sugar and the boiled out juice of the vanilla bean in it. She guided my hand over the plate, telling me what was where At her descriptions alone I was as close to that ecstasy most think of as bliss, that nothing could have upset me.
Drinius came in laughing. He was with some other, and the voice seemed familiar, but I was too busy enjoying the listing of my winnings that I could not be forced at sword point to allow myself the distraction of checking the aura of that person. And as Norbanus was there with both of the Triarium, I had no doubt they would have taken care of checking him out. Ivanna finished the litany of my winnings, and I thanked her, as Drinius and his companion joined us. As she turned to leave, she got in another dig on Yevgenie who was now behind the bar, drawing beers and pouring drinks for the sudden press of patrons celebrating their own profits or drowning sorrows of fortunes lost. “I do begrudge someone betting my cakes without asking first,” she snapped at him, as she bustled back to the kitchen, to begin the evening meal, and other orders sure to come soon from the crowded front room.
Drinius’ laughed aloud as he took a seat. “Now I see why your cash bets were so small! By and far, your winnings have surpassed mine, this day!”
I gave his jibe all it deserved, turning my face to his voice, and delicately lifting the iced cinnamon roll to my mouth to take a bite, before leaning back and gesturing to all to take some morsel for themselves. This evoked a short break as everyone tried to gather some pastry without making it so I could not find what I would desire next from the plate. Cethegor was rather hesitant, until I reassured him that I was not upset about the other night.
It was not until my third grab from the plate that I signaled that I was ready to talk. Or at least listen, as I worked on getting back some of the weight matertera had been so worried I had lost. Not, I am sure, in a manner she would have approved of, but we all have moments of weakness, and I hoped if she heard of this gluttony, she would forgive me. The others had been silent, obviously realizing I had rediscovered some joy of happier days. When the silence was broken, it was by Drinius.
“Billenius, you never cease to amaze me. That onagera is all you said, and more. Gods, she was holding back and pulling away from Pulvis.” He stopped the now frazzled serving girl, and asked for mugs for tea, and several more steeping pots, when she had a moment. I had a bad feeling my pot and cup were all we would have for a while. The girl was overwhelmed. He continued as if uninterrupted, an ability some admired, and others despised. “Her gait is smoother than Turbator’s was. Far smoother, and there is more intelligence there as well. Gods, who manages your herd? I must try to steal that Numen from your employ.”
I laughed. “My parents, though I suspect my mother dealt more with them, from how father lectured me on that kicking of shins Turbator was notorious for. He felt I should breed it out of them as soon as possible.” My words were mumbled around a cake that was light and airy, covered with honey, crushed nuts, and crumbs of some harder cake. There was a hint of coconut to the cake as well. Ivanna’s skills had improved with the years, though I had never thought it possible to exceed her baking.
Drinius' companion spoke, and now I could recognize both voice and aura. It was the captain of the Knights from that night I had named Gerrae. “I think you have hoodwinked this elf, Billenius the Blind. If he had heard of the run she gave just two hands and a half of days ago, he would not have agreed to this race of yours.” His voice was not really disapproving, which told me he had been the victim of Drinius on some occasion past. “I was amazed at how she showed such speed so soon after that trek.”
I myself had worries about that very subject. It was very close in time, yet, she had recovered, and we had pampered her all the way here. And until my meeting with Drinius, she had been rested with only short walks in the paddock at the stables, enough to keep her from cramping or having muscles stretched in that effort shrink too much. I just hoped she had regained some of the weight I knew she had lost in that run, and did not try to race the stars with Furius astride her, for he would let her, even if she started to go lame.
“He sprang Eurus on me more than a hundred years ago in the same manner, captain. Her run you speak of was the first sign that she had speed beyond normal riding horses.” I admitted to him. “I do worry about it, but she keeps trying to run, even if it is just while in her stable. Better to let her do so while she is young, than to force her to be sedentary and behind some farmer’s plowshare.”
This got a laugh from all, as most of us were from lands with thick clay soils that required the brute strength of an ox or auroch to plow, not the softer loams and loess of the eastern lands where a man could pull the plow, or a horse. Here in the western lands, the horse was meant for riding, not pulling things. Even carriages were pulled by those great horned beasts here.
After that, the conversation had varied, until the sun was low on the horizon, and we decided to get an early start to the finish line. Not early enough, as many now were thinking the records of race between Turbator and Eurus would fall this time, heading out fast.
The flow of traffic was smooth. The captain had come down to trade for supplies, and had his detachment, whom he offered up to police the road, for better prices from the merchants. I was surprised all agreed, until I heard that bandits had been active of late near the Seranarum’s valley between the mountain chains. The policing would be not just the flow on the road, but to prevent the looting of the town as well, allowing the guard to stay on watch at home.
It was near a boulder field that we at last set up camp, as the judges were repairing the finishing gate, a wooden structure that was nine gradus high, and twelve wide and twenty five long. In order to win, the riders needed to get their horse to pass under its crossbars, nearly four gradus above the ground, all of them. This latter had been something someone had come up with to prevent celebrating to early in close races. Riders had a tendency to sit up and raise their arms, this structure put those who did that in peril of limb and skull.
As a safety measure, Norbanus and the caligarium he had gathered in Pelori went to work at setting up a miniature stockade around our camp. Not a typical thing to do, but with the bandit activity prudent. He was always practical in matters like this. He was not talking to me right then either. It seems this was not how he had anticipated moving about. Above all else, he thought that stealth, was more important, here in the hunting grounds of the Igni Regna. That neither of the Triarium were upset with me told me they were not as upset, and felt if I was up to taunting my old foe, I was getting better. Or at least that was how Didius spoke of it. Cethegor was silent
We had a restless night, as those camped around us caroused until well past sundown. Singing, dancing, brawling and drinking were the main activities of the revelers, though at least a dozen quieter encampments were on the gravel and dirt around the South trade route, and the Western Road. It was a carnival, even with the Knights acting to try and keep things manageable. I was glad my people do not require as much sleep as others. We still had another day of this to go, and that worried me, as while they waited for the racers to arrive, the .
With the dawn, the temporary town seemed to settle down into a more calm pace, as many of the revelers were still sleeping off their binges of the night before. I sat on my camp stool, smoking my pipe by the fire, as a pot of water heated for tea. Didius was pacing slowly nearby, grumbling about noise during thieving time. It made some sense to me, as he mumbled, worried some poison would be slid into our supplies by our foes. It was not like poison was a tool they eschewed, as my own experience in the temple had taught me.
The next day moved with the pace of a snail across a rock wall. Most everyone was quiet, until just before sunset, a rider came down from the heights, with word that the flags had been removed from the butte before noon. I figured it would take them at least until after the middle of the night to climb down the butte, and they might even sleep for a spell, resting the mounts more for the chase to the gates tomorrow. They had surpassed the times Drinius and I had set on our many storied race. But we were the first to use onageri bred for speed and racing, the others had been on pack animals and ponies before that.
I caught a few naps as the night came and passed. I was not really worried about any monies lost, most of my bets had already been won and collected. I really only had two bets left, I had one with one of the Karleekie on who would appear first on the horizon, a small bet of a few dozen of the silver coins of the Old North Empire, and the bet for first foal with Drinius. I already was ahead, even if Gerrae lost. I had the promise of combining the lines, something I had wondered at even in those days.
By dawn of the fourth day, excitement was building, and many were climbing rocks for a better view of the finish gate. I had no need of such. As an owner of a participating mount, there was a corral just beyond the gate, off to one side in case the horses were racing closely and running to fast to turn from an obstacle. Both Drinius and I sat there, side by side, under an awning he had brought to keep us from the burning rays of the sun. A commotion started just before the noontide, as they said cloud appeared on the horizon. Gerrae, I had been told, was black as coal, and Pulvis was a gray like unto the sands they ran over, so we would perhaps know soon of my bet’s outcome.
As the sun had risen, the judges had begun to keep time with the horari they had brought. The turning of the glasses in the racks became something After a bit the calls went up, and I was a rich man. Gerrae was in the lead, as her black hide, despite the dust of the desert, was still clearly seen. She had only a stade lead I found out, which was worrisome. Had she begun to fatigue? Was this race to soon after that mad run from the drakonis? Or had Furius made some misstep on the butte?
Questions raced through my mind, as I heard the call of time from the judges, and the cheers and calls from the larger boulders by those who tried to call out the race to those of us below. It was less than two glasses of sand before I heard the shouting climb, and everyone around me stood. My sight caught the runners coming out of the haze of blended auras at the edge of my range. Drinius was cursing his rider, and calling his stallion on. I sat calmly as I could, just hoping Gerrae would hold on to her lead, but was able after a few fingers of sand tell that she was slowing.
Didius said Gerrae held the lead at the fences, and entered the final stretch still a few lengths ahead. Her inner flames took heart from the noise, and she started to lengthen her strides. She would hold.
Unfortunately, as they reached the gate, Furius knew he had race won, and sat up arms in the air. The inevitable thud of skull on wood, and crash of a body hitting ground followed. Gerrae won the distance, but Pulvis and his rider took the race. I stood and offered my hand to the stunned Drinius sitting to my left. It took him half a finger of sand to realize he had won, and accept it.
“Just like the old days, the horse wins the race, but the rider loses it, eh?” He was worried, but not about my feelings, I knew. "Gods that one had to hurt, the judges replaced the old pines with stone oak."
I winced at the name. Stone oak grew only in the Angry Red Mountains, near the pass to the sea. The wood was famed for its strength, desired by galley makers for the rams and spars, but notoriously hard to harvest. Only iron wood was harder, they said. Only my view of the aftermath was that of the auras surrounding the broken and confused flames of my nephew, as they made sure he was still living and not injured more than in pride and bruises.
“He has a hard head. Trust me. If I can survive the same injury, so can he.” But my words were hollow. I wondered at how Furius would react to losing the race. But knew it did not matter. At least on this, I could offer advise on how to deal with the loss.
I turned to the gates, and raised my face, as if I could still see the crossbars. “Those are one of the dumbest ideas I ever had, you know that, Drinius.” With that, I began the walk to my nepo, who was just stirring after two fingers of sand being called out by the judges, to mark the time until he could remount and cross the line.
The loss would indeed hurt, as I knew from my own experience at these very gates, when Turbator had caught and passed Eurus in the gate. I had once lain about where Furius did now, and was sure his head would hurt far worse, especially on the morrow.
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