Crossing of the Shadow - A Billenius tale - chapter 3

Avunculus was correct, the only person I might trust with my visions re-surfacing would be the Praetor. Quintillius Bentarius Damaticus Nerva knew my gens well, from that long war mother and father served under him during. A relationship that continued to the recent past. In many ways, I owed this position now, as my uncle's aide, to his final actions as Praetor. In those last days before the first of the Decuria's purges, he moved to ensure the Custos last recruitment cycle before that purge included not just those of the Insulae. After his removal from office, all we received proved to be just fools from the islands.
Despite his leaving office, he still wore that gold inlayed armor, marked with the Imperial Eagle, the Spear of the Triarium added sometime in the last few, over his right breast. I noted, though, that there seemed to be a coat of tarnish unusual for him on that lorica. Given a recent transit of the Sands, I bet it was just from his journey, not lack of attention to detail or wealth to spruce up.
Which he proved by his first words.
"Not like you to keep me waiting, Mattio." Delivered with a warm grin, a tense edge still lay under the comaraderie. "Nor allow some ide to be the reason."
"Disciplinary action, amicus." My uncle's grin of pleasure at being reprimanded lowered my head in shame over arguing on my own. "But something came up in it that you need to be aware of."
One glance, and the Praetor's grin faded. "That Varus boy. Your nephew, if I remember correctly?"
"Yes, Praetor." A glance at me, urging silence, I respected. "Judging by your look, not someone you wished to see?"
Bentarius never stood on formality, and took the chair opposite my uncle's desk. The less than perfect posture spoke more of exhaustion than sloth. "Not immediately, though my trip was to contact him for the Flamenis, in part." His  gaze upon me forced a shifting of my feet. "They claim the Augurii speak of tough times ahead of him. The kind that try one's anima."
The Dux took his own seat, wearily. "Ill news, Bento."
The Praetor shrugged. "What else would you expect me to bear, Mattio."
Both then looked at me hard.
"Out with it, boy. What has you in this office being called out on the carpet?" The Praetor commanded. "Best not be another gathering of the Tris Triconis."
Uncle laughed. "That will come with the end of the hebdoma, Praetor."
"Triari, please. Would not want the Decuria thinking I still believe I command the Legions and Custorii." His gaze relaxed a bit. "Visions, again boy?"
"Yes sir." My murmur barely audible.
Running a hand through his white mane, still with hints of fading red at the temples, he sighed. "Damnatio. I'd hoped this was me bearing warning, not a mission to try talking about getting you into a temple for some training on that doni, Varus."
"Ran into a few of our eastern kindred who offered me such, sir." I shrugged, wishing for a chair for this conversation. Standing left one feeling you still stood on the carpet, as the old phrase went. "Given how things have moved since, I'm not sure my donum, any of them, witll ever respond to training."
The Triari's cheeks puffed out as he exhaled between closed lips. "Not a thing that offers promise, given the skills the Sextus and Sylvani hold in the use and guiding of those seeking such." He motioned to the urn of kaf uncle kept in the office. "Pour us a round of that foul stuff, son, Then grab a seat. This sounds like something I better deal with right off the bat."
"Sir." I nodded. "Need room in the cup for cream or sugar?"
"Don't blaspheme, boy. Never profane the bean. Drink it straight or stick with tea." He chuckled. That gave me a strange insight into my uncles own tastes to beverages. Myself, I preferred tea, but I knew better than to ask to leave the room to gain a cup.
"Dux, it might be best if we post my extra duties first." I tried delay tactics, not wishing to suffer the discussion to come. Especially the lecture over my long reluctance at harnessing my doni in a temple.
"Call in that orderly, Mattio. Little snot-nosed Islander never offered me a drink during that hora and half I cooled my heels out there." The old elf's snort reminded me of Umbradinor's own expressions of contempt, bringing a reluctant, and rather guilty grin to my face.
"Billenius, call Sticcius in." His frown of anger burrowed new lines in his face. "Sorry, Bento. The Legion stuck him on us three hebdoma ago. I have no other duties for one recently injured, beyond that desk."
"Injured, my ass. Sticcius is a lazy fool. And a bully." Then the retired commander grinned evilly. "He also is not Legion. Get him to mucking out the stables, Mattio. About the only thing the Sinistrae are good for. And it will let him know you have been tipped he's here to spy on things here."
"Perfidio. Bill, get the kaf." He rose. "Sneaking in one that way under my nose is irksome." He glanced at the Triari as he strode around his desk, holding the revised duty roster. One already amended with my own extra duties, I was sure. "Thought he looked like one of Strabo's serpents."
"Glad to out the prick to you formally, then." The Triari saluted uncle with the cup of the brew I handed him. "Invite the ungracious fool in. I'd love to see his face once he knows he's been outed."
The half-grin uncle tossed us left me nervous. Unlce's hatred of the Centuria Sinstra made my own look like mild distaste. "Sticcius, get in here." His roar shocked me, but the Triati chuckled at it.
"Sir?" Decimiviilli Daetlius Sticchius asked, entering smugly. "Need this vagrant or that joke of a aide of your's removed?"
"Strabo may have foisted you upon me, Centurio, but I feel no need to keep a spy in my office." Uncle barked. "Lose that crutch, and post this list of extra duties on the board outside. Then, if you feel the need to do something useful, there's a whole stable that needs the shit shoveled out of it over on the west wall."
I admit to taking pleasure at Sticcius' sudden surprise and unease. He tried to throw around his own rank, a foolish thing in my uncle's office. "My orders say I stay in this office. And Sir Strabo outranks you, foolish little Dux."
"The only fool here is one who thinks he slithered in like a snake to eat the eggs in the henhouse." The Triari said, taking another sip of his kaf.
"You were dismissed, old man." Sticcius sneered. "Shame you could not have been judged guilty of the treasons you've committed. I'd have cut off your head myself."
That triggered a snort from me. I'd seen this brute on the practice field. His sword work focused on sheer strength of the blows delivered, lacking the skill to hit a mark. "Doubt you'd find the neck at all, Sticcius. I've seen you practice. Best you could hit would be a back or head blow."
The implication of back-stabbing went right over his head. "Silence, little Custos. We'll deal with you soon." He snarled, more insulted I even spoke to him than at being called an assasin backhandedly.
Uncle Mattio spoke before I could stick my foot deeper in my mouth. "Well, Strabo only commands the Legions, not the Custorii, and definitely not my Catervae. So, either clean the stables, after you post this, or leave the Campii." That voice I knew all too well. Uncle rarely expressed anger vocally, normally he just used dark looks or glances. "Now, do as ordered, or leave."
Looking at the duty roster, he grinned. "Well, at least one of ours will oversee the little prima donna in the extra duties." Then his face fell. "Why is he being rewarded with command of the East Gate for two hebdomae?"
"I trust Custos Varus. You, the other choice for such duty, have yet to earn such. And never will, given your lies about your status." Uncle said flatly. "Now, post the roster, and leave. Preferrably the Campii, but at least vacate this office unless I send for you again."
The Triari tossed a nasty comment to Sticcius over his shoulder. "Send my regards to your commander. Tell him I hope to catch up with him soon."
That comment sent chills down my spine. The Praetor, never known for holding grudges before, implied he nursed one now. Knowing his ability to take vengeance when needed from the affair with the Flame Queen when I entered the Custorii, I feared the repercussions to come.
Sticcius got that message, apparently. He left in stormy silence that followed.
Uncle stood looking out the window, grunting with surprise after the front door slammed.
"Amazing. He actually obeyed me."
The grunt from the Triari said more than his words. "No other choice. At least the rumors about the Centurion in their midst should keep his sabotage to a minimum from here out." He gazed at me. "Not really encouraging gossip, boy. But some times commanders need help from the scuttlebutt."
I nodded, realizing this was more lesson in command than an order. Which let me relax a bit. You never give such schooling to one without a future to use it. When my uncle took his seat, I grabbed the spare chair off the wall, and settled in for the part I feared might change that.

Billenius's Tale - Journey to Freedom chap 10 draft 9 (was planning this as the start of Seas of Treachery).

Dusk fell over the rain-washed city, and with its arrival my vision improved. Others see either poorly or not at all by night. For me, night brings clarity to my rainbow-hued world. A soft rain interfered with my aura vision, but not as badly as the sun, with its over-whelming warmth. Often I wonder if the myths of the necromantic creatures being of my kin come from so many of us being so gifted or cursed. This was the true test of my control. Pelori many hebdoma behind us now, still was more a large town in size, not a city.

Aiming my empty sockets over the city, I saw the truths of the place with my third eye. Like a wax painting left too close to a fire, the precipitation blurred the once clear auras into mingled shapes and colors, both pleasing and revolting. Much like the people, places, and events they come from. They changed as the weeping sky moved its own veils between me and the world. So like the sun's, yet softer across the intervening distance, its folds and ripples changing ever as the moments pass.

My inner gaze found a cold flame on that canvas of light, so bright that it shone clear even through the rain. Large and silver, at least as I remember silver being before losing my orbs. It crackled, even over the distance, to my inner ear, the one that sometimes hears what others never notice. That blaze represented the reason for our journey to this place. That is how I see the life-force of the Grey-Claw-of-the-Night-Sky, Umbradinor, my old friend who perhaps would protect me from the Centurions, or not.

The start of our friendship dated to our younger days, in the Upper Lands of the North. We had met by chance, I seeking bandits who had stolen children, he hunting alone for the first time since his hatching. In joining up to fight those criminals, a friendship formed. But that is another story.

Over the years, I usually spent my first night without the city, sitting in my tent observing the place and its ways, for such oft change in small ways, and I had no wish to be seen as a total stranger in this land of taboos and mysteries. We agreed to this method and place many a decade ago, with the resident seeking the visitor once our informants were contacted. Our most common guises those of merchants, pilgrims or traveling soothsayers. Its easy for one with a true gift to play the latter, so some of our group acted as barkers, calling out my presence and skills. Actually, it was just Ringelius, who was having entirely too much fun and exaggerating my skills greatly. I could not detect

Here in the realms of the Homani, we Numeni stood out like the roses in the weed patches. Only amid others of our kind could a Centurion hide, and even that would be difficult for them. Those who traveled outside our lands rarely were the bigots who would welcome their kind. Cethegor and Didius were sure we had at least two centurions of the Centuria Sinistra still with us. Despite the changes in personnel that Norbanus had made in Pelori. That calagaria was still stalking about, watching me as well. My blood and companions admitted they had no clues as to her leanings. Furius, though, was still agitated about the foul magical workings we had found made of his father's remains. Ringelius was busy keeping the boy on a short leash, as the saying goes, while drumming up some business.

As the leader of the Triarium, Sextus Didius Lorcius held the respect of all our kind, his name linked to integrity and honor, at least until the last few years. Using that reputation, and the bargaining powers of Norbanus, he had been able to talk a wealthy merchant off this spot today How much of that talk would be costing my own coin pouch, I was sure to soon find out. Norbanus has the anima of an accountant, he missed his true calling in life. He would have taken any campsite, not knowing the importance of this one to contacting Umbradinor. Yet, despite my own follies in Pelori, they had gotten me here alive. For that I could not fault them.

I was still not sure Umbradinor would help. The Decuria's arms were long and often hidden in places one did not anticipate. Our meetings here were well known to happen, even if they had been clandestine. For the moment, all I could do was hope the others were right. The part of me my goddesses use did not seem to agree.

Contact came quick and unexpectedly. No sooner than our encampment had been drawn and setup begun, than a voice I knew but shall not name spoke to us from nearby. “Be wary, travelers. It is said that that field is over run with lizards by night.” The message was one used only once before. Rather than wait for daylight, we would have our visitor soon.

One wave of storms passed and another approached. His aura did not reside in its normal spot, on the east side of the community, nor in his bolt hole to the north. No, he lodged in the center of the city, near the Sultan's palace. I could not determine if it was in the dungeons, or in the Emir's quarters, for both were close there. When the glow that marked my friend moved, which led to an understanding of the change.

Many more auras still, some of a similar nature, but less sharp, others like those of the Elemental Spirits. Children, obviously, as Soludrin had intimated back up on our rock seat. I had forgotten that. Despite the building headache from using my third eye, I stared at those flames. They were already distinct from their sire, in color at least. One tinged with the black of the grandsire, three others had brilliance of mage-born in azures, golds and reds. The last made of sickly yellows of early death. Whether Grey Claw knew this or not, I would need to speak with him to ascertain. I hoped he knew, for bearing bad news would weaken my position further. My gift of precognition was known to him, so perhaps he hoped to gain more knowledge of the child's destiny by speaking with me.

I pulled out the five carbuncle stones Soludrin had given me, as gifts for the children. Ringelius had spent a short time as we waited out the race looking over the stones. Searching my memory, his descriptions rose back to mind. All had the colors of the children's auras. A deep star sapphire, the wild flame ruby, two diamonds, one with inclusions of gold, the other pitch black and a topaz of rich amber gold. On Ringelius suggestion, I had kept them wrapped separately since the pass, to let their resonances remain individual.

Curtains of rain closed in again, blurring then hiding the auras of the children from me. Was that dance of the rain a sign? Good omen or bad? I was disturbed by the change from the normal of the past saeculus. The sense that something was out of sorts stayed with me. I could only wait until Umbradinor could arrive.

To ease my pain I asked for tea while concentrating on closing the sight I saw by down to shorter distances. The hand of my nepo set the cup and some other herbs to my hand as I tuned out the world around me., I thought long over what to say. Should I assume he knew not of the sickly child, or wait for him to breach it? The scales in my mind teetered on the fulcrum of conscience, leaving me worried and confused. During my waiting, Furius left, as now two entered. Smell alone spoke of the taint of wet metal and leather told me that two warriors had come in. One had to be Ringelius, but that left me wondering who held the leash of young relative outside.

At length, murmurs from without, and the opening of the flap of my tent raised. The boy spoke in a soft voice, one suited to my acute ears, which his time with me taught him the moderation of.

"Master, there is a Domorushtuun outside, dusky skinned, with gray hair and deep black eyes. He seems to be of middle years for such, but he feels both older and younger than such to me. He has the powerful build of a younger man of the Northern Foothills region, perhaps of the city states of Alogasna or Threndu." The rustle of the entry flap in his hands was loud to me, but those with sight are less attuned to sound then we who tread the path of darkness. I was impressed by his attention to details, making sure those waiting inside new the man to enter. That was the guidance or Didius, Cethegor or Norbanus in the ways of preparations.

I pitched my voice to carry out to the men with my friend "Yes, Furius, show in the man. I will read his fate, and cast the auguries for his children as he desires. But only he may enter, if others invade the sanctity of the tent the readings will be skewed. Those as bear steel or iron they must back off further." I caught that distinctly draconic snort that only a lizard, no matter his form, can make. Grey Claw still retained his sense of humor, I noted.

"Stand off, soldiers! You wear iron, which causes harm his kindred. Since those are the metals by which his power is blocked, his reading for my children will be imperfect . Ten steps is all I ask. Surely the Vizier will understand the need of my having a good augury?" His foot steps without were erratic, powerful but still unguided to any who would not know of his heritage.

The voice was still the rough and rumbling bass that marks him to my ears, It rang with his amusement over his escort's dutiful attitudes. Amusement was a good thing, as one in our party, sitting next to me would not make his trip here enjoyable. The rustling of steel garments tells me that he is obeyed. The interest of the Vizier is troubling for I have never had good relations with those who hold that office. Professional rivalries and the like, the constant bane of the mage, no matter the school or power. Needless to say, I had low opinions about the previous holders of that office, but more over reasons of competence than of style and silly racial prejudices.

The flap opened again, and Umbradinor entered the shelter. As the canvas dropped, my guest settled down across the brazier from me. I offered some tea, herbal of course, and he accepted. We drank for a few minutes in silence, before beginning. I could smell the incense from the burners outside, wafting along on the gentle breezes, as my nephew lit them. The cloves would irritate many, while the green-berry poison would overwhelm the lesser kindred who came too close for our purposes. I deemed from the departure from normal, the initiative must be mine.

"You have more problems, my friend, since my last trip south. At least five of them very new." My voice was low pitched, but the murmur of it would carry to without the tent, allowing the guards some knowledge of their charge's safety.

The snort again, this time strained. He knew, and needed my help as much as I needed his. "I would have sent for you moons ago, my friend, if I thought those fools would let you leave." Somehow, the lizard made his sip sound more like the lapping of a tongue. "How didst thou leaveth the chains of thy captors behind thee?"

"We overthrew the Decemviri.” It was a joke, but it got no laugh. “We tried, at least. I cannot say if we will succeed my friend. The Imperatrix is safe in the hills, or so Cethegor assures me." I took a sip of my tea. A gasp and sputter told me I had struck at an inopportune moment with that comment. Whether it was the concept of my folk in a civil war, or that Cethegor was here, I could not tell.

This pause was shorter. Tidings and rumor ran before me, obviously. "Surprising, that he would take up with thou, after thy last adventure amid the Northern Wastes." Those words stirred the memory of pain in my ribs again. Reminding me of the mistakes I had made over the years.

"Others as well. Norbanus, Didius." Still I sipped calmly, sensing easily the agitation within the one across from me.

The rattle of the copper tea kettle coming off the brazier rack told me he was thinking. Umbradinor was silent only when deep in thought. Water sloshing over the tea holder in his cup was loud, something he normally was silent in doing. My friend was not reassured by my companions. Several sips of tea later, he spoke at last. "Given thy past travels with Lorcius, and the troubles thou encountered, is this wise?"

"Wisdom? Trust me, the wise flee us now." Subtle hints, dancing around the subject of the aura behind me. This time it was a sniff not a snort, one that turned into a very reptilian hiss. The rustle of cloth marked his looking about to find the source of the scent.

The snort he gave told me Grey Claw had a differing opinion of Ringelius' return. “Varamus, Thou hath lost thy mind. That one be not thy ally.” His further slide to the formal speech and use of my family name in the archaic form was a sign of his own agitation.

Despite our long friendship, the bonds of blood are stronger. This stirred an old anger for me. “No, he is not my ally. He is off my kinfolk. I still honor those bonds, even if some of my blood would prefer he had never been born.”

"Listen to thyself, Varamus. Thou forgets that a seer is oft forbidden by those who rule his Fate to see his own end. Thou shalt charge blindly..." His voice trailed off, in regret. Regret of choice of words, regret he had not arrived until that long ago battle was for all purposes over.

I could not leave that lie to fester. "Yes, old friend. Blind men walk where others fear, for we cannot see the perils. But you forget one thing. I know the dangers I face. And I know who chases me. Trust me to try and stay free, and loose no more pieces of myself." My voice was strident, even to my ears. To ease his guards worries, I barked loudly as if bargaining a price. "One hundred dinar! No less can I accept lest the Parcae reject the offering!"

"Thief! But we should not argue for a reading. Very well." Grey Claw knows me far too well, as he spoke softer. "You hope to use his lack of a Fate to break the hold of your Decuria upon you."

Sometimes, one could wish that one's friends were less insightful. "I say I have already. All I wish for now, my friend, is to keep my freedom from those who poisoned me with ferric toxins to keep me weak and compliant to their will."

I let the words sit, and reached out to where the teapot should have been, only to find my cup being taken, and hand gently pushed back. "Let me, Varamus. I do not wish to bandage any more burns on you. Ever, my friend." Behind him, the tent flap lifted as Ringelius and Didius left us, to speak our minds freely.

We each held our cups, waiting for the anger to pass. Sometimes a friend will stir the fires of a passion too much, pushing limits of politeness to their breaking point. The saecula had taught us to use such times to cool those flames within. Surprisingly, Umbradinor spoke first.

"What thou canst perceive, others might catch glimpses of. Yes, thou will attempt to avoid trouble, that I can tell. But Ringelius, Varamus, be trouble incarnate. Casteth thy mind back to our youth."

I laughed, not out of contempt, but joy at some of those memories. "Indeed, he is trouble. Trouble the Decuria, knowing now that he lives, will be wary of. Trouble that walks with me, not into me. Trouble that slayed the Cato. And that blind spot seers have for him has a tendency to mask those around him. You remember the pranks of our shared youth?" This was a touchy subject, for those pranks had more oft gained us all trouble, yet I had to try.

"The Cato's death was his work?" Grey Claw was shocked.

"Yes, and perhaps you are right, lizard. But it could be I am as well. Know this, there is nothing I can foresee about my cousin. Nor can any others. He is fateless." I sighed, and waited. As we both thought on this, something from a corner of my mind came out and danced on the main stage of my brain to my tongue. "He is without a Fate, but that hammer he bears is not. It is destined to be held by a Tsar who starts a new dynasty amongst the Karleekie, Grey Claw."

Short silence, followed by the lizard's own thoughts. "Yes, indeed, but in his hands it becomes invisible to seers. Trust me on that, my sire has long tried to see that hammer, to know which of the stunted ones will slay his old foe with it." His chest rumbled loudly to me, but probably imperceptibly to others, as if he were using that draconic purr to think. Yes, a draconi do have a kind of purr, much like felines.

"Yet I have felt the effects of the Buran Malyot. Not just once, but several times of late. I foresaw the coming of it in a dream in Jugusium, just before he arrived. " I rarely will push back against the Grey Claw of Shadows, for while I am a seer, he is a student of prophecies, and has read many more than I in his own, and his father's, quests for knowledge of what is to come.

"Speaking of thy gift, Varamus, I must ask you to actually use your skills." He shifted uneasily. Draconi had their own seers, but if none would answer him a question, then turning to me meant desperation.

"I will do what I can, but your kind has defenses against precognitions in your blood." Telling this to a priest of the Draconi goddess of shadows was no revelation, not even a reminder. Just a reflexive speech I spoke to any seeking to know their future.

"Do thy best, Varamus. We knoweth the boundaries set forth by the gods." Fatal acceptance in one or a species known more for its arrogance is frightening, I discovered in those words.

"Speak the problem as thou perceive it, Umbradinor. Perhaps I shalt seeth the answer, if that might make thee feel better." He had me talking that way as well. Too much formality was overwhelming me.

The long silence had me wondering if he wished no part of a reading of fates and auras. Two cups of tea later, at last he had composed his thoughts and words for the moment. "Eight claws of winters back, I met a woman here. One skilled in magics, especially those of the Five Elements of All." I leaned back, realizing this was part letting a friend get caught up on his life not stalling in his request. 

"Never did I realize that one could feeleth so for one not of mine species. Aisha is very gifted, strong, and of a heritage that can bear young by me. Laugh naught at me and mine folly, wingless child of the sky, for thy kind oft falls for humans as well." He paused to sip a fresh cup of tea. "It was 'til I realized she loved me as well that I found how matched we were. She is not just a mistress of the Elements, but part of them. Jann. Burning Stream clan."

The least of the genies, mixed blood among those how were born of the leftovers from the creation of the world. Jann were long-lived, powerful mages by any standard who were linked by their blood to the magics they craft. While hated in other lands, in Rahab they were the nobles of the land, each title earned and kept in clan hands by service to the sultan. Those of the Burning Stream were water and fire specialists, with a touch of the void in there with earth and air. A powerful and rich clan.

The clan of the current Vizier who advised the Sultan.

"When I found that out, we got married in the ways of her clan. Soon after she became pregnant, in the manner of her kind not mine. The first birth was difficult, but each became easier she said, as did the midwives. But the youngest boy, he is either exploding energy or lethargic." He broke off then. I let it rest for several sips.

"Is he sickly otherwise? I ask not to offer help, but to discern which child you mean, for I see two that you may have called me for." As I spoke, I set down my cup, leaving off filling it.

He choked, spraying his tea into the fire. It sizzled in tune with his laughter. He was obviously clueless as to his child’s problem. "Nay, only the youngest is a problem. The other children are fine. The babe is oft languid, then goes long periods as if containing boundless energy. Mine eldest is merely a scholarly child, as her mother..." His voice started out solid, but as he spoke unsure tremors entered it, for the seeds of doubt had been sown.

"A girl, the eldest and scholarly. Interesting, considering her father's fire for adventure." But a worry to me, something nagged the back of the mind.

"Look, damn thee. Look into her fires, and his. Seeketh an answer that shalt let mine mate and I keep mine heirs." Pain rode the air and roiled in his aura so much the waves pressed

"Come to my side of the fire, please. I will need to look again and your flames..."

"Since when can you see that far?" Disbelief tinged his voice.

"Apparently poisons are good for something. I had to fight so much to see, my ability once free of the toxins is greater than before." This was not a new pride or my old arrogance. It was the simple truth I was still trying to deal with myself.

"Truly?" Still the doubt ruled the Grey Claw of Shadow's voice. " 'Tis over a league from here to there."

Something of my body language must have shown him my concentration to raise up the power again, as much as I could in this place. Softly, I asked my guards to shift aside for my viewing. Umbradinor moved to the side, out of the way, but still not beside me. It would have to do.

I opened my third eye, turning my vision again to his children's auras searching for the things I had missed the first time. It took all my focus to see that far with my inner eye, as I looked deeper and saw the separate ages and powers. The smallest flame was the truly sickly one, the bookishness had hidden the ill from the parents, but it sat there, slowly killing the child, and it had gotten me confused. Worse, their age before was not apparent, the youngest was not ill, merely coping as poorly as the untutored do. I searched my for the words to ease my companion's sorrows to come, and found but a poor choice to use. I sensed the moments slipping and the growing anxiety across the table.

"Your eldest is the truly ill, it looks as if she has some ailment similar to bone-eater. She bears up yet, thinking it to be growing pains, as her sibs have now, but it is not, and in her heart she knows this. It has turned beyond just physical pain, gnawing at her psyche, devouring her self-esteem. Seek the priests of Varew for her, and soon, for her light still echoes in the future."

"And the youngster?" The pain in his voice hurt me, even second hand. He had so been sure, but to have his judgment prove wrong even the once was terrible to him. His pride, as that of all his kind, was immense. Now to give him hope for the other.

"He bears the blood of thy ancestors. In him, the blood of Tragrilom the black, your great-grandsire returns to the Realm. You will be busy keeping up with him." I kept my voice reassuring as I could.

"Is Japi beyond the healers? She is my mate's favorite, to lose her would sorely hurt the woman, perhaps beyond repair of her soul. You are sure I do not need healers of my kind? She shares my blood, so perhaps they would have better skills at the healing?" Only a parent's voice can carry all the hopes and fears, wound into a few brief seconds, and convey them to others so well.

I knew what he asked of me. What the Decuria had wrung from me by drugs and torture. It was something I had only toyed with at times early on. I am at best an untrained seer, one upon whom the gods had hung the mantle and powers after my own folly and failure to understand the limits of my donum. Can any deny a friend what they ask? The warnings and guidance of the gods, those I bear, as best I can. But to seek the future willingly, read the weavings in the tapestry of lives that is the Ars of the Parcae, is not something pleasant. What I wished had no relevance, this was one of many debts I had to pay.

I focused again upon the auras, casting my other vision, the one that saw futures, upon the child in question. Even without eyes, my face contorted into a painful squint, old habits being hard to break. The thread of light that is her future appeared more distinctly, no longer hidden by the then and there, but clear, almost sharp for such perception. But it eluded me.

"She will survive, but pain will be with her for a long while. There is time for the summoning of aid, but not much. As to its source, I..." There is a wash of Power that fills one when the gods speak The powers that guide destiny now speak through me, against my will, but with less than normal vagueness. "Dangers shalt bind thy bookend children. Seek thy father's ally and rival, Bahai-aha-muith, he and the rider of the ass shalt be thy youngest offspring's salvation. But know this now, in saving him, thou shalt lose her, as she finds her true form and destiny."

The hands of the Parcae ebb away, leaving me drained of all but the power to breathe. I felt the fear I had sealed my own doom. Eventually it passed, as the sense of my life stretched ahead of me again. I had not fatally trespassed the gods‘ domain of knowledge.

Yet.

Umbradinor is very familiar with my reactions to a prophecy. His hand held my shoulder gently, supporting me. He waited to speak, holding back his own reaction, until he was sure I would not collapse.

“So Ramali is in danger then. But the threat to Japi be dire? This is no choice, Varamus. This is madness. How can I save both children?” He stirred uneasily. “I am sorry, but this is not the lot any father chooses, to have to decide which child to save, and which to allow to die.”

Time passed, enough for us both to make some decisions. My plans become more solid, as more of the fogs stripped away from the future ahead of me. Those trails shown that took the sea route were less fraught with the shadows of dangers. The ways that touched the lands of Domorushtuu across the sea were dark, I could sense no path at all there. To take the paths of the Grey Desert held more dangers. In my mind a maelstrom of fire, lightning and dust sat there.

I would travel by water, if I could convince Umbradinor to let me. As the girl needed help, and I was headed that way, perhaps?

“I must head east. She can come with us, if need be. By what path I for now cannot see, other than water. Something must occur here first. And in it I see grave danger. You must take precautions, lizard.” At last I sipped the now cold tea, savoring the mints and tangs of the mix. “I looked to the north and south of the Zharnik’s waves, my friend, to the south lies a darkness I cannot penetrate. To the north, well, lets say some new and one old enemy seems to prey upon that path. Not to mention that the sands themselves seemed disturbed, but whether it was normal or other, I could not perceived.”

The Grey Claw of the Shadows pondered these words for a bit. "I shall indeed take precautions. As shall you, old friend. I suggest you take a few days here and arrange transport by ship to the lands held by the bastards of my kind. That is the safest, for the dusts you saw was the madness season come again upon the Lodriken. The Desert of the Shifting Gray Sands is not a safe place, for elf, dragon or any other. Besides, to leave abruptly may call attention to yourself unduly.?" His words asked for more information.

"Perceptive as always, Lizard. But time is of the essence, so the attention drawn by my haste will be nothing compared to the harm the Decemviri could cause back home, or even elsewhere should our land fall.” That was a threat he would understand, for those from the Insulae viewed his species as a nuisance to be tolerated only until they could be exterminated. “Name me a captain with guile and courage, and I shall have Norbanus or Furius make terms with him."

"Yevziva Baladivna and her crew are in port now, and headed towards their ancient homelands.” He said this slowly. Fear for his children still deep in him.

"Another old friend. Now I share your discomfort, this smells of the Parcae, or worse."

He laughed, heartily. "Nay, thy family and I be not in collusion. Tonight is the first contact I have had with those who travel with thou in over two claws of years."

He sighed. "Varamus, you and he together, I trust. But you are asking me to put my daughter, who is just coming of that troublesome age for girls, where they seek some male to bond to..."

An age old dilemma, one only fathers ever faced. He had known in his heart that the girl would soon need to move on, to grow up and leave the nest. But not with anyone with the reputation for disasters in relationships. I could do little to settle that doubt of his. I decided to settle some things now.

"You spoke of meeting the family. Over a meal by chance?"

A snort is all the answer I got. Umbradinor shifted his weight forward, and that aura his kind radiates, that had spurred Gerrae to that great run just three hebdoma before pressed upon my nerves. "You are set upon this course? Can I not turn you aside? For I know as do you, that Ringelius' ambience is a two edged sword, one that can cut its wielder as well as its victim. I recall numerous times when his antics ruined our well-laid plans, to our chagrin. Think hard, and heed me, for I have a bad feel of this."

I sighed. "I am set in my course now, and besides, I need the excitement." I gambled with those words, praying to Fortuna and Befana for their mercy and some luck.

Umbradinor did not speak for a few fingers of falling sand. "Perhaps it is time you met Aisha, and the children.” When he makes a decision, you go with it, or prepare for a lengthy argument. “Come. Yes, you shall sit at our table tonight. For a change we may leave the fugues and double talk we must use out here in the open aside."

Long ago I took up a way of abstinence, which my friend knew of, but something else was at work here. Besides, matertera had said I should eat outside the kalend. I thought long on what all we had spoken of meant, then gave up. Not all could be known to a mind locked in the present. My dietary restrictions of late caused many problems.

Besides, I had a feeling that the Grey Claw intended to make stuffed peppers, a great weakness of mine, and a culinary achievement of his. Some things are not meant to be passed up. No matter the price in coin or indigestion.

　

Billenius's Tale - Journey to Freedom - chapter 7 draft 9

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.

Journey to Freedom - 10th draft of chapter 1, better or worse?

Talons tore the air above me, as I dove to recover my saber. Pain danced along my right arm, victim just heartbeats before to the same claws. Whistling marked Gyevo to my left, as his hammer swung to cover the retreat the others were beating.

"Billenius! Stay down!" Nonia's spear drove over me, seeking the softer belly scales on our foe.
Rolling away, Specula in my hand again, my lungs labored after the flames unleashed by a dying salamander moments before. Cilixia's corpse, victim of that conflagration, still smoked just beyond the main trail. Flickering auras drove past my mental controls, as the strain of the fight was testing the limits those restraints kept upon my donum. Over her burnt  flesh wisps hinted her anima still hovered, trying to aid us from beyond death.

Steffan or Zeffan, I still could not tell them apart, grabbed my arm, pulling me up. "We have to run, Bill!"

"We retreat, she'll just ambush us again downhill." Growling, I shook off his hand.

"And here, on ground she chose, is any different?" The karlykn shook his head, stout frame shifting to avoid the swipe of the Flame Queen's tail, as she lifted again into the air, seeking her next victim.
Admitting he was right had to wait, as the beat of her wings staggered us both back a bit, further from the fight. Nonia's strike had failed, leaving my current companion's twin our  hope, the only one with any missiles left. The distinct buzz of his bolt echoed strangely, almost as if from the past, not present.

Above me, the red and gold scaled beast roared her fury,  a handful of her fiery minions answering her command. Better than the scores we faced earlier. Too many now lay on this battlefield as steaming cinder pile, their ashes tossed about by her rising up for another attack. The Paths of Damnation were living up to their name, condemning us for daring to tread them. Aradlisa cursed from over her lover's remains, soft words that worried me, even as she parried off a pitchfork of the afreet bound inside a serpent's flesh.

Beyond her, Norbanus gathered around him our few still living companions. Rents in his tarnished chest-plate attested to how strong a dragon is, able to crease and tear apart that elven steel easily. Stavros and Nonia both flanked him, backs to his, as more of the burning reptiles drove towards them, rising from where the evoked flood Cilixia died calling down tossed them.

Around them all, the auras bloomed brighter. Or darker, as shadows and darker flames tore about their frames. Trembling, I fought to regain control of my donum. Last time I neared this level, two friends nearly perished when I could not break free of the visions the Parcae tossed at me through them.

Beyezid rose up, limping, to join the three still standing, as Gyevo collapsed, leg pinned to stone by one of those burning prongs. I shifted fast, unleashing Specula's power, allowing a single blast of stored sunlight free of her chablys blade against that salamander. The last such blast left.  The fires of creation such light is born of evaporated the prison of earth, freeing the afreet. One less to worry about, as once released, it fled.

Checking our foe, my third eye opened again, showing many things, not just her aura, for some reason. Each of the few wounds dealt her so far glowed in a purple flame so deep it bordered upon black. An internal conflagration that sickened my stomach. I hate necromancy, and that Cilixia's death fueled her healing hurt more. More was revealed at her left fore-claw, where a strange glow of blue and smoke grey formed something like a 'C' mark the Centuria used to mark their status as elite warriors of my kindred.

Fighting the visions was too much, so I focused on them, binding their flows. I needed some hint for a way to save my remaining friends. A hint of verdigris around one of her fangs told me where to strike next, given the chance. I knew of such tools, made ages ago to bind the children of the fires to one's will amid prisons of sinews and bones.

"Billenius, this is hopeless. We must flee." Gyevo pulled along Nonia, limping beside him. The left leg of her trews torn off, along with a dangerous amount of her thigh. She still struggled to fight, though.

"Varus, we get out of this, I am either killing you, or marrying you." She snarled.

Laughing, despite my pains, I she shrugged. "Let me know which."

Turbator's whinny warned me our enemy was approaching. The onager danced away from his attacker, silver horn of his headdress twisting as my mount, the only not fled or dead, drove it into the draka's side. The old enmity of onageri and dragons proving provident for us.

"Distract her for me. If I can get a strike at her maw, we have a chance." My voice choked on the ashes stirred moments ago.

"Damned crazy alf." The Karlykn snarled, gesturing to the skies. "How. We cannot see her."

He was right. The clouds now cloaked the mountain side, streamers lifting up the canyons and draws, cloaking her movements, as the vapors wrapped around Granshal's Knob, before enfolding us as well.

"Perfidio." My whispered curse about damnation seemed appropriate. Biting my upper lip, my mind wrestled with my equally cursed third eye. As in the Grey Mesas three decades ago, it rebelled from any control, showing me everything but what I needed. Auras of our foe's minions, flares of the other fire spirits dancing amid the molten rock rivers flowing off the broken cones of Anyarinth, the throne of the Flame Queen. But her distinct aura, known from previous battles against her, hid away from my inner vision.

Pushing things, seeking the emanations her powers would stir in the Aether of the world left me retching in several heartbeats. Something out there crafted necromantic spells, consuming the lives of every beast and plant on the mountain-side. I could feel the deaths despite raising every mental barrier at my disposal.

"Dammit. Bill's down, people." Nonia towered over me. Her anger lighting her blaze up just enough to block that foul aura of death a bit.

"Just sickened by what she's doing, girl." I gasped. "Have 'Lisa shield us, fast. Death spell."

A shocked silence fell amid a lull, as the salamanders retreated in fear of their own destruction at their mistress's claw.  They could not believe even the Queen of Flame would slay her own to win. I knew now just how desperate our drive up the Paths had her. And why so few came back from the Paths.

"Aradlisa! Shield!" I hollered, moving towards our companions, taking Nonia from Gyevo, so she was not so stooped over. Gyevo's alright, just short, even for a dwarf.
Our friend's eyes were still wild with her hate, but that cry at least shook her from seeking her own death.

Until that death found her anyway.

Red and gold scales erupted from the fogs, one claw pinning down Aradlisa, talons breaking ribs as they peirced her chest. The other caught Stravos's leg, severing it. Their last screams echoed through the saddle we fought in, even as the vast head of our foe descended upon us, nearly a dozen spear lengths away. I knew what was coming, thrusting Nonia away, even as the flames seared from that mouth, strangely cold, not hot.

She screamed, as the fore-claw descended, catching her. Her Hastia fell near me, even as the crimson and gold skull turned away from me. Truly, a skull, and the colors shifting, red fading to blue, gold falling away to reveal the blackened bone under them. Behind, three spears rose to strike, blocked by someone's left hand.

As the flames came near, I stooped, screaming with rage, as  Nonia disappeared in that conflagration. Her spear came to my hand, just as the head swiveled back at me, the last blast sweeping my face, chest and leg, before dying. Such flames take a price, but anger rules me, I drive in, lungs searing under the last licks of fires I no longer see.

But the eyes are the window of the soul, where the fires burn the brightest. Deep inside my own skull, my third eye came into a last moment of clarity. The deep crimson hatred lay before me, calling me to death, and Nonia's spear in my hand to that aura.

* * *

Rising up, a weight falls upon my chest, driving me back to the cot, where seconds before ground lay.

"Dammit, Augur, stay still. You will dump me out this window!"

A voice I know. One who was not on the Paths of Damnation this night... that night.

Awareness comes slow, the cold air flowing over me, ashes turned to snow, wet and cool upon the parts of my face still able to feel things.

"Rico?" I groaned, trying to roll free of him.

"Bill, seriously, stay still, let me get the weapons in here first." Rattles, familiar ones from better days, metal and wood moving against each other. Punctuated by a lance of pain, as Didius Loricus' greaves dug into my ribs, still sore from a spearing just a few hebdoma before.

My cries of agony brought a cool hand to my forehead, one gentle yet rough with calluses. "Perfidio. Rico, off him, now. They have done more than beat him." Her voice barely cut through the ache and sudden flaring of visions, as my third eye again opened.

"I'll gut Sticchius and that damned Cato for that."

I saw, despite my blindness, a thousand spears tossed aside by a tarnished gladius, held in a blue skinned left hand. Yet, that despite the dire future that portended, the avalanche unleashed of the window ledge when Rico moved triggered another, stronger prescience across my sight. One where a hoard of those swords scattered and shattered under the onslaught of a blizzard, whose winds drove the spear true to targets.

I must have spoken such amid my agony, for the room fell silent, save the breaths of several in it.
"The Parcae still touch him." Matertera muttered. "We'd be foolish as my son to take him out into this storm, Loricus."

"Well, I have no say over the weather, nor do any in our little cabal, Antonia." Rico snarled.

"No." She laughed weakly. "But I know one who does, even if we forgot him. You called out for one, to save the other. Trust me, the bond these boys share, there was no way he would not hear of it, and kick aside all of Infernus to be part of this brawl of yours."

Hands moved Rico off my chest, guiding me towards the edge near the head of my wooden bed. Along the way, hisses came from my aunt, as her fingers noted many wounds, quite a few from the severe beating Sticchius dealt me the night before.

Above me, the old elf laughed. "Billenius is tougher than you think, 'Nia. And we had him under the protection of commitae I have full faith in."

"Broken arm, a spear in the side. You call this being under the hands of trusted friends, Rico?" Matertera snapped, her anger boiling up enough to drive the flames of her aura past the visions the goddesses of fates tossed into my view. "Which beast impersonating an elf dared do this to him."

From my door, another known voice, tinted with humor spoke up. "The spear is all his fault, 'Nia. And from the same hand that always gets him there."

My aunt merely scoffed at that. "I knew I should have let my clan or his mother's take him, not you two drunken fools."

Again, Nonia stood above me, scarlet feathered hair flying as she lunged forward, face twisted with rage above that crimson dyed leather breastplate, as the spear sought my chest. Not accidentally, this time, unlike the many before.

"Nonia." I gasped, trying to reach out and block her hasta from sinking into my chest. My arm reminded me with daggers under the skin, that this was a dream, though of the recent past, not the present.

"Gods, they broke his arm again." Matertera groaned, grasping my bicep firmly, to curl the arm in. "I'll need my kit, and splint material. Nonia is dead, Billenius." Her voice turned firm, the healer side of her barking orders and giving advice.

"Reborn." I muttered, focusing on the licks of orange anger in her soft golden aura. "North. Cardenelis. Stabbed me again."

Tickles of confusion's soft blue slithered into that copper hued blaze. I despised the third vision so long, my perceptions of what it showed me of the world were not as others, having eschewed any training in their use.

"Cethegor? What is this nonsense...."

"He's right, 'Nia. Trust your old commites. It was Nonia, reborn. And she seemed mighty irked this time around, when Bill tried to make up for failing her on the Paths." Keth's rough voice, nearly as rugged as his face in my memories, grated after the others softer tones. "Rico, bad news. The Cato is marching across the causeway to the temple, and he has a legion pushed the five maniples of Left Handers he hides behind."

"Which Legion?" Rico grunts, shifting another load of weapons in the window.

"Ninth. And it's commander is in chains, being dragged along by that islander bully." Keth stated, as I felt his eyes on the ruin I'd become. "Damnio, Bill. If I'd known Sticchius intended to thrash you that much, we'd have moved last night. You look terrible."

"Still better looking than you." I moaned, as Matertera's hands sought other issues, such as the leaking wounds under my eye-wraps, where empty sockets still wept pus, a century after my orbs were boiled away. Amid the auras, slowly brightening, I still saw things that already occurred dancing between images more shadowy, of things that might happen.

Gusts of cold winds racing in the window announce the storm outside worsening. From beyond, curses came from the elf handing in the weapons. If memory serves, that ledge is very narrow, made more treacherous by the polished marble the temple was crafted from in the old days.

"This storm is not natural." Rico opined, carrying in the last load. "Get off the ledge, Bana, head into town, secure us some mounts. Fastest you can find."

Another voice I knew well answered, to my surprise. The lilting touch of Insular accent marking her as one that I never suspected would ally with my kith and kin. "The hastae shall be raised, Triari."

The mention of that rank evokes more memories for me to battle, not pleasant ones. Rico lost one of the items being brought in, which settled against my thigh, even as I remembered his own rise to Triari, leader of the Ordo Triarium, the spearmen guardians of the temples. Ignoring my aunt's protestations, my left hand reached over to shift that item off my thigh, only to find something I long thought lost. A hilt that settled into my hand perfectly, despite the gnarled knuckles from the many beatings I'd suffered of late. Soft sand-shark skin wraps gave slightly under my grip.

"Specula. You brought my acinias." I murmured, even as Matertera tried to take her from me.

"Rico, a blind person with a blade is a bad idea." She snapped.

"Even blind, Billenius would be better than many." Cethegor reached in, helping me slide my saber across my lap, out of her way. "And, if I remember, you taught him to use this blade as a focus, Antonia. Right now, we need him focused, not walking amid dreams from the drugs slipped past me and the Parcae."

Sighing, Matertera relented. "Fine. Just keep him out of fights, he's in no shape to swing Specula, let alone be able to see his opponents."

I know better than to argue that point. The damage to my shins argued that standing, let alone walking, would prove impossible. "So, this is a jail break?"

Even my aunt chuckled at that. "Possibly. Those things tend to go awry easily into mass internments, in my experience." She whispered. "Billenius, at least let Specula go long enough for me to splint this arm."

"Not happening, Matertera." I groaned, easing the blade off my lap, and marginally out of her way.
"Point me at that overbearing Islander lapdog, after you get me bandaged. I want a rematch."

Keth's laugh echoed in the small room. "My last twelve vittles on Bill taking him."

Aunt Antonia snorted, even as Rico laughingly chided his old comrade. "Thought you gave everything already to the cause."

"Ran into another friend in the halls who owed me some coins." Keth's light tone left me puzzled. Of all here, only he seemed light-hearted. "Something about a onager race down Pelori way, he reminded me."

I straightened at that, and the pain as Matertera bound my ribs up, still waiting for the splint. "Drinius." I gasped. Things began to clear in my head, despite the pain.

"Peace. Let me work on him." Antonia snapped. I heard the slosh of water when her hands left my side. Followed by a sharp smack, distinct shattering of ceramic vase, and her hiss. "The wound needs cleaned, Cethegor."

"Not with rust laced waters, 'Nia. That is why everyone is ill here. I kept those I could safe from iron fever, but some still makes it in." Cethegor's voice held an edge.

"Gods. Find me something safe then." She muttered curses and discussed the ancestry of others under her breath, in several languages. My aunt has a way with such insults that leaves me in awe. Enough to distract me from the pain.

* * *

Once Matertera had me bound up enough to move, I settled my acinias back across my lap, trusting none with her. Fingers sought out that bundle Rico'd dropped by me during the bandaging. Soft, worn leather met that touch, leaving me trying to smile. Not the silk or wool robes of a priest, but the working clothes of a Custos, the guardians of the borders. My set.

"Must be a bad time if you have to call me back to serve in the catervae, Rico." I commented.
"Just what will keep you alive out there. Robes are not made for fleeing in blizzards." Rico snarled back. "Keth, get them moving, I need to collect Doma Velina, and let her know the Triarium have risen from the ashes." That chilled me, too close to something I'd once said myself, years before being blinded.

"At least you have honor, boy. Better a blind elf that knows his limits, than what the Decuria dumped into the riders of late." Cethegor answered heatedly, helping me up. "Besides, the mount Drinius chose from your string of mounts will take a Custos to ride."

I tried laughing, despite the grimness in his voice. "Which one?"

"An unnamed onagera." Matertera said, scoffingly. "Fool's choice, that one. Unbroken, untrained, barely of safe age to use as a casual mount, let alone in fights and flights. Kicks too much already."

Sucking in air, I leaned back my head, images of this onagera's ultimate sire in my mind. "Turbator's line. Sired by Corfuego upon Zephyria." I whispered. The two best lines in my stable, in one mount. Something in it stirred my visions again, granting me glimpses of a long, brutal ride, and the flare of lightnings off a silver fork. But we'd bred horns out of the onagers ages before, leaving only them to use only ones on barding of a type I'd disdained before.

"Yes. Your parents wish to have words with you about this mingling, and this filly." Matertera spoke solemnly. "She is an anachrnonism, child. Deformed in the head."

"Just spirited, I'm sure." I chuckled. "Pater fails to realize how useful kicking is in mounted combat. Besides, I'm sure she's not a true unicornis."

The silence after that stirred my darkest premonitions. Something was wrong here.

When the quiet, even in the halls suddenly broke, it was at Keth's rough voice. "Bicornis, boy. Two horn nubs, wide skull, and she's gray, like a mortisia's mount."

I shivered, suddenly cold. That ride was coming, one more dangerous than my foray on her great sire's back into the heart of the Dunes, and out the other side in my old life. "Dieum." My whisper at least told me I'd made them aware of wariness. "Long hard rides ahead of me, I guess."

"She needs to be put down, Billenius." Matertera snapped. "She's an abomination. Born with silver hooves, those horns, and hates lizards."

I grinned, fighting off the pain such stirred on my scarred face. "Perfect mount to take on the Paths for another rematch I'd like to have." That set Keth to coughing, trying to cover his laughter.

My aunt grasped my arm. "Billenius..."

"I've seen her, Matertera. Not just in my mind as I bred the line, but in my dreams of late." That stilled them fast, save muttered curses from Cethegor. "Like the pegasae of old, she will challenge any of the draconis. Or save them, if she deems them worthy."

They let it drop, for now. This would be a long, nasty argument over the next few fortnights we call a hebdoma. They would want her destroyed, but I needed her, I knew it, not just in my heart, but my anima.

Rico's voice at the doorway stalled the fight, thankfully. "Well, Velina is being as stubborn with me as she was with Bento. But, at least she is willing to meet us in the great hall."

Keth let his ragged laughter out again. "Better than we hoped. She claims her death is nigh, though."
"I pray not, Cethegor. Bento will not forgive me if she dies here today." Rico's voice held a dark tone, one I knew well from working with him in the past.

"Don't let me slow down the meeting. I'm sure Matertera wants to scold me some more." I grunted, ribs aching as I bent the bit allowed by the tight cotton cloths wrapping them. My fingers lifted up my pants. "Besides, I want to be dressed when I meet the Cato and his rabid lapdog."

That left the air still. Which saved me from their mirth at my struggling to dress in clothes I could not see, and barely remembered how to secure onto my thinner than their cut frame.

Faith of the Afreet - Chapter 3 of an unfinished Billenius tale (end for now)

Rainbow circles lit the sky, as the Dancer blazed brilliantly, illuminating even the crests of the mountains to our west. Batulbel rose to his feet, slowly, metal sheathed fingers glowing as they heated up.

"These shall hold still the fires of a star, elf. Beware their touch." He cautioned.

Mere heartbeats passed, the brilliance breaking into a stream of burning skies, raining across the desert's sands. Soft bangs and distant roars gained throat with each breath I took, the points gaining structure and separation, some angling away, others bursting well above us. My only point of reference to offer lays with the frequent eruptions some mountains around Pelori eject. No normal meteors, these, for the colors held their brightness in many cases, ending only with flashes echoed quickly with heaving ground and heated windstorms.

One such impact lay less than a thousand paces away. Billowing walls of dust, ash, and sand raced from that place, leaving me choking. My hand sought Specula's hilt, ready to draw, but fearing the damage I knew wind-driven grit wrought upon metal, even if enchanted to resist such.

To my right, the afreet thundered what I guessed to be a challenge, rumbles and hisses mingled with snaps and loud bangs in that language, one my throat, nor any other mortal's, could make without the aid of magic's aid. Left side of my lip lifting in that familiar quirk, my teeth grinding with determination and the mysterious pains that expression gave me, I waited.

The various thunderclaps and roars that answered him, staggered across night over the time the stars moved hand's width above us. Warring haboobs, the great dust walls at the front of those blasts, rapidly hid the celestial vault, leaving only the beating of one's heart to mark time. Right hand securing my kerchief across nose and mouth, I moved a step away from Batulbel. Twisting violently at my motion, noting my other hand on my saber, he snarled, then warned me against drawing her.

"Metal will be useless on such as me, fool." Turning back, arms flexing in strange ways, even between the joints, the afreet spoke softer. "That talisman or spells of your own are all that will bind them."

Nodding to him, my voice raw from the airborne grit, I answered. "Fire and light are the same, the sages say. Specula holds the light from the stars of day and night, which might give us hope."

"Thaumaturgy will bend under their powers, elf." His eyes brightened. "All the stars, you say?"

"So I was told. What the truth is, she never says." Fear had me granting information to him few others knew. Specula's secrets I'd rarely probed in those days.

"If that blade holds light from that sister of the Mother..." His words died, gouts of teal flame staggering him back, as the first of the creatures opened the battle. The sphere of power tossing that energy at him rolled onto the sometimes island, forcing my retreat from that fight. Still, the stench rising from searing hairs on my head stung my nostrils, as the ends curled smoke around my face. Suddenly, I understood the preference some elder warriors had for shorter lengths of such.

Tearing my eyes off the battle of the afreeti, quick glances revealed more such approaching. Not all that fell answered Batulbel's challenge. Some dimmed, fires quenched or smoldering faintly within earthen prisons, I supposed from crater walls caving in over them. Others danced away fast, mostly smaller afreeti, though at least two fled east, deeper into the sands.

Those to our west left me feeling fear. Shadows and orange glow mingled with the blue-green flames with Pelori. I hoped some mage in town held skill enough to abjure the beasts.

High above the town, deep ruby flames danced over the lava lake within the mountain of the Flame Queen, dim mockeries of their own births drawing most to it. My stomach roiled as hints of violet and indigo tinged those flames, weaving prisons around the first to reach that volcano's high crater. More raced in, either unaware the traps lay waiting or seeking vengeance on the one daring bind their sibs.

(end for now... unless I return someday to it. Tricky, working science into epic fantasy, something I wanted to try here.)