Enough was enough. It was bad enough that the Imperatrix had allowed the Insulae to return to the fold after many ages, but to place many of those bigoted fools into places of power within the Empire, even to this distant outpost of her power, was idiocy, plain and simple. And the one she sent to take over here in Amoeni Terrai was a total incompetent. We sat there, at the table, Antonius and I, drinking our wine, and complaining about the new boss, who was nothing like the old one.
At least Urbania had known her limits in relation to her knowledge of the terrain when she came here. The fool from the Hantius gens walked in and told us we did not need to have water delivered to the outposts in the sands, there was water enough there. Even in the wettest years, the gullies in the hard clay badlands below the sandy plateau ran dry over half the year, and the tanks and oasis were dry for the same in dry years. But you cannot convince a Decurius of anything, short of doing it at blade point. The sad part was that the fool we had been sent was also related to my drinking companion, a fact Antonius kept apologizing for, buying bottles of our vintage, and cussing his father's clan.
Galenia Hantia was a moron, to think that we should summon water by spell to a place where even the greatest of mages had never even tried. But nothing we said here would matter. Unless it got back to her, in which case we could expect the worst jobs, the crummiest assignments, and no thanks for doing them. I had a luxury Antonius did not, I was at the end of my current enlistment in the Legion of the Custodians. If I chose, at the end of the season, only days away, I could walk away. Tony had to stay another three turnings of the seasons. Three long years of torture, unless the Hantia took a ride into the deserts with her attitude, and did not come back.
Corvinius, the master of our thousand, rarely sent idiots to the edge of the Grey Desert. That he was doing so this time worried me as to what was the conditions back home. Antonius seemed concerned as well, being from the islands, where the council of elders of the Ten Families ruled now with an iron fist. The same council that was attempting to suborn those who sat in the Forum with their lies and subversion of the freedoms we Numeni so fiercely defend normally.
I poured another goblet of wine for each of us, and smiled at my rival and friend. "I might as well be drunk when I resign. That way Corvinius cannot have an excuse to come gather me back to the fold." I lifted my drink to eye level, staring at Tony across the rim. "To the Imperatrix, long may she live."
While my companion was of the Insualae, his loyalty to the realm was still there. "Indeed. I may not agree with her or her policies, but they are better than the fools trying to remove her have." We drank swiftly, and set the goblets down to relax a bit more. Tony was thinking his way through things still, as in how to deal with what he would be left with.
I broke the silence, not to rub things in, but to keep others from joining us. When we were talking, everyone kept their distance from us for fear of the fight to come, when we drank silently, they came over to find out who had passed on to their next life.
"Well, luckily, Nonia is free too, and out west, at Pelori. I will cross the desert and maybe even ask her to take me to the Matriarch of her clan for approval." That got a startled move and then a laugh.
"Perfidio! Bill, you and Nonia have danced around it long enough, get married, boy. Hell, I have leave still, so I may come just to arrange the parties!" I winced as the bar exploded in cheers of our fellow Custos and those we often guarded of the caravans. I do not remember much more of the night, save that the fight Tony and I had was one of who could out drink who, which explains the memory loss...I hope.
Gods, please don't let Nonia hear about this before I can explain it to her.
I awoke in a damp bedroll in the tent I had pitched outside of town two nights before. The moisture was not rain or a flood, but the sweat of fear. I had hoped the nights of dreams of futures fraught with dangers where over. They were not. The nights dreams had been dark, so ominous I wanted to forget them, but could not.
This was not the first time I had been visited by the dark goddesses who deliver the Fates and Omens. The Parcae, we call them. Furies is what some call them. I tend to curse them as evil bitches who exist solely to ruin my sleep. When these dreams came to me, normally I would seek some priest to tell them to. But we had no member of the temples here in this place at the moment, all being out on rounds to the smaller communities before the fall turned to the season of dust storms.
I gathered myself as best I could and dressed simply, donning the leather pants and wool tunic for one last time. Specula, my saber, I wore in a backsheath today, being in town and not needing to ride anywhere. I donned several other weapons with my clothes, but I will not speak of them. Not that they are unimportant, but someone not so friendly to me may read this someday, and damned if I will tell them where I hide the blade or other tool of death I may need to draw against them.
My mind was still upset over the dreams of the night before, as I exited the tent. And discovered I had not been alone out here on the edge of the desert the night before. There were five tents there now, surrounded by a troop of temple guards, the Triarium, the spearmen of the third rank. Elves of such skill at war that they were recruited by the priesthood to protect the temples of our folk, in all their scattered places. Soldiers of the gods, who protected the priests of the lands they served in. That they had camped near me was not something I was comfortable with, having denied the callings of the gods twice already.
One of them was taller and older than the others. Very old, yet still very vigorous, even for our folk. I knew him, most folks knew of him, but I had met him before. Didius Lorcius. The leader of the Triarium. He smiled and waved at me, approaching carefully as mornings were the time of sunning serpents and scorpions in this place. One warming before sleeping the other warming to hunt the day.
"Ave. Billenius, is it not?" His voice was still firm, no crack of age in it. His hair was white as snow, and unlike most of our kind, he actually had some whiskers on his chin.
"Ave, Triari Didius. Yes, and I remember you well, old warrior." My voice was rough in comparison, not with age or weakness, just the effects of the hangover.
"Yes, and I you and your words to the priests. But last night I had my sleep interrupted by something that tells me the gods again call you to their service. You cannot deny the gods forever, young man. Sooner or later they get what they want. Better you accept their calling, for I have seen those the drag to their service, and the prices they had to pay." It was not a sermon, despite the wording. I could tell by his face and eyes, it was a plea. He had tears in those deep grey eyes.
"Just drinking dreams, last night of service drink off..."
His laugh cut me off. "Oh, those are great nights indeed. The dreams of the vine are indeed to be feared." Then a chill entered his voice. "But young Varus, know this. What I heard last night were the dreams brought by the Parcae. You cannot deny those dreams or what they mean for you forever, Varus. Sooner or later, those goddesses will pull you into their web of weavings."
I laughed, not at his words or sincerity, but the image he had created in my mind of the spiders weaving the Fates for the Parcae to deliver. "I am sure the spiders will have me some day, Didius. But until they capture me, I will stay my own man, and flit about like the flies and bees, tasting of this earth."
I waved to him as I walked off. "But the dreams of last night are sending me west, where I want to go anyhow, Triari, so for now, I must officially tender my resignation from the Custos and gain th freedom to head to the setting sun, and the smoke and fires that filled those dreams."
Behind me I heard the great old warrior hiss in surprise. For two reasons, my doni of foresight is well known among my folk, and so too is the word that I rarely share any of what I see, to prevent others from coming to hate me. I crossed the ashes of many ages of volcanic rains of the gritty materials that covered the desert to the west, and even this distant land with their pall.
It is amazing how courage at the bar evaporates by daylight's blazing heat. Especially under the desert sun of summer. I straightened my tunic before entering the offices of the Custos detachment, trying to find that resolve of the night before. The only thing keeping me going right now was the thought of being there when Nonia finished her time in the western desert detachment.
Inside I could hear the screaming that had come to mark the tenure of Urbania. Who she was tearing into did not matter anymore. It merely was the final log on the pyre of my career here. This is not how you treat folks who lay their lives on the line for others. Maybe the new ones, still learning, but to scream about the state of the uniform of a veteran, well that was intolerable. Henrius had been in the service for longer than she had lived, and was only a line worker by choice. Some of us had long ago called him the real leader of the troop here.
I walked in, and decided to let my last act be one of courage and respect. "Only a fool criticizes one with more experience than she has. And more brains, I might add, Optio Hantia." Where this courage was coming from still eludes me. Years later I thought it over, when asked, and still cannot answer with more than I have a low tolerance for fools.
"Yes, but that experienced rider was drunk when he reported for duty, and now I have no one to bear the messages to the west." Urbania's voice is not one made to soothe a soul. In fact one could say her voice is the grit used in sanding the wood used in furniture, or more appropriately, marble table tops.
Fortuna was smiling upon me, I could do her a favor as I left the service. "I am headed west, where do the messages need to go?" The eyes of cold green met mine, and it did make me realize she may not turn out to be as big a fool as we thought. There was a deep intelligence behind those irises. One I had not thought of the night before when complaining about her.
"Pelori, the capital, Cisburni, you name it." She recognized me at last moment. "Ah, Varus Billenius. You are sure you will not stay on?"
"Sorry, I extended for five years here twice already. there is no reason to hold me for more than thirty years on a twenty year enlistment. You need to find someone else to replace me, and I did bring in six more members for you this spring. I have a life to get on with, and that is not here on the edge of nowhere." My voice was even, and I tried to keep it friendly. Earlier this week she had invoked the extreme measure of preventing discharges of several first term folk. By mentioning the previous extensions, I was reminding her that no one could be forced to serve more than half again their initial enlistment.
Her face showed her distaste, but she knew I would not only fight any extension, but had a connection to the Imperatrix through my family I could use to end the action if needed. "Very well. Which batch will you take?" I was surprised at her lack of a fight. She might survive this place after all.
"Pelori and any messages for the Knights of the Sands. I have to head up that way to visit home and get some things I have there." I took the two saddlebags offered, and stayed a moment longer. Looking around, I saw the real problem, she had brought all her old staff with her, folks from the islands, from the wet western coast, and other places where the problem was too much water, not too little.
"You might want to talk to Loricius. He is out on the edge of town, where I camp. He can explain the water thing to you." The start told me everything. She had just signed the papers on that spell thing.
She'd never read it.
"What water thing?" Her voice was sharp, but she did not look at me, but her staff. I began to wonder if they were hers, or rejects shuffled off with her. There was hope, if Loricius could set her straight.
I walked out of the yelling match that erupted moments later with a smile, looking up at the noon sun, then off the to distant west. Unlike my dreams, it was not filled with smoke, fire and death. It rang of hope and Nonia.
As I wandered around town that day, settling my debts, and gathering supplies, I had that awful feeling between my shoulder blades, the one I have learned to never ignore. It made bartering and trading difficult, as I tried to both catch sight of my stalker, and yet not let this person know I was aware of being watched. This much I can say, the merchants knew I was distracted, and took advantage of the situation somewhat. To say my purse and pouch of gems was lighter than it should have been was an understatement. I really needed to have a talk with this person, they had cost me at least three sapphires, and a dozen topazes, not to mention the garnets when I almost picked him or her out to the crowd.
It was at the stables, as I gathered in Turbator for a quick loosen up ride that I realized there was more than one watching me. As we rode out for the short ride after the normal argument over being saddled, I tagged one, a fellow member of my race. One from the islands to the west, by his clothing, which was not suited to the desert.
One bearing more weapons than needed when walking in a town. There was an arrogance in his stride, as he walked to the stables. I knew what was to come. A challenge, in the old, very formal style. I rode off slowly, letting my mount stretch muscles rarely used the last hebdoma. It was good for him, and let me think over how to deal with him. I had Specula with me, and that was all, not even a knife. I was not sure an enchanted blade would be accepted by him, in fact, I was willing to lay coins on that. His folk felt only pure unenchanted chablys was acceptable in a duel. But I would trust no blade brought by one from the islands.
I made one decision fast, and headed leisurely to the west of town, where there was a broad bench just feet above the river that would give us good footing for the fight to come. He took up a distant following pattern, so I waited until we were at least one mil from the buildings before letting my mount try his paces. Turbator sensed we were going to a fight, and seemed to have the same place in his limited mind. The race like pace he took up was beyond belief, and the cloud of dust we left behind was an ugly arrow to the west.
He slowed as we came to the spot we had both chosen somehow. He paced around the broad stretch of flood deposited silts and sands, stirring up the dust still, pawing the ground even before the other stallion arrived. I waited until he calmed a bit before dismounting. Once on the ground I stepped away quickly, to avoid catching a hoof, but for a change my six-legged friend seemed to be content with just nipping at my sleeve.
He knew, as well as I did, that we both needed to be fit for combat. Somehow, this beast from a distant place of grasses also sensed we were leaving the lands of sage and ash. I was still amazed at the doni that had given me the ability to make friends and understand beings others called beasts. I could sense their thoughts, and contrary to the claims of many, they did have them. Right now, Turbator was thinking of chasing off a stallion, to show who was dominant.
I could feel the rider and his determination as he came up to us, even with my back turned. My donum were flaring up again, and after so long of only having the sense of danger or occasional hints of things to come, it was disconcerting. Once the flamens had sought me, as the Triari had said, for those gifts from the gods, but I had denied them. Yet the gods can be patient, to a point. I began to wonder if there would be a day they would gather me into their fold, whether I willed it or not.
The sound of two feet landing heavily on the ground brought me out of the dreaming I had walked the edge of for that moment. Reality was intruding, and the gods and their plots would have to wait and see if I could walk away from this place to do their bidding.
"Quintas Billenius Varus, you have been marked for death by the Allegiance of the Blades. As a member in good standing, I have taken coin and weapon to slay you. But as you are of the blood of the ancient lineages, I grant you the honor of dancing with me in the old formulas." Somehow I knew he would have a voice others would call angelic, not knowing what he was inside.
With a simple turn, I drew Specula from her sheath, letting the light she was imbued with flare out for the moment. "There is no honor in taking coin to kill others of our kind. In fact, it was forbidden by the gods ages ago, in the earliest of days you claim to be here to represent, fool." My voice was low, and had that edge it too oft did in such times. But in the end, all that mattered was not the appearance or perceptions of others, but who stood for right and who committed wrongs.
"You and those of the plains left honor behind when you left the islands, servus. Now, be a good boy, and die like the dog you are." His blade came out, stained red with an iron based poison. The merest touch of that blade on me, even some of the stuff dropping on my skin would be deadly, I was sure.
"Poison? This is your honor?" My taunt struck a chord in his anima, one he seemed surprised to still have.
"I am an assassin, stultus, what did you expect of me? Dueling swords and seconds?" His blade still dipped to the ground, offering quarter.
I smiled and saluted him with my acinias. "No, you are all I thought would come for me. As is your second out there in the sage watching us. Signal him to back off, and stay out of this. His kind is not ours, and this is not about the money, is it?"
One thing I have learned over the years is that the eyes often speak even with the rest of a person are still as stone. Pupils constricted, then opened in the response of fear. He had not known he was followed, nor could he think who was out there, waiting for this fight to be over. And now he would not be able to stop thinking of that one.
I let my inner eye open for the slightest of moments, sensing the flows of life forces around the me. There was a smoldering pile of ashen color out there, with only hints of the fires of life in it. It was not the dying fires of the undead, nor was it the smolder of one of the living who is dead inside. It was one who tried to bend the stuff of shadows around himself, with a skill that was remarkable, but still nothing compared to artistry of my old friend Umbradinor's. This one was still learning the path of crafting shadows, young, unskilled, yet showing promise. I knew this one, I was sure.
In my musings, I was vulnerable, and the fool made his first attack. My saber is fast luckily, and with a flick of my arm, the first clash of chablys on his bronze blade. From this moment, all was the battle, none on other things. I laid my mind upon this foe, and watched everything he did, noting the slightest of clues, the tension of muscles I could see under his skin, the way he shifted his weight to a side, forward or back, all was important.
The dance began in earnest, as we began a slow circling series of feints, attacks, blocks and movements. With each move, one of us stepped closer to death, the other to life, and for the first few fingers of sand dropping from the upper to lower ends of the horus, neither of us was sure who was moving which direction. Then the moment came, he launched a series of attacks that were part of the standard saber dance, predictable to a point I blocked them without thinking of the blocks, but turned my eyes to the step he would take next or beyond.
In the saber dances of the islands, the aggressor always wins, but in reality, it is the person who realizes a fight is not a dance who wins. Specula touched him gently several times as I used her tip to test his mindset and skill, and found both lacking. How the assassins had allowed such a fool into their midst, I could not know, and probably never would. One thing was for sure, this fight was not one I had sought, nor desired.
Turbator had declared his own war, as we had danced, with the huffing and screams only the equines can make, be they horse, mule or onager. The other stallion was younger, and took the challenge eagerly. Hooves and teeth were clashing at the river side, as we danced, two battles of one single war. I tried not to let more than where their fight was at, it being far more mobile than ours, as it raged along the length of the bench. If that battle crashed into ours, all sorts of new problems would erupt.
My nameless foe, which was strange given his attitude to the traditional style of dueling, had yet to touch me once with his blade, but now wore the green badge of combat in seven separate spots now on his body. None were deep, nor did any slow him a bit, but I had the touches, and now we both knew he was not as skilled with the blade as I was. My acinias danced in and out of his defenses as lightning would in the clouds of a storm. This was not part of the enchantments cast upon that chablys. It was all training, determination to live, and way too much experience in real world fighting.
At last he managed to turn away from the formula of the island dance, and tried to lock blades between us, but years in the saddle and working in the fields beside those I protected had given me greater strength than his years of impractical forms had done for him by practice. With a simple push off, I ended the match, as the edge of his blade dug into his face. I gave him his spin at the end, like in the saber dance. Despite his sudden knowledge of being dead, he still tried to block it. Specula shattered his saber, and I winced as he at last drew blood with a sliver of bronze that broke the skin of my forearm.
Behind me, the younger onager fled at last, but Turbator stood his ground neighing loudly in triumph, not pursuing the vanquished. Which was good for a change. I felt the first throbs of the poison of iron in my arm, thinking I should bandage it, when a strong arm took my good one.
"Augur, you make it very difficult to protect you." Didius voice, not angry, but not happy.
Nor was I happy with what the treatment for the poison was. Leave it to say, it is not very palatable, nor were the after effects anything I would care to share. Also, I hate tourniquets with a passion, they make your fingers numb for days later.
