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.

Billenius's Tale - Journey to Freedom - chapter 6 draft 9

It took Norbanus three more days to reach the keep, even with mounts provided by the Knights. When he got there, he sought me out swiftly, with Didius and Ringelius at his sides. He undid a lot of the tales of his being a cold, uncaring commander, I am sure, with the embrace he gave me.

When told the tale my arrival, he kept silent for a long time, then sighed. “Billenius, please, don’t try to ride her yourself in a race. I was certain we would find you lying with a broken neck somewhere along the way, victim of some creature’s burrow.”

It was all he said to me about the events. And by all, I mean all. From him I never found out about their slaying the other drakonis, or driving the other off the second bridge. All that I got from Ringelius and Furius on the road south from the keep to Pelori. Luckily, despite passing under the very Paths of Damnation, that road was quiet. We were now teamed up with a caravan from distant Tyrosht, as well as detachment of the Knights. It took twelve days, moving slower with the caravan, but was worth it to enter town in crowd, incognito as my folk say.

That stretch of road was the most nerve wracking. Even after we passed the north gate into that walled town, I still worried that the one who had taken my eyes was looking down with her one remaining eye, waiting for the right moment to come cook the rest of my flesh for dinner. I entered the town I had once been a hero with my well known and described face hidden in the depths of my cloak’s hood.

Pelorí was not the town I remembered. Then again, after half a century, few places filled with those of the shorter lives could be. Names and people changed amongst them, both of residents and businesses. It was disconcerting and comforting. The strangeness came from it being the same in layout, with a different feeling that set me on edge, hauntingly so. I could sense the ghosts of auras at my vision’s edge, trying to gain my attention to their perpetuated echoes, all the time I knew these were but shadows. But still they kept calling to my mind. Drifting along the periphery of that vision, never where I could focus on them, just hovering at the shadows between this world and the next.

There was still a fear of the Queen of Flames in the folk here, but it was not what I remembered. Her grip on the towns was broken, and had been for some time, as the younger folk feared only the hills above town, where their parents still crouched when a dragon's shadow passed over the town. Those who spoke to me, and knew who I was, told me she had not attacked the town since the night on the Paths, even during the chaos of the Times of Change. The few who had seen her hunt the skies since that night on the Paths of Damnation said she was no longer the same. They said she no longer sought out caravans as often, nor the beasts of the fields in the area. There was a fear in her now, some claimed. She knew she could be slain, and many said her agents that did still pass through feared we who had broken her and survived.

The less the people knew of who I was, the better we all had agreed. I hid in my room early on, despite the great pains it caused me to sit within walls that still bore the remnants of the flares of many trysts with Nonia there. That encounter with her reincarnation in the mountains had done little to ease those pains. That day in the Deamon Mountains had left me with the scars to remind me that love does not conquer all. Those echoes of the past pressed on nerves left raw by more recent events.

When that sorrow managed to break through despite my best efforts, I retreated to the table in the tavern below. A table I had shared so many times, by the fire, with two old Karleekie, or dwarves to call them as these homani did. Both had traveled here in exile, one decreed by their Tsar, the other self-imposed in protest of the other’s casting out. Those two gentle souls had taught me that honor was something all folks had. Indeed, there were ghosts and dreams at that table, gentle ones. Ones that I welcomed, even if they were long dead.

Pelorí always seemed to bring out my more uncouth side. On the third day, trying not to lose a simple lunch to a rotten apple after it, I had sat at that corner table. The echoes of Nonia had driven me from the room that day. So I was sipping a mulled wine in that commons. A very specific mulled wine, one I had developed a taste for at this table. That combination of spices had sparked the memory of some of my kind and a few Karleekie around me, of an age to remember those days, and me. As I had been, and what I had become on the Paths.

I could hear the whispers, as some hastati Didius had found here was guarding me. I could feel the rawness of my guard’s nerves, see the agitation faintly even in his aura, as I had since the drugs of the Decemviri had wakened my donum. I was definitely recovering, and that bode ill, for I was acting more like the me of old, not the wounded blind man. What healing had given been me as a spite to the Decuriahad also allowed me to feel less like the ruined Augur who had come back from the Daemon Mountains, and more like the Custos, I had been for a good part of my life, as well as the augur. There would be a difference to us all, I guessed, and I am sure the ruined person she had seen was not what Nonia had expected either.

I called loudly for more mulled wine, and a toast to those who had walked the Paths of Damnation. My protector had drawn in his breath, knowing there was nothing he could do once I had spoken to prevent the damage I had caused. And while that Triari's fires had shown the damping of failure, it also had shown with pride. Not at my foolishness, as I read it, but that I had the spirit still to challenge the world. Daring my old foes, and still honor the memory of those I had walked those Paths with. Sooner or later, it would have happened, I am not a meek vir by nature.

And it must have spurred the memories of others. Some left in fear, others with that gleeful dancing of their flames I knew meant I had just made a mistake, and let someone who should have been left in the dark know that my fires were here. But many, and not just the Karleekie who frequented this place, joined in the toast. The calls for drinks were loud, not as forced as I had feared they would be. It left me wondering if the reports of the town being under the talons of that draka were lies spread by her agents. None had proven more than shadows and fabrications so far.

But by then, I had enough wine in me not to care. I had cowered in fear long enough on the ride here. No longer would I hide from the Igni Regna, as her claimed title is rendered in my folks language. A member of my race suddenly joined me at the table. He tolerated the toast, enjoyed it even, before he spoke.

“Varus, you are a fool. There are agents of the Decuria in town, looking for you. And here you sit, waving your glass, calling out to them, and tempting the Parcae to let word get to the One in the Mountains.” I knew that voice, another retired Custodi, one who had been here before the League, and would probably die here, waging his own covert war against my foe on the mountain above town. 

“I know you, Drinius." A bare whisper of a gentle breeze then entered my voice. "Your uncle is dead, if you have not heard.” I took another long draught of my beverage and refilled the mug I was using. “And let them all know I am here. I care not. Better yet, bring them to me, so I may know my foes, and they may know that even the blind can see the plots they weave.” I took a long swig of my cup and then let loose a real challenge. "Let them tell that bitch I am here, and she owes me an eye still!"

I felt Drinius Cato, one of the few of his gens not aligned with the Decuria and their damned council, lean back. He refilled his goblet, and before you ask, fluids sound different as they enter various vessels. My other senses allow me to discern the little things like that. Hearing as yields that the he stem causes a hum, like a horn for metal, bells for glass, as the liquids rattle them, to satisfy your curiosity if you wondered. And the aromas rise out differently, as the wine reacted in different ways with each material, changing taste, aroma, even the thickness of the liquid.

“I heard and rejoiced rather than wept. It was a stain on the honor I have built, to have it known he was my relative.” He paused to take a drink, then continued after he had. “I have heard many things this hebdoma, blind man. Seen people you should avoid at all costs. Those branded with the mark of the hundred. And they are flaunting that mark now, not hiding it. But you, without eyes, how will you know if it is friend or foe before you?” He was talking softly, his voice muffled by the goblet he held before his face. As I said, you learned these things, being without eyes, those little tell tale things that told you what once vision had sufficed for.

I sat as I had before, trying to smile. The scars of my burns, and those damaged areas that had not healed, made that painful, and probably hideous to see. With each pain, I gave up a prayer to Befana, goddess of mercy, to let me smile again. From the gasps and shuddering auras, I guessed that the smile was there, but as ugly as I thought. There are things that take time to regain, and my smile was going to be one of them I could tell. But it was returning. I let it slide back to the slackness that eased the pains, addressing this information more openly.

“Drinius, I thank you for your concern, and the information. Now, how about a drink to something we both believe in? Good food and fast horses, was that not the one we used here?” I held out my mug, not just to toast, but to show that my hand did not shake in fear. Well, not so much as to spill my drink.

He chuckled, and I felt the light touch of his goblet on my mug. “Indeed. And do not dare to think you have a faster horse than I right now.” The old challenge, not to a fight or betrayal, but to defend the lineage of the nags I had ridden when here in those days. One laid again now as a reminder that once I had not been blind, and to this friend, eyes mattered less than judgment. Sometimes I wondered if somehow Drinius was not adopted, or a changeling, as the tales of our eastern brethren hold some folk are. He has a more refined, and cleaner, sense of humor, better manners than the conceited folk he was raised amongst, and true honor. I drank the toast, then tossed out my own little barb.

“Well, they tell me she is a descendant of Turbator, but her gait is a bit haggard. We were riding hard though, with few rests. Her legs feel clean and like cords of willow. As to her eye for terrain, that, sadly, I cannot judge, save that with a blind man upon her, she found no way to break a leg or my neck.” Wine splattered over me, and I gingerly took the cloth I had to mop up any messes I had made pouring my beverage earlier to my face. And it was worth every painful daubing to hear his laughter. It was not as clean and infectious as Ringelius’ was, but it was still genuine.

“Turbator’s line? And an onagera? Perfidio, if I did not know from speaking with Norbanus this morning that you were not long for here, I would have a proposition for you, as one of the colts sired by Eurus has shown to be as swift as his father.” In these parts, the west wind is faster, as it races down the lee slopes of the mountains. But the east wind from the desert lasts longer and is more feared, for the dust and sand storms it brings out of the desert beyond the watered fringe of the mountain range’s base. That a person who lived in this land would name a mount for that wind, well, that took guts. Or an onager with stamina, to run as long as the wind blows.

I was sorely tempted, for Eurus truly had possessed that kind of stamina, and if both speed and staying power bred true, gods that would be a mount to ride. A mount that would demand a hero in the saddle, though. I thought back upon several races we had out on the desert pavement just east of town, as we had each searched for the steed we wanted, one that ran fast and long, smart and keen of senses. Turbator had been close, so had Eurus. Gerrae had that speed, maybe even the stamina we had sought in those days. If Drinius had by his own program built such a onager, then there was something there to discuss.

Before I could decide, the Parcae accepted my challenge by sending a familiar foe. One who must have ridden several onagers to death to make it here already. The door opened and he came in, with several of his cronies, I guessed by footfalls and Drinius reaction. My table companion stood, and my honor guard closed around me. I heard the settling of spear butts like the reports of the handheld lead slingers of the Karleekie. There also was that subtle hissing screech that a knife makes when drawn in a manner to gain attention. Drinius cleared his throat, but another voice spoke first. My guardian.

“Greetings Stichus. So sad to see you made it out of Jugosium alive.” Cethegor. I cursed myself for not recognizing his aura.. He must have rode his own steed down, or used the postal relays along the mountains. My thoughts were a bit scattered, and I almost missed the reply, as I wondered when he had arrived in town.

“I am here to take charge of the Augur. He is a servus of the Decemviri..” He got no further, for now I had a glimmer of what was to come. The words of Didius in my cell came to mind. I had always been under the hands of a Triari, or one they trusted. That was a hard trust to earn. The implication of servus, though, to call me a slave, not of the gods I had served, but of the Decemviri, that council of ten bigoted fools, said more than I cared to believe. Their arrogance had indeed gone far beyond the bounds of common sense.

“If he is an Augur, then by tradition, he speaks for the gods, and is a flamen. And the flamenis are not allowed to be enslaved. Any who serve the gods are immune to slavery, and you know this, Stichus.” The steel was still in Cethegor's voice. The steel of the hastati, carried by the third rank spearmen of the Legions. A steel laced with deadly iron, and knowledge of what combat truly entailed.

Sticcius was known for his duels, ones always where he had the advantage, and gave no quarter. Cethegor was calling him out. Pain laced my face, as a smile tried again to form. Never accost a warrior in his favorite watering hole, the old saying went. This was my watering hole, or had been, and it felt little changed. I took a gamble, a strange one, given the time I had been away. I knew the Karlykn who had served me was the one from the old days. He and his wife actually owned this establishment. One of the prized decorations in those days had been two sabers crossed above the fireplace. Real ones, not decorations. Ones he had offered to any who started fights on the premises, to fight to the finish.

“Yevgeny, I think we may have someone who desires to borrow your sabers.” I cursed, as in the stillness after the Triari’s challenge, even my soft voice carried throughout the room. Silence always has a way of happening just in time for a mouth to fill the lack of noise with some words it will regret.

The silence was short, as many chairs and benches pushed back from tables, and I heard many weapons drawn. My own left hand fell to my right abdomen, where once had sat the hilt of a sword, one still in my room now. A firm hand rested suddenly on my shoulder, holding me down, as I instinctively rose to join the promised fray. I grunted, straining to rise, but not yet recovered enough from the poisons or the ride here.

“No, sit Augur, there will be no fight today, the odds are against this poor excuse of a soldier today. He will not face one from the Legions without any back up, nor will he cross his gladius with the axes and hammers of your supporters here.” Like Drinius, Cethegor was also of the Insulae, those islands in the sea beyond the mountains to our west. But his clan was known for being more sensible, not of the ten gens, or their patronage.

But Sticcius was a damned fool beyond most fools. His hand shot out and grasped my right wrist. The one they had broken so many times over the years, thinking that was the hand I used most, forgetting the legends of the sinister handed Custos. It still hurt like hells, I felt the bones snap, still brittle from the old breaks and the poisons I had been fed. My cry was one that brought Cethegor's spear from its resting spot. I felt the blade thrust past me, and hear the breaking of skin and curse of my assailant as my wrist was freed. Sticcius staggered around to the left side, taking what sounded to be a punch to the kidneys from Drinius, landing across the table, upsetting our drinks as he sent my bottle of wine to a shattering end on the floor.

Which put him in reach of my good left hand. I gave in to impulses long suppressed. This bastard had stolen much of my life, health and possessions over the decades he had ruled our temple. Sticcius was so busy fighting to stand, he never noticed it. His coin purse had landed in my hand, so I gave a firm yank, and felt the snap of the thongs that held it in place.

Sticcius must have had some backers, as plates and mugs began to break, the surest sign in this tavern of a fight. Short of Yevgeny wading in, or worse his wife with her rolling pin. The difference in heights between our kind and the karleekie made sure that there was strange ratio of head blows to body punches occurring. Most of those shorter folk only come up to our bellies at best, and their heads are of the stones they often mine, as my hands ached in memory of other fights here, even with a freshly broken wrist. That only a few chairs had been thrown so far was a miracle, I felt, until Drinius suddenly grabbed my shoulder, hauling me to the floor, just in time for the once familiar passage of a bench barely cleared the table.

The bag of coins fell from my hand, lost in the fray, leaving me to pray that the mistresses I served would send them to any save Sticcius or his friends. The soft jingle of and rolling of metal giving me more hope yet, as the pouch must have split. By the sounds of pain, the bench had struck my old jailer hard and true. Splinters came back our way, indicating even more than the smell of chablys from being closer earlier, he had his armor on.

Just as things started going really good, as always, the town guard showed up, with Norbanus and Didius in tow. That put a damper on everyone's enthusiasm. The fools on Sticcius side obviously were not familiar with the local guard's ideas of locking up those not from town, no matter who was at fault, for I heard many of them resist. Followed shortly by that satisfying melon rapping that said someone was taking a nap, and waking up in a cell.

Drinius at last spoke again, giving us all a way to back down. “Sticchus, leave. Billenius and I were talking horses and racing. Disturb us again, and I will take offense.” I hoped that Sticcius would take the challenge, and that I had eyes still to see that fight. Then again, if I still had my eyes, I would have gutted the bully years ago myself.

It was enough to both shame and discourage the centurion, but I was sure his insides seethed with hatred what had happened, and that would explode again when he found his coins gone. My vision of his aura confirmed this, as I could see the brightness I had long associated with anger flaring within his flames. Fingers of it flickered away from the core of his aura, extending out to create little tingles in my skin. He would either snap, and probably die here, or back down, accept the shame for now, and seek his revenge later. And like a brand, there showed that blue spot, dark as a lake's waters, that all the Centurions seemed to bear. Something tried to make a connection in my mind, but events were moving too fast. I heard Sticcius breathing heavy as he formulated his reply. Thinking was a strain for him, it had always seemed, and he was being forced to think quickly on his feet in this confrontation.

To hasten things on and keep him rattled, I made a choice of my own from my place on the floor. Without consulting with any of my guardians. "Very well, Drinius, I accept your challenge." My voice had to find one of those moments of silence in excited times. “While our normal race, the one to the Anvil and back, would take too long, I could agree to race the mare on the desert. The two day race to the butte, ending at the gates of the river. My party is traveling south, so that would not impede too much upon our plans." I took the moments as most of the foe was removed to find my chair and pour a fresh drink into a mug pressed into my hands by Yevgenie. "I must admit that I cannot ride such a race at this time, but I would hope to have my nephew ride for me.” I had rarely thought of Furius as anything but a helper since he had arrived at the temples. The son of my younger sister was not known for much other than his anger, which had been there since his birth. He was a bundle of rage most of the time.

Yet from this journey, I knew another side of him, when he was on an onager racing across the grasslands. In those moments he was at peace, all his energy focused on being one with his mount, seeking to catch the very wind.

I knew in that moment, he would gladly ride Gerrae, and do so with skill that I could not. I failed to notice the frenzy around us during that moment. Not one of combat, but one of wagers being laid quietly, and in many ways. The door was nearly torn off its hinges by several of the Karleekie, and even a few of my kind, who raced off with the news that there would be a race of two onageri that were legend in the area. The colt of Eurus would face the filly of the line of Turbator. I came to the real world at the shouts in the street. And then hung my head in shame, knowing I was committed, and at best could only change rider if Drinius allowed it.

Cethegor hissed softly, but the moment for battle was gone. Any attempt at harming me now would cause wagers to be forfeited, and lead to riots. And in those brawls, even the Century Sinister would not be able to work safely or surely as the guard would be involved as rioters. Sticcius was hauled off, protesting his immunity to the local laws, to no avail.

With his departure, Cethegor spoke. “I had thought, for a moment, Augur, that your arrogance would again make me have to rescue you.” He shifted, and stretched a bit suddenly, then sat with us. “A shrewd maneuver, that was. In my long absence from this home I adopted, I forgot that my fellow citizens have such a passion about racing and animals.” I heard him pour not two drinks, refilling Drinius’ goblet and my mug, but three, as another goblet was filled.

Drinius laughed suddenly. “Gods, to slay any involved in a race, before or during it, that carries the penalty of death by torture, even before the Queen of Flames ruled here. If you disappear or are even hurt, the townsfolk will tear apart the town to find who ruined their entertainment.” He slapped the table loudly. “Varus, I had heard your mind was gone in pain, that you had never recovered. Now I know this was just the poisoned lies of my island kinsman.”

I wanted so badly to smile, at that moment. To hide behind a grin of joy the fact that this was all just a mistake that would wind up working in my favor. The muscles tried to remember it, to overcome the ruined portions of my face, and let my old grin of wicked delight come to it. But it caused me too much pain. I held out my mug instead, and felt the light touches of two goblets on mine.

“I guess we have a race, and just need to come to terms on the conditions and wagers, then.” I said softly, before another thought hit me. "I tore off that bastari's coinpurse, see if you can find it. That will be my wager, in payment for his many attacks on me in the temple." That evoked a long round of laughter from all, as they found the coins, gathering them up for me.

Our talk turned to the race then. At my neck, that stone of Soludrin’s crafting was strangely warm and vibrating. He had always loved races himself, so I guessed he wanted the details. I hate having an audience when I arrange such, but did not take off the necklace. Let him listen to what was to come, and I hoped he would enjoy it.

It took most of the day, as we had sat there drinking, and eating the foods of the day by the kalend of my people’s dietary commandments. Sure enough, Didius and Norbanus had heard, but instead of rushing to stop us, they merely sent Furius to me. My nephew was not angry, but excited. Since my race to the safety amongst the Knights of the Sands, he had taken to aiding me in Gerrae’s care. He was mostly silent in those times, but his aura had spoken loud. He wanted that onagera, to be on her back even just once in a trial such as I had faced was calling to him.

I was willing to let Furius chase the wind, or Pulvis Spatium, Enduring Dust, as Drinius’ stallion was named. He merely sat quietly, allowing me to set conditions, and spoke only when spoken to. This was not the nephew I knew. He was content, still bursting with energy, but it was not anger at the world for a change. It was all in anticipation of the race.

The main hanging point was not where I expected. Drinius accepted my idea for the wager, with only a slight modification. The race prize would be the offspring of the two onageri, and we agreed to a breeding of five over fifteen years, that each of us would get two of the offspring at least for our herds. The bet was for that fifth foal, or in truth, the first one and the order in which we would gain our prizes.

No, it was the course that we argued long about. Drinius trusted not his kinsmen from the islands, nor any of the other mercenaries in the town. The race to the Anvil was normally with even the best onageri a full hebdoma, with a circuit of the Anvil and its broken lava flows. That course was fraught with dangers, and not as visible to the towns folk, and would leave me with an exhausted mount afterwards. No, we came up with a different, and still daunting course. One we had raced once here ourselves. The riders, and as I would not ride my onagera, Drinius had offered to have a different person ride Pulvis, would race to the butte two days east and a bit south of Pelorí, and visible from town. Then the riders would perform the trial of the riders, and climb the butte to retrieve a small flag to prove their own skills out of saddle, and return to the saddle for the race to the west ending at the field of boulders that marked the bend of the Seranarum from its flow to the northwest to the west-southwest.

And that end spot that was fortuitously on our path south to Rahab and my friend Umbradinor. I began to wonder just how close to not just disowning, but to taking an open stance against his family he was. This was moving us forward, costing us not a hebdoma or more for the race others would have anticipated, but only a few days at most. It was not like Drinius, this not taking advantage of some weakness of his opponent. Normally our haggling would have lasted days, dragging out the excitement and anticipation, as well as giving the bettors many chances to wager not just on the race, but the terms, and many other things leading up to the race.

But we had a schedule to keep, so Drinius and I had one of our well known haggling sessions there at the table we had so often during my days in the town before. We yelled, we postured, we made threats of spilling the drink of the other. Hells, we even settled a few conditions of the race by drinking games, and I seemed to hold my own. By evening's fall, all but the challenge had been set. The challenge was something many loved, some feat of daring, skill or strength the rider had to perform at the mid point or each turn of the race. By this time we had settled away from the table over to a few large chairs by the fireplace. The tavern was packed, so much that many drinks had to be handed in and out to the crowd gathered in the street. Bets were being made, the names of the steeds involved were known to all by that time.

I snuck in a few bets of my own, when only Ringelius was guarding me. Some with his help and knowledge, several without, as I still wanted a few coins and treasures kept from him and the others. Mostly him on one bet, though.