Didius Loricus hated the desert. After the fiascoes to the north, failed business tries, and the maneuvers cut by the Decuria, no other places remained. His last funds lay before him, a plate filled with food he was not sure should be fed to swine. Dodger's Inn definitely met his expectations, low and crude. Few of his fellow Numeni dared enter the place. The food contributed most of that reluctance, he was sure.
Looking around, the humans and short ones dominated the crowd. In the corner sat the only other elf. Long wild brown hair worn loose, high forehead and slovenly dress told him this elf was as down on his luck. Much as himself, Didius mused. Proably some cast off from some unit, not Legion though, the discipline of the Legions and Centuries stayed with a man. When they could afford it, at least. Something about the numen rattled around his skull, failing connection to memories.
Running his left hand through his own unkempt hair, black sprinkled by the snow of age, Didius exhaled, bracing himself against what passed as food here. Assuring himself it could not be worse than field rations, his fork stabbed the meat, not pleased by the light color. Pork, probably. Something off the table by his religious convictions, but when hungry, the gods made exceptions. This dish might be the reason it was forbidden by canon law, though. Taking the first bite failed to improve his opinion. Overcooked, seasoned with too much sage to hide the origins, and gamey.
Forcing the meat down proved hard. The second bite was no better, but his taste buds lay dead after the first bite, which helped. Concentrating on eating, he never noticed the falling off of noise in the place, The footsteps approaching his table barely registered on his thoughts. Loud crack of a spear butt on the filthy stones managed to break through finally. Looking down, the chablys shaft resting there hinted only that another elf was the interruption.
In his own tongue, despite being in a place unusual to hear such, he gave a contemptuous greeting. "What ever you want, it can wait for me to finish my swill."
A foot shifted beside the spear haft. Noting the soldier's sandals, Didius exhaled harshly enough to force a belch up. After-taste from the meal did nothing to improve his disposition. Another Legionairre looking for a fight, he assumed. Chablys golden glint on the greaves spoke of some wealthy islander. Not one who should seek a fight, unless linked someway to the Left Hand Century.
The spear rapped harshly, indicating irritation or impatience. Keeping his stare towards the pitiful meal, he gave a snort. "If it can't wait, I might force this down your throat, caligius." He used the most insulting term for soldier, hoping for a fight to save him from finishing the plate.
"That's a mighty threat, Rico. I think I can wait." His visitor's voice was soft, a deep baritone accented by the island tones.
Eyes narrowed at those words. Few here in the desert knew his service nickname. Only one person he knew possessed the skill at arms to feel safe backing down from a fight. Glancing at the greaves again made Didius wince, then shove back his plate,
"A good commander would save a former underling from such, unless he is also down on his luck." Rising, the broke elf met a smiling face.The visage marred by an aquiline nose, framed in short white hair still touched with red at the temples. "Ave, Praetor."
Chuckling, the elder waved off his attempt at a salute. "Those days are well behind me, but it just so happens I can spot an old comrade in arms a meal. If you don't mind me joining you."
Smiling, Didius motioned to the other chair across the table. "Not sure there is anything edible here, judging by what I managed affording."
Returning the smile, the former commander of all the military branches accepted the offer. "Bad days if you dared whatever they would serve you for a few vittles."
Wincing at the comment, Didius nodded agreement, pulling the plate back for another attempt choking it down. "Rough days, a few bad business deals and made the mistake of sitting in on a game of chance the Tres Triconis."
Mentioning that ended the smiles. "Ringelius, Norbanus and Billenius in one place? Perhaps I should move on immediately." Then he looked concerned. "Varus needs to accept that the gods gifted him not for wealth, but to do their bidding. A seer using his powers to gain wealth often goes awry."
Footsteps approached the table. Checking on that sound revealed their kinsman from the corner moving their way. Measured steps, each placed with care, almost a dance. At his belt rode the long, curved blade of a Custor. Glancing closer, Didius noted bulges from knives in several places also. Shifting in his chair, his hand dropped off the table to his own gladius.
"Dom Bentarius, Optio Loricus. May I join you, kinsmen?" The voice was not as deep as the Triari's, roughened with the hints of long stints out on the dust.
But it was a voice that let Didius at last place the elf in his memories. "Custor Cethegor. I should have known that was you in the corner. No one else would dare wear a face so ugly."
Pulling a chair from the next table over to their table, the man took his seat before answering. "As I recall, you broke this nose up Crystal Wastes way. Something about not following you so closely into battle."
Didius laughed. "My back swing tends to extend that way. Sorry about the elbow to the face."
Cethegor shrugged it off. "I heard you were both forced out. If you are looking for work, the local Custos seem to think being decimated out of the ranks as a positive, not a negative."
Praetor Bentarius smiled. "I am here merely on inspection of the local Triarium. They needed a morale boost, and reminding not to take orders from former commanders not of the order."
Cethegor nodded. "Just mustered out this morning from my lustre, looting to find work myself. Temple guard won't get me any pay though."
"Not really recruiting here. Though both of you measure up, in my book." Two sets of eyes locked on the Triari's face. "Like I said, not actively recruiting here, but if either of you change your mind about my past offers, let me know."
The server arrived, looking flustered. "Sorry, sir. Almost missed that you moved." She set three bowls holding stew on the table. "From across the street, as you asked. Dodger ain't happy about it, but he acknowledged your point about the pork."
Cethegor nodded, laying a single gold nugget the size of a knuckle out. "As promised. Found me a good spot out in the desert."
She palmed it quickly. "Dodger will like that. I will bring you the change later." The dust covered elf nodded his accepting that offer.
Looking at the other elves, he shrugged. "It was after my time was up, and I reported the find anyway. They let me keep a bit, and buy a claim there." Hands dove inside his brown suede vest, producing three silver spoons. "Venari does a wonderful lamb stew, but is too fastidious for me to enter there like this."
Didius chuckled, accepting the utensil. "Fair enough. Guess I will owe you a meal. Or a day's work on that claim."
Cethegor waved off the offer. "Not that good a find. Outwash gully is all. May sneak back in there someday to find the motherlode." His face drew up in a grin. "Or save that for something to while away my final days doing. Looking to travel for now. Stirred up some dragons finding that."
Bentarius shook his head. "Might be a good idea. Dragons have a dim view of folks taking gold from lands they claim."
Cethegor smiled shyly. "Dimmer view about killing one of their butte-mates." Shrugging, he went back to eating his stew.
The Triari picked up the spoon left on the table, tasting a small bite first. Surprise crept across his face after a few grains of sand. "Very good. Hear that several caravans intend to challenge Urias grip on crossing the desert during the eclipse." He scooped up a spoonful, letting the comment sit on their minds.
Didius finished first, leaning back in the chair contentedly. Using a small glass filled with the potato alcohol made by the local dwarves to clean the spoon of residues. Each table had such, for cleaning before meals. Using them after the meal made more sense to the warrior.
Returning the spoon, he lay his head back, staring at the rafters. "Urias gens and who else are making the crossing?"
"Cavus gens, that Hill-Lord outcast, and some young humani from the wild tribes of the Grasslands. Nephew to Urias Salius' overseer." The Triari remained upright in his chair while speaking. "Each has its problems. Hill-Lord Brule has many enemies, the youngster has no skill, Cavus are doing this only to break the Urias gens. Servillia and Salius dominated the caravan routes too long, and the other parts of their gens took too many risks, ones that failed expensively."
Cethegor produced a long stemmed pipe from his vest, filling it slowly with a rich, coppery tobacco. He spent several fingers of sand smoking in silence, until he spoke. "Brule is a beast. He beats workers for no reason, thinking it gets him more effort. Scet's wife is expecting, so he is using all his savings to build a fortune for their future. Gambling wrongly, I fear." Leaning his head back, he exhaled a large stream of smoke.
"Cavus. Which Cavus?" Didius tossed a glance Bentarius' direction.
The Triari drew out his own pipe, lifting out a leather pouch containing a heavier black tobacco, filling it slowly. "Decimus Zaeluci Cavus Lucius, which means this is some fight within the Decuria over power. Urias gens is far more open to outside trade.' Lighting the pipe silenced him for a few breaths. "He despises those not of the Decuria. No chance for work with him for Rico or those caught in the decimations they staged these last years."
Glancing at the Custor, the Legionairre spoke softly. "Well, that would be a good chance. Get you away from those dragons you stirred up."
Cethegor smiled. "Only if I can be to your shield side in fights. This nose really shouldn't be broken again."
Smiling, the Triari looked over the two numeni. "I can put in a word for you both. And I intend to head towards Pelori, along the north route. Nothing in the codes about taking a paying job to help save costs."
Three sets of eyes met. Didius spoke first. "Might make more problems, two centurions and a custor, known to be on the outs with the Decuria."
Cethegor smiled. "But we have a chance to give a small payback for our being cast out."
The former general stood up. "Guess I should go speak to Jarthuna, if I can catch him running around town."
Didius smiled. "That clansman loves his fresh bread. Go sit at Pilatus' Bakery. Sooner or later he sneaks in for a loaf and butter."
Nodding genlty, the Praetor left.
Meeting Cethegor's eyes, Didius spoke softly. "Getting tired of this stuff with the Decurians. Be nice to undo one of their plans."
The filthy Custor nodded back. "Indeed." Looking at his former comrade in arms, he asked a soft question. "Where are your weapons, Optio?"
"Caldus is holding them for me. I did not sell them. Or my armor." Stung pride at the implication stained his eyes.
Cethegor smiled. "Sorry, I was thinking about a small demonstration as part of our application. Say taking out a few of Brule the Brute's better men?"
"Actually, I know where the Cavus guards drink. Giving them some lumps might improve the chances as well."
Both elves smiled, reaching across the table to renew their past partnership.
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