For five passing's of the sun and stars across the sky above us, we rode as Norbanus had warned me of. We stopped only to rest and water the mounts. Two more of my gens had joined us on this ride, ones who while not of the Custodi, would know the land better than any save myself or Norbanus. My nephew Furius was one of them, acting as my valet and guide.
With every stop, one of the trusted ones was beside me with weapons drawn. Whether it was Cethergor, Ringelius, Norbanus, Furius, or Didius one was there. It seemed overly cautious, dramatic even. But, they could see the real world, which I no longer could. At last we reached the Magna Rima. That great cliff fell almost a half a thousand gradi to the desert below, most of it in a single, sharp angle, just short of vertical, with a talus slope below it that was the product of ages of erosion, that had piled up several hundred gradi or more.
Our knowledge of the land was now to pay off, for the main road down the cliff traveled many stade to the east, well back from the sheer drop. We locals often used a more dangerous canyon, when in a hurry, to leave or enter the desert below. That great wasteland of a desert, the one that was spawned of dry airs, little or no rain, and the ashes and pulverized rocks that fell from the many volcanoes, around and within that land. The Grey Desert or the Desert of the Shifting Grey Sands. And gods help any who went into that furnace without proper supplies.
Below the Rima lay the Margo Fatalis, the Fatal Fringe, a narrow strip between the hills and draws created by that cliff, and the true desert. A dangerous grassland with plants that were all prone to taking flame at the least spark, thinning at last into the clumps of grass, sage, scrub and sands of the true desert. In those grasses lay dangers of all sorts, as well as the largest amounts of game in the basin of the desert. The fire grass was thick in that strip of land, and on it and the other plants fed Oryigis, the gazelles of the desert with the black horns so hard, jewelers used them to cut diamonds. Goats of many kinds came from the safety of the slopes to feed in that land, as did the aurochs escaped from our herds in the lands above, ones gone so feral in this area we dared not take them back into the herds.
Predator feasted upon the grazers as well, among them the Smilodons and felis, the great cats of the land. And from time to time the natives of the desert came out to the Margo as well. Those called the Lodriken, intelligent beings with the torso, head and arms of people, and the lower bodies of beasts from which the human half rose from where the neck of the beast should be. Six limbed like the onageri and drakonis they were, and many legends hinted they, like my folk as well, had come from the distant continent of the drakonis across the Mare Glittering ages before any of the rest of us though.
But the greatest threat here was the desert and the drakonis of the sands and mountains around them. The sandstorms of that desert could boil out of the heart of the desert could choke and bury one in minutes, and the heat from the desert caused howling winds to lift that dust into whirlwinds that could strip the flesh from one's bones if not protected. The dry air would drain a person of energy and water in single day, and the frequent heat would make the horizon tell lies about distances, and make water appear to the eyes that was not there.
Then there were the drakonis. In the desert there were the blue scaled ones, called Fulguris, the yellow scaled sand dragons, and along the Rima and the mountains around the desert, the Conflagrios, the red scaled horrors, lived. Those creatures hunted the Gray Desert, but ones along the cliff often entered the Jai' in search of food. Which made them a danger the Custodi of the land had to guard against.
And at the west end of this desert, in the Angry Red Mountains, lay the lair of the one whose fiery breath had stolen the lives of my friends and love, as well as maiming several others, and my eyes. She lost an eye of her own that day, to the pilum I had thrust into her right eye, which still left her with one more eye than she took from me in that blast of flames. Her favorite lair, the one stories said she rarely left these days, lay above the town of Pelori, where in the foothills towering over the town, the Paths of Damnation we had trod then winded through the stony places.
It took a lot of effort, but decided it was time to see how much of my unique vision had returned from the drugs, and if it truly had grown, as I thought it had there at Humas, when I had sat speaking to the grasses that Saludrin was hidden in. First I scanned to the north, my back to the now high sun, and took in the colors and waves of energy I could perceive. There was a wash of indistinct auras there, I could still not pick out the distances, and there was a veil of white over the auras, as the sun blasted them away. I had snuck away as quietly as I could, but I was no longer the Custos, just a blind man, and had apparently gathered several followers who were close enough to pick out in those blurs.
Didius, as he had been so often since my rescue, was nearest, and by how clearly I could see the few movements and flickers of his aura, I knew he was within just a few passus, or steps as humans called them, away. Furius was further away, and the constant agitation of his aura was the only reason I knew it to be him. Further and more easterly was a smoky aura, one tinged with fire and death, magics great and small. This one I did not know, which gave me pause. There was a bright spot of blue within it, but no further details could I make out. I sighed, resigning myself to daytime vision distances of maybe forty passus I could trust. As I turned my ruined visage to the sun, a cloud blocked it, for a few moments and within that shadow, my vision bloomed in details, extended out to half a stade I guessed. I pressed my lips together tightly, then sighed in relief. This was both unexpected and helpful. Everywhere the light of the sun was weakened, my vision was as it had been before my poisoning. This meant I had an advantage, those who thought me blind could be surprised that I could see.
As at the fire just days before, I realized that my perception was better, I could determine depths now within and amongst the auras I still 'saw'. This was something new, growing with every day. As I cast that inner gaze upon the desert that lay below and before me, I could see small flares out in it, beyond the range of my new depth perception, but still detectable. These auras were small with distance yet intense enough for me to see. I wondered what I saw, was it riders of the Knights of the Order of the Shifting Grey Sands, or Lodriken on the prowl for prey. But until I could control my vision, it was obvious it could only be trusted in a limited fashion.
I could feel Soludrin’s stone just below that swelling on the throat that the voice comes from, heavy on its chain. We still had a bit, so I lifted it to my lips and whispered to my worried friend, letting him know where I was, what I perceived and heard. This would become a ritual, I was sure. But it was a good one, to keep a friend happy, or at least informed. I had not told anyone about breaking the stone, save pater. I probably should warn Didius, and a few others. I would speak with my avia about it, my father’s mother. Her skill with enchantments could give me some insight into what had been imbued into the stone, perhaps.
I wandered back from the Rima to the gully we would navigate down. I had traveled this trail before, but then I had eyes to see the dangers it held. The walls of this draw hung over the trail in many places, it would be a long, tedious ride for all, with several dismounts for small scarps and boulder fields. If memory served me well, there were dozens of talus slopes within the canyon as well, mostly from the right hand side as one descended, but there were a few left side ones.
I wandered over to the mounts by sound and smell, as well as auras, seeking out my onagera. She had run with such smoothness that I had begun to doubt her truly being of Turbator’s blood. My hands stroked her neck, running fingers through her mane, to assure her that it was me. Her muzzle touched my chest, and came up to bump my chin. Perhaps she was of Turbator’s descent, but many mounts, onageri and equies alike, shared that trait.
Furius gave me the leg up a short time later, and we began the descent, with Ringelius leading my mare, Didius and Furius following me. Others would remain above, and start to remove signs of our passage. We worked our way down, slowly, and it was every bit as rough as I remembered. Unfortunately, the mare is larger than the mounts I had used in the previous journeys, so by the time we reached the mouth of the canyon, I had a nasty gash and small bump on my forehead, a sore shoulder and scrapes on my right calf and ankle. It had taken sixteen hands of the sun to descend the canyon. I truly despise this path, and was ashamed at having been tossed aground by my own hubris at having ridden so well on the plains to think this portion of our journey would be as easy.
Finally we were in the outwash valley of the canyon, and slowly picked up pace, with the spearman and my nephew riding close beside me to keep me in my saddle. Ringelius dropped the reins into my hands, moving off to the side. It was not yet the solid pace of the crossing of the plains up higher, but they said clouds were building all along the Rima. Outwash valleys are not the place to be when those towers of moisture began to unleash their burden of water. Water that would turn this place into a death trap, as the waters would still be deep and swift as they headed out towards the wider desert hardpans. The sun was setting as at last we found a way up the valley’s side, just as my nephew told me the clouds had begun to rain on the edge of the great cliff.
Norbanus set the soldiers he brought to setting camp up, pitching the tents and making shallow drain ditches for run off around them. I just hoped he had found something to eat by then. I was not willing to be a burden despite my blindness, so I grained the onageri, and tried to curry out the shedding hairs of my onagera. After being successful on her mane, and hoping my body would remember how to do it well enough not to make a mess of things. I was still working at her left side when I was joined by an unusually jovial Norbanus.
“Same stroke, back to the front half a hand, you missed a narrow spot, and she has a few burrs in it.” I winced, wondering how many other spots I had missed, as he joined us, and took up a brush to work her long tail. “And no, you did fine until then, just a few small patches, less than a finger in width, and none more than a hand long. Not bad, Billenius, seems you still have the touch. I should have told you she was a bigger than your other mounts, sorry."
At first I steamed a bit at the implication I might have forgot how to groom a mount. The some old memory stirred in my head. Over the decades, I have learned from Norbanus a way of holding a conversation within a conversation. This time it took me a bit to realize one was being offered. Not to mention more time letting my mind track down those ideas buried in the conversation. He was offering me some insight as to our sudden moves, I could tell. And perhaps more information of things he and the Triari had spoken of in some secret way. He had some plan, or ideas he wanted my thoughts on, and was offering me a chance to give him feedback.
I took his advice, going back to the missed place, slowly working as if being thankful for the mention of the missed spot. "The body remembers as well as it can, Optio Norbanus." Using his rank, I hoped would let him know I was out of practice at this style of conversation. "I did measure her myself, though, Norbanus. The scrapes are from me not remembering where to duck."
As I worked on my onagera, my mind puzzled over the meanings that would be buried in the words he had chosen. As I was on the left side of my mount, front was to my left, hence the Centuria Sinistra, the Left Hand Century. Gods, they had been with us all along. I wanted to curse aloud, but had to keep it in. For once I was thankful of the burn scars on my face that prevented my visage from giving away my thoughts. Finger and a hand were numbers, I had to guess, one he was certain was of the Centuria, five more he suspected heavily. I found it strange the known Centurion had not met an accident on the way down the canyon, or before.
I decided to press for more and relay my own suspicions. "Norbanus, you forgot to tell me this mare's name."
He did not laugh. He got the meaning of my words, I could sense it in his aura, the way it leaned towards me across the mounts. A good bit of his inner flame was perked up by the mare comment. I shuddered inside, they had not known of my watcher above on the Jai'. He had not counted the woman in his hand. I knew from the way his silence dragged on.
When he spoke at last, his voice was deep in inflections, letting me know I had rattled his nerves. "Your father said none of them have names, and he leaves it like that until you can take the herd back." In the pause, I pondered this. He did not want to name them for me, especially now that I had pointed out another for him to worry over.
"Really?"
"Yes. For one who makes a living shoeing onageri, your father has a strong dislike of them." That slight stress on father told me who had identified the Centurion. That father had known him said much, for father had left the Legions and the capital several hundred years ago. This was an older, more or less retired Centurion they had identified. One called back for this recent push, or assigned to the training camp of the Centuria Sinistra back in the islands.
"Turbator and his line kick a lot. Father threatened several times in his letters to bring me home to shoe them." I stopped combing for a short span, leaning on my onagera's back, not all from show. She had just shown that very trait, giving a soft playful kick on a shin already bruised and scraped from the descent. Norbanus chuckled evilly, taking the other side, having finished his mount already. Sight has its advantages, one can see mistakes and correct them as one strokes, instead of having to feel over the coat after each stroke.
I heard a rap of finger on solid jaw. "I would not try that on me, ornery one. I still have my ocrearum on. You will just chip a hoof on those shin guards girl." He started working methodically. I could take from his words one important clue. He was letting me know he was not taking off his armor at times he normally would have. Norbanus had no trust of the unknown, and known, foe in our midst.
I went back to combing, seeking that rhythm again, and remarkably finding it. My body indeed was taking over, which allowed my mind to mull over what was being said. Those thoughts soon needed answering, so I could do what I did best these days, try to see what was ahead of us, clouded though seeing one's own future could often be.
"So, Pelori by the road?"
"Yes, Billenius. By the road unless we can get supplies to cross east of the Incus." What we call the Incus is the Anvil to others. That great volcano that dominates the northwestern corner of the Grey Desert, and is always spewing more ash and sand into the air to add to the desert. "This mare is very alert to what is around her."
I heard the steps coming in, those of a person in armor. Out of reflex I turned towards the invader into our space, my body so into things it had done before losing my sight it was moving on its own. Which let me get a better glimpse of the aura. It was the same aura from above, the woman. And on her left shoulder I could see a blue "C", the mark of the Centuria Sinistra. Like a brand burnt into her aura it was imprinted onto her anima, hidden in the flames and shadows of her aura, yet still not totally hidden. She was a Centurion.
I turned back for the final few strokes on the onagera's flank and leg, then reached fro her tail. As she was denied the kick on the other side, the mare got frisky, giving me a whip of tail in the face. Which let me discover that Norbanus is not a very good groom. "Optio, you missed a burr!"
He laughed, "She was busy when I got to that part. Watch your step." I winced, as the warning came too late. There is a certain squish that tells you when you have made a misstep around horses and onageri.
“Well, I guess these boots are now officially those of a Custos.” I found my staff, and leaned on it, leaving the burr to the Optio to fix. Waiting to see if I would hear that same tell tale soft noise. “What is the plan now, rest tonight?”
Solid footsteps, he managed to avoid the soiled spot. Perfidio. “Yes, then up early and ride fast to Pelori. We probably won’t beat any of the messages the Decemviri will have sent, but at least there I can get us more supplies. We don’t have much coins..” Ah, so we were on a strict budget, and the Optio was planning to make things stretch as much as possible.
I hesitated, but handed over a pouch I had found in my saddle bag when unloading the mare. Undoubtedly it had been put there by my family, or some other member of the gens. My family was being helpful, as they always had been since my blinding. One thing I knew for certain, we could not count on much more in the way of finances, for we were headed to lands where we had no support of the government and could not count on the allegiance of the flamens in the temples we might pass.
I started to walk away, then had to ask one last question. “Why the need for speed, Norbanus?”
I started to walk away, then had to ask one last question. “Why the need for speed, Norbanus?”
There was not an answer for a while, as he stored my grooming tools, and walked up to take my arm. And when it finally came, it was the softest of whispers, as if he hoped even I would not hear his words. “There was a drakonis in the air, while you stood there on the edge. Far distant to the east, along the Rima itself. And its color tells me it was one of the beasts of the Grey Mesas. Rumor of late has said such blue scaled lizards have been moving between the east and the west.” He was murmuring this information fast, and by the slurs that I could pick out, trying to not move his lips. “West, to that mountain you know so well. East, to that island of the dead who walk.”
Two foes, he indicated. Perfidio! The Igni Regna was not enough for me to fear? I was tempted in that moment to curse the Parcae, but my dark mistresses tended to foul retributions when they thought their honor was being insulted. Of late, I had enough of the dark side of the bitch mistresses of Fate. I had to think for a while to figure the other implied, then nearly gave away my understanding, having to settle with just a impassioned curse. To the east lay an island once home to many plantations and vineyards, lying in a area of mostly perfect weather in the north west part of the sea called by most the Great Water. During the wars of the Age of Convulsions, several millennia ago, it was overrun by a group of magicians skilled in necromancy. What that land had become was now a dead land where all that touched its shores died to feed the remaining members of the that cabal of liches from the Aethereal Realms.
I cursed as Norbanus walked away from me, more from anger at the evils I seemed to have cropping up all around me. If the Igni Regna allied with those liches, a war would certainly arise. One I was not sure who would win, as this time there was no strong empire or alliances to stand against those evils.
Norbanus took charge now as we mounted, riding along the ridge south, to the Via Equities. By midday, we had found that road turning west onto it. We galloped when we could, and walked from time to time, but mostly, it was that ground eating, bone jarring pace called a trot that Norbanus set. We rode until after the sun set, and rose to ride before it rose. We stopped only for a few hours in the hottest parts of the day, to water the onageri and rest them, in shade if we could find it, by some stream draining from the giant cliff to our right if not.
The third day trouble found us. Coming from the desert to the south of us. We were at one of those places where the sands and ashes of the heart of the desert came up close to the road, within a few stade, and for those with eyes, into their sight. The first clue came in the wind, which went from calm to sudden gale from the south. It was a hot, dry wind, one that lifted those sands up into the air in one of those dangerous clouds of suffocating doom. Those who live in the desert land know these roiling walls of dust. Some call them the avalanches of the desert, for with them, the sands would shift wildly, and move vast distances in just days. Or hours.
“Run!” Norbanus voice was full of rage and fear. As we galloped, the optio pulled up beside me, grabbing my reins as he shouted at me. “Its not natural! Too narrow a front. If things go wrong, run, aim west, and do not tell me your sense of direction is gone!” He held by me as the wind proved his words, turning to follow us from the cries of the rearguard.
We were caught by the choking cloud, which rolled over us not with the soft moaning or scream of winds I had experienced before in such storms. It was a roaring thing, deep throated and raw. I had no doubt that the core of this storm was a magically created whirlwind.
There are few creatures in the Desert of the Shifting Grey Sands that could conjure such a storm. It would take a concerted effort to do such, and according to the conversations I had overheard, the Lodriken of the area were too busy fighting to join up for such a cooperative magic. Nor would the elementals of wind that danced the thermals be any more likely to do so. That left the blue scaled drakonis from the spires of the Grey Mesas. Even amongst those creatures, only one had the power to create such a storm alone. So we faced a meshing of powers here.
On a hunch, I let loose my vision of auras, to find out if that way of seeing was hampered by the flying sands and ashes. Within that way of perception, there existed three balls of lightning rolling about in the storm's core, stirring it up. From them, a black arrow of some magic struck the ground ahead of us. Magic most foul, I was sure, but what was being cast I had no idea of, as I had not used my ability during my youth, when matertera had tried to school me in magics, being still stubborn then in denying all my abilities as my foresight began to bloom then. But some spell lay in the earth before us now. And I knew that type of aura well from my days as a Custos down by the Grey Mesas.
I leaned over to the Optio, holding his arm weakly for an instant while I spoke, having to yell to be heard, which hurt my chest and throat, as the burn scars were within me as much as without. "Drakonis, Norbanus! Drakonis, three of them! They have some spell cast ahead of us!" I had to let go then, or be unseated by his sudden turn away to stop our charge into a doom unknown.
As we all turned off to the side slowing our flight, and trying to avoid the place that arrow of magic I had seen with my third eye had fallen. Not that it seemed to matter, one of the beasts we faced was no longer to our south, but cutting off the road to the west. Another fell in behind us, to drive us to the waiting one. The one to the south seemed not to have the speed of the others, but was moving back and forth to scare the onagers more with its presence and aroma. Such lack of movement could come from many sources, weakness from age, lameness, or overconfidence.
The mounts of the others suddenly went wild, I was buffeted by several onageri around me. I knew one was Ringelius' by his cursing in the tongue of the Karleekie he often spent time with. I could hear the voices of others I did not know as well, just as irritated as my consorbrinus at the insanity in their steeds. The dust must have fallen from the air around the beast to the west, allowing it to be seen. And the sight of a drakonis is something few beasts take in stride, even we Numeni. Some say there is a survival instinct deep in the makeup of every being, that knows those beasts somehow, and drives them to seek to flee. There is also something in the aura of dragons that radiates out to alter the senses of those within a range from them that grows with their age. It promotes those deep seated fears, unleashing them, while freezing the thinking parts of a brain.
The beast roared its hunger and hate of all that lived. Two more cries answered it from what was now my rear and right. They were ready to close in on what they hoped to be an easy feast. The air fell silent as their roars died.
All through the madness, my onagera was calm beneath me through it all. She had come to a halt, but there was not the tremor of fear in her. Just a strange stillness, as if she had been waiting for those roars to end. Into that silence she added her own call. Neighing her challenge as she reared beneath me. I nearly lost my seat, and would have had I not recognized the signs of her trying to rear up. She was acting like a stallion protecting his herd, not a mare seeking safety. She came back down, and instead of entering into a bout of bucking as many of the others beasts had, she did something I, and later was told no one else, would have thought from an onagera.
She charged the drakonis to our west.
I felt those chilling fingers of fear on my spine. I wanted to run away, but being mounted, and the onagera having her head, the best I could do was lean into her neck to make as small a target as possible for the great lizard we were running towards. I spoke softly in her ear, praying this was not a strange form of the insanity the aura of the drakonis had induced, but a genuine attack reflex born of her own rage at having a ride interrupted. Turbator had this same reaction to the saurid beasts, the desire to attack them first, and use the confusion it caused to allow me to get in a few key wounds before we died or were able to escape its own attacks. Not for the first time, nor I was sure the last, I wished we had taken steeds that day up the Paths of Damnation.
My onagera was truly angry, as we came to closest approach to the beast, and it was close indeed, she began to buck as I had feared. But with a purpose not meant to unseat me. I heard the ring of chablys shoes on gem hard scales, one I knew from my few times hunting drakonis in the past. She was fighting the beast. While I did not have Specula at my side, when we had broken camp, Norbanus had provided me with a pilum, the hunting spear of my people. During one backwards rearing, I leaned as far as I dared forward and thrust upwards. That jab must have been lucky, for it found a weak spot in the scales on the body above us, shattering scales as the head of my pilum dug into flesh beneath them.
Ichors of the beast spilled over me, telling me I had hit a vein by the steady flow, not the pulsing it would have been had I found an artery. I could only hope it would be severe enough a wound to let us escape, as I let the pilum come back out, only to have the heaving of my mount and the flinch away from pain of the drakonis tear it from my hand. Now all I had left was the cutler, the small, ritual knife of a flamen left to me, and I would not desecrate such a holy tool in battle, unless it was in a final stand.
The blood of the beast was no longer raining on us, and my mount at last regained her survival instincts, and chose that moment to run away from the drakonis. Run away beyond it and the storm it was calling back up by the frantic flapping of its wings as it sought the sky to escape prey that had proven not as easy as it had hoped. Each beat of the wing tossed its fluids out of its body though, telling me I had found the main vein in the wing, not the leg. It screamed in pain and rage, unable to escape me, not knowing I was no longer able to harm it.
Then we were clear of dust and beast, racing from the sun, then beside it, by the warmth on my face. Her strides were clean and smooth, this was the first full out run she had shown, I could tell at last, feeling her body getting damp beneath my body pressed into hers. The pace was fast, the softer dirt we had turned onto giving way to the thuds of the packed earth of the Via Equities.
The dragon to the south followed us, as I turned my head that way to check. Twisting into a bend that was dangerous to keeping my saddle, I discovered the aura of the one I had wounded fading, not in distance, but in death. I was shocked, rarely would such a blow be fatal, but trying to fly may have torn the wound more, opening the vein beyond clotting.
We ran, my onagera and I. Still with one drakonis in pursuit. And alone, with none of our friends following us.
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