Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)

by J. Clifton Slater

  They walked the lane between mercenary units and out of the Qart Hadasht camp. Alerio did not stop until they were seventeen hundred and sixty steps, or about a mile away, and the backtrail had no sounds of pursuit.

  Lack of a real bridle was the reason he selected the calmest horse. Now he practiced farm ingenuity. The art of making do with what you possessed to make what you needed.

  A few wraps and knots later and he had fashioned a bitless bridle from strips of the cape.

  “We have eighty miles to travel,” Alerio informed the mare. “You take care of me and I will see you go to a good home when I leave.”

  The horse bowed her head testing the extent of the bridle and reins. Satisfied that her rider had control, the mare stepped forward on the dark trail heading south.

  Alerio was settling in on the uncomfortable bareback when the mare stopped. Sounds of running water alerted him to a hazard blocking the trail. After investigating, he walked the mare to the river’s edge.

  “If it gets deep, we’ll swim,” Alerio told the horse. Then he teased. “You can swim, can’t you?”

  With a nervous laugh, Alerio guided the mount into the chilly water. His unease came from wading into an unknown body of water in the middle of the night. If possible, he preferred to wait for daybreak. But dawn might bring a patrol and he needed to be long gone by then.

  On the far side of the river, he stripped off his faded red under-armor tunic, wrung out excess water, and slipped it on again.

  “That was fun,” he lied to the horse while leaping onto her back. “No more rivers, okay?”

  ***

  Early that afternoon, Alerio noted the coastal plain drifting inland. Between the flat land and the sea, hills rising to a thousand feet and down to rough mounds forced him and the mare to travel in a southeasterly direction. While skirting the heights, Alerio searched for a village or a town.

  “I’m hungry and I need a saddle for your scrawny backside,” he said to the horse. Then remembering the mare was doing the walking added. “I bet you could use some grain.”

  The beast did not reply, it simply continued putting one hoof in front of the other.

  Much later, sandstone roofs appeared in the distance. At first Alerio assumed it was a rock formation based on the color. But as they drew closer, the shapes became regular and the sandstone split to reveal separate structures.

  “Food and vino for me,” Alerio declared. “And a saddle and grain for you.”

  With no sign of understanding, the mare moved steadily forward.

  Chapter 30 – Anxiety in a Small Town

  The sun had almost dipped behind the hills when Alerio guided the horse into the town. Tired and irritable from the ride, he decided to walk for the last half mile. Three intersecting streets made up the road system and about thirty houses created the village. It only took a heartbeat to realize why the town even existed. A large grain storage building filled the view at the end of one street. But it was spring, and the village appeared to be empty.

  “We are in luck,” Alerio informed the horse. “A grain transfer station will have teamsters. And with teamsters you get leather workers. And those fine craftsmen make saddles. But first, feed for you and meat for me.”

  They strolled down the middle of a dusty street eyeing the signs on the buildings. He studied not the lettering, it was in Sardo and had not been part of Alerio’s education. But each sign had pictures of the business’ trade. Passing one with etchings of grapes and bread let him know his second stop.

  At an intersection, Alerio spied a stable in the distance. That would be his first stop. Any Legion NCO will tell you to tend to your tools first before taking care of yourself. And the horse was an asset.

  “I believe we have located…” Alerio started to say to the mare.

  “I’ll take the horse,” a voice challenged. “You seem to ragged and shabby to be riding.”

  Peering back at the grape and bread sign, Alerio noted a young man. Built like an oarsman, he had a sneer on his face and held a Noric sword in his hand.

  “Do you know how to use that?” Alerio inquired. “Because if you don’t, you should not…”

  “Shouldn’t what?” the youth interrupted. “Bother a rider in pink night clothing holding my horse by a red cloth rope. The inn is one block over. Go ahead and get back to your nap. But first, leave the horse.”

  Big, strong, and fast has been the downfall of many a young swordsman. They assumed their natural abilities would grant them victory. When they matured, if they lived that long, the juvenile sword swingers would learn. Learn that experience and skill made up for the three attributes of youth.

  “That’s a nice sword,” Alerio complimented, “and an exquisitely crafted belt and sheath. I don’t suppose you purchased the weapon.”

  “I took them off a dead Qart Hadasht Admiral,” the youth bragged. He stepped away from the inn and moved onto the street. “Just like my brothers and I are going to take the horse from you. And that gladius. And the dagger. And your coin purse.”

  Four other young men, each resembling the swordsman, stepped out of the restaurant and onto the street.

  “Well, if you must,” Alerio said while drooping his shoulders in defeat. “Can I at least get her fed and watered? It’s been a long day and we’ve come a long way.”

  “No. I want to go riding, like the fine folks at home,” one of the brothers announced.

  He swayed from too much vino and his eyes were unfocused. Alerio checked him off as the one least dangerous to him. For the horse, the intoxicated one meant the already exhausted mount would be ridden to death. It was not what Alerio promised the mare when he took her.

  “You forgot one,” Alerio announced as he pulled the horse’s head around until the mare faced the stable.

  “Forgot what, ragged rider?” the swordsman demanded.

  Alerio swatted the mare hard on her haunches. The usually calm horse bolted forward, ran for three paces, then slowed, and finally stopped.

  “Not what I wanted,” Alerio said in exacerbation.

  He meant to put distance between the horse and the brothers. But her relaxed nature and fatigue were the undoing of Alerio’s plan.

  All five brothers laughed.

  “What did I forget, pink tunic rider?” the swordsman questioned.

  The phrase brought another round of chuckles for the siblings.

  Suddenly, the mare raised her head. Catching a scent of either the water trough or a feed bin, she trotted away.

  “I have another dagger,” Alerio informed the brothers. “And there is a question for you. What type of man carries two visible and one concealed blade?”

  The door to the restaurant opened and a young lady slipped out and shuffled sideways while keeping her eyes on the brothers.

  “Whoa there,” one of them instructed.

  He leaped to the girl, wrapped her hair in his fist and twisted.

  “I said to wait for me,” he screamed at her. “Get back in there and pour a glass for when I finish my business.”

  The woman slinked back to the doorway and vanished inside. Alerio was beginning to dislike the brash and cruel brothers.

  “Give me one,” Alerio offered. “Give me one excuse not to hurt you.”

  “If anyone is going to get hurt, it’s you, rider in the pink tunic,” the swordsman spit out.

  “Not funny the first time, and tedious the second,” Alerio told him. Shifting to his right, the Tribune moved forcing the brothers further into the street. “Do you have a God? If so, now would be a good time to pray. I plan to.”

  Chapter 31 – Ragged Rider

  “Nenia Dea, these young men do not deserve to die,” Alerio prayed. “Show me a way to avoid this fight. Or come and take their souls. And if it is my end, take me quickly.”

  The five brothers exchanged glances then puffed up their chests. They did not fear a single ragged rider or his dumb prayer to a foreign deity.

  “We were just going to beat
you and take your horse,” another of the brothers boasted. “But now, you are going to die.”

  By his speech, the sibling identified himself as the leader. Now that the rider, who warned about toting three blades, knew where to start, he closed the distance to the youths.

  “By the way, I am a Legion weapon’s instructor,” Tribune Sisera warned. “Get on your knees or die.”

  With his right hand, he pulled a dagger from the small of his back. The long doubled edged blade flashed in the waning light of the day.

  The brothers watched as the rider pointed to the dagger, and told them, “It is a wicked instrument.”

  The siblings shifted apart to give each of them room to slash. In their careers as oarsmen for the Qart Hadasht Navy, they had not lost a fight. Whether it was armed or bare-knuckled, five siblings brawling together presented a formidable force. They took on other rowers, sailors, and warriors. They saw no reason the shabby rider could stand against them.

  With his left hand, the rider drew a gladius. Most swordsmen when holding a weapon in their weaker hand, seemed awkward. Their victim flipped the Legion sword in the air. It rose high, spinning rapidly.

  Then the rider began to chant. So badly did he sing, the brothers felt it was their public duty to silence the man.

  “These men are taken with sadness, Goddess Nenia

  For every life is sacred and every soul unique

  This fight, this day, I did not seek

  Not lightly do I call upon you

  For one day is the day I rue

  With care I ask for intervention

  Judge me and my intention

  And if you select me

  I agree

  But take me quickly please.”

  All five brothers were watching the heavy blade spin in the air. None noticed the long dagger as it flipped forward. The leader of the five siblings grabbed his neck and fell to his knees. Both hands wrapped around the dagger in his throat.

  “Nenia Dea, come take this gift

  Seize his soul and make it swift

  End his misery, stop the pain

  Hades waits on a different plane

  Life is sacred and every soul unique

  This fight, this day, I did not seek.”

  The chanting rider easily snagged the hilt of the gladius out of the air. Racing forward, he moved in behind the thrown dagger and kicked the brother with the Noric sword in the hand. Bones shattered under the hobnails of his Legion boots.

  The drunk brother swung, but only hit empty air. He twisted himself sideways and stumbled away.

  The two uninjured brothers backed up.

  “Too late, lads,” Alerio growled.

  He ran at them and sang while pulling his Legion dagger.

  “Nenia Dea, come take this present

  Their blood with shame I vent

  End the notions, stop the grief

  I never planned to be a soul thief

  Not lightly do I call upon you

  For one day is the day I rue.”

  They turned preparing to run when the dagger and the gladius stabbed the siblings in their backs. Pulling the weapons, the shabby rider walked to the choking brother and snatched his long dagger from the neck.

  Alerio had tears in his eyes as he carried the bloody blades back to the swordsman.

  “Who are you?’ the brother with the shattered hand asked.

  “I’ve been called many things,” Alerio Sisera replied.

  The intoxicated sibling pulled a knife, screamed, and ran at the man’s back. Spinning, the rider whipped the gladius around and sliced the drunk’s neck. At the end of the rotation, he again faced the swordsman.

  “Legionary, heavy infantryman, Raider, weapon’s instructor, Corporal,” the rider listed. “Centurion, and Tribune. But the one title I reject, keeps coming back in my actions and my deeds. I am a disciple of the Goddess Nenia. I am Death Caller.”

  With those words, he stabbed the swordsman in the eye. The dagger drove through the socket and pierced the brain of the last brother.

  “These men are taken with sadness Goddess Nenia

  For every life is sacred and every soul unique

  This fight, this day, I did not seek

  Not lightly do I call upon you

  For one day is the day I rue

  With care I ask for intervention

  Judge me and my intention

  And if you select me

  I agree

  But take me quickly please.”

  The town’s residents appeared in the doorways of shops. From the inn, a fat man and the young abused girl stepped onto the street. While the fat man glared hard at the brothers, the girl screamed and ran to one. Taking the brother in her arms, she cooed to him as Nenia Dea lifted his soul from the wounded body.

  The shabby rider reached down and picked up the Noric sword from beside the failed swordsman. Then he took the coin pouches from each brother. Lately, he strolled down the street in the direction of the stables.

  ***

  It was almost dark when Alerio wandered from the barn. Brushing the mare had given him time to sort out his feelings. After examining the confrontation, he realized the brothers did not have to die. But once he started slaying, it felt as if he was another person. And that person offered no mercy or sanctuary. As he neared the sign with grapes and bread etchings, Alerio promised himself that the butcher in him would never be released again.

  “I hope you have beef, or lamb, or goat,” he called out as he entered the restaurant.

  “The brothers killed my milking goat,” the fat proprietor replied. “So, I have roasted goat meat, cheese, and bread, but no goat’s milk.”

  “Speaking of the brothers,” Alerio mentioned while sitting at a table. “Who will bury them?”

  “We have good topsoil but below the planting level it’s rock,” the fat owner informed him. “No graves. We’ll pile the bodies onto a cart and haul them to the sea.”

  “Is that how you bury your dead?” Alerio asked.

  “Locals are cremated on funeral fires,” the proprietor explained. “Wine, beer, or spring water?”

  Alerio needed his coins to get home if he missed the fleet. Then he recalled his emotional response to killing the youths.

  “Is this enough to build five funeral pyres?” he asked. Between his finger, Alerio displayed a silver coin.

  “That will cover it,” the fat man agreed. “I’ll have some boys stack the wood and the bodies while you eat.”

  Alerio took his time dining. Although it had been a long day and he was exhausted, he purchased a wineskin before leaving the restaurant. He had one more task to perform before sleeping.

  ***

  In the distance, a single flame glowed in the dark. As Alerio approached, he found a campfire blazing and five unlit wooden structures holding the bodies of the brothers. He pulled a burning stick from the campfire and walked to the first body.

  Deep shadows hid the features but Alerio was able to locate the face. After placing coins over the eyes, he moved to the next sibling. At the third one, he placed the coins in the mouth as one eyes was shredded. When each brother had coins for passage across the river Styx, Alerio lit the funeral pyres.

  “To untamed youth,” Alerio announced. He took a stream of vino. “If you only had guidance in your lives we would not have fought. And you would not have died.”

  The fires roared and flames shot high into the night sky. Alerio sat alone drinking and watching the flames consume the wood and the bodies.

  ***

  Early the next morning, Alerio and the mare left the town behind. He never looked back at the five piles of still smoking ash.

  The saddle was old and the frame creaky. But the double layer of horse blankets helped cushion both man and beast. With better seating, the mare moved quicker with an easier gait.

  By the next afternoon, they made the farming and trading town of Musei. Just three miles from high hills on both sides, the town rested in th
e center of freshly planted fields.

  They found a large stable run by two men. Showing their passion for animals, the men made a fuss about the condition of the mare.

  “I don’t know how she was treated before I acquired her,” Alerio informed them. “She’s carried me a long way.”

  “A little feed and a few days of rest and she’ll be ready to take you across Sardinia,” one exclaimed.

  “I’m heading for the coast,” Alerio told them. “I need to catch a ship heading east.”

  “Wrong time of year, friend,” the other stable owner added. “Spring is slow. Come harvest time, Portoscuso will have two or more merchant ships a day.”

  “Portoscuso?” Alerio asked. “I met a fisherman from there once. He has a big fishing boat.”

  “That’s Gavia the Fisherman,” the two handlers said at the same time.

  “How far is Portoscuso?” Alerio asked.

  “About seventeen miles,” the other stableman replied.

  “I’ll need a ride in the morning,” Alerio remarked. Then he patted the mare’s neck and instructed. “She took care of me. I ask that you take care of her.”

  “We will,” the stable owners assured him.

  ***

  The next day, a wagon rolled into the small port town of Portoscuso. From the bed of the transport, Alerio had an excellent view of the sea. And as they neared a small beach, he saw the large fishing boat.

  “Take care of the mare,” Alerio reminded the driver.

  “That we will do,” the stable owner confirmed.

  Alerio jump from the wagon, picked up his bundle, and marched to the fishing boat where a group of men were unloading the catch.

  “Gavia the Fisherman, how much can you make in a day?” Alerio asked.

  Gavia looked up from where he was inspecting a net.

  “Why?” the fisherman asked.

  “I’ll pay it for a ride,” Alerio informed him. “And more if you will cross the Tyrrhenian Sea and deliver me to the shoreline of the Republic.”