Alana sat leaning against a birch, stretching her arms and legs, letting out a long sigh. She looked up, the long yellow flowers towered over her like hanging stars. She thought of how much she missed her dear friends, her beloved Kassius, and how very soon she would bring the message to her townspeople up north. But in that moment, Alana had time to enjoy herself. Her inner thighs hurt from riding all day long. It was a lovely spring day, birds were singing softly, melodiously. Alana listened attentively, amazed, wondering what kind of birds were behind such intricate melodies. A bird sang, then another responded, like a duel of fiddlers, competing to see which one would get the girl.
Alana’s eyes were heavy. Maybe it would be a good time for a nap. The birds kept humming, the horse feasted on the nearby grass.
Then, she heard sounds through the foliage, like that of beasts stalking prey, not constant, not uniform, but irregular.
Alana opened her eyes sharply, attentive at any sound. Another soft step, another one from behind, another from the side.
Then, in front of her, between the overgrown bushes and thin trunks, she saw a dark figure, painted like the leaves, almost invisible, but with unmistakable shining eyes.
Alana jumped up, and the figure emerged from the bush; a man with no shirt, his body covered in tattoos and painted with mud and dark paint, his hair blonde and unruly, a halberd in one hand.
Around him were two more, one extremely tall, his hair long and blond, with a short sword in hand, the third one came from her left side, his head shaven, his body wide and short, with a flat head and scars crossing through his face. He held a rusty spear.
They lunged at her, Alana raised her hands.
“Stop! I am just a traveller, just passing by!” she cried.
The men stopped, circling around her. The short, stout man made a comment, to which the tall man on her right responded with a scandalous laugh. She did not know that tongue, it was northern, foreign, but the only thing she comprehended was the intention of their wicked eyes.
The short men made a comment, looking at the horse and saddle.
“That’s my friend’s horse!” Alana said.
The tall man pointed at her with long fingernails.
“You, good.”
“Yes, I am just passing by, I come in peace!” she yelled.
The tall man whirled his sword in his hand, his smile was mischievous.
“Oh, here we go again,” Alana muttered, as the three men jumped into the clearing, their intention clear, to get her and her possessions. She looked around, her heart galloped rose like a cavalry unit on command. She had to fight, but both her swords were bound beneath the saddle. She gave another quick look. They were on the opposite side. The tall man ran after her, Alana jumped down, shielding beneath the horse’s belly. The horse did not like it, and lifted its legs menacingly. Alana jumped to the other side, where the short man was waiting, his tongue out and fingers curled, waiting for her. Alana turned, stuck her hand beneath the saddle and pulled out the dragon blade.
“Ira? Are you around?” she screamed, looking all around.
She had to do it quickly, she had to engage with a single opponent at the time, or else it would be too much. Springing forward, she attacked the halberd wielding bandit first, her enemy closed in, his weapon forward, he quickly waved it in the air, the sharp edge of the tip heading toward Alana.
She ducked, dodging the blow. She stepped forward, parrying the pole with her blade. The soldier pulled the halberd back, keeping it upward, and swinging it around her.
Alana blocked again, jumping forward, she recoiled with her sword, then swung at the bandit’s neck. The blade sunk into his skin, his face morphing into pure fear and despair.
She removed the blade and the bandit collapsed to the side as she turned around. Those men had no training, or at least, the first one did not. She still had to fight them one at a time not to make things more difficult. The other two stared at her in fear and awe. They looked at each other and spoke in their tongue.
She decided to start with the short one. She jumped up as the man held his lance forward. The bandit screamed and ran with his spear facing her, aiming at her chest. Alana slipped to the side, whirled and hit the man in the ribs. His eyes opened wide and looked down at his own wound. His mouth twisted in horror.
Alana stepped out, looking for the tall soldiers.
“Hey!” he said, lifting his hands. “No,” he muttered. “No kill, no kill!”
Alana lowered her blade.
“Alright, I’ll just go!” she muttered, walking toward the horse.
Suddenly, a loud noise sunk into her ears, hammering her brain like a broken trumpet. She looked for its source, and found the moribund man with the shaven head. He had a small horn in hand, and kept blowing on it.
She had to get away.
She rushed to untie the horse’s rope from the tree, but the bandit pushed his blade forward to intimidate her. Alana waved her sword around. He stepped back, fear noticeable in him.
Then, he grasped the sword with both hands and attempted the same move with which the other two had failed, he ran toward her, pushing the sword forward. Alana moved to the side, getting out of his range. She stepped behind the horse, then twisted, ready to run away from him. She had to mount, but that would make her vulnerable for a short time.
The man wanted to gain time, he knew if he did, his friends would soon come and help him against her.
Alana could already hear rushed steps through the woods, and more chirping and whistling. Those were no birds,
She cut the rope and the horse broke free, but first, she held onto the bridle. She stepped forward to scare her enemy away, and he moved back in a fright. She went back and managed to mount the horse. The man decided to attack, this time aiming at the horse. Tistriya trotted nervously forward, and Alana immediately spurred with her ankles, and Tistirya shot forward. The tall man chased after her, waving his sword frantically.
Suddenly, the horse rose on two legs. Alana pulled the reins quickly. They turned around and kicked the man with its back legs in the chest. She looked from the corner of her eyes, to make sure he was still down.
Alana spurred, grabbing the reins tightly and advancing westward.
Should she look for Ira? She had to find her. As she pushed forward, she saw two men jumping out from the bushes, with long spears, their bodies covered in tattoos.
She had no time to deal with them, she spurred hard, and advanced through the trees, hearing their steps behind her. Alana kept riding around the birches and pines, annoyed at the branches that kept hitting her face as if to punish her for leaving Iria behind. Soon, heart still pounding, she was out of the woods, riding down the hill, into the wide valley of tall grass and purple flowers. The frontiers that divided the Itruschian territory from rebel lands were covered by a high wall of rock. It was simple and might have taken only a few years to build. From there, Alana saw a wooden tower, similar to the one on the border of Tharcia.
As she approached, the sentinel stared curiously. Alana stopped a few yards short, glancing up at the tower.
“Help! I’ve been ambushed in the woods.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” a legionary asked.
“I’m a citizen of the Empire, wife of a citizen!” she claimed.
“Alright! Just keep riding north and you will find an iron gate, I’ll send someone to open it for you.”
“How long!” she said.
“It’s close, woman, keep riding until you see it.”
Alana nodded and guided the horse along the rocky wall, and she felt strangely welcome back in the Empire.
Chapter XXII - Phantom Hourglass
Florianus rode for three days in a company of two hundred cavalrymen and a hundred hoplites. They marched through the steppe until he saw those yurts and banners, extending for a long stretch of land beneath the dark evening sky. A bizarre spectacle comparable to termites ci
rcling around a hill. He felt as if he was being thrown back twenty years, when he first campaigned against the steppe barbarians. His heart pounded, and he could still hear the cries of his men, he could still feel the smell of blood and the dismembered bodies of the ones he cared about.
And there it was, as the sun set from whence he came, that was the land of the barbarians, the land of the wild men who bowed not to laws, but to savagery and warfare. Two barbarian riders saw them from afar and raced back to their villages, He was sure some kind of a defensive force would ride out to meet them. He, however, rode in the front, weaving a banner of peace high.
Three delegates rode out, accompanied by two warriors with long halberds. They raised their right hands in a sign of peace, and Florianus slowed down his trot, and stopped to meet them.
“Good evening,” Florianus greeted. “Men of the steppe. We come here looking for fugitives who are said to be hiding among you.”
The barbarians looked at each other.
“Fugitives?”
“Yes! They fled from our land, we are coming in peace, but require, on Imperial Orders, to retrieve them. They are dangerous and wicked.”
“You come in peace with an army behind you?” one of the men, with grey hair and an old armour said.
“This is just in case the protocol is not kept. As I have told you, I am looking for these fugitives, so it is best for you to cooperate, give them to me, and we shall go in peace.”
“Sir, on behalf of my people, let me welcome you,” said another one of them. He wore no bear, and had dark hair down to his shoulders. “We have those fugitives in custody, ready to be given to you.” He seemed so fat that it looked as if the mare he was mounting could collapse. He also looked familiar. Yes, Florianus had seen him months ago as an ambassador. He had done businesses with Larius.
The other man, however, narrowed his eyes.
“Excellent. Hand them over,” Floriauns said.
“Indeed,”
“Excuse me for the misunderstanding, good sire,” said the one with the grey hair and armour. “But they are our prisoners. The council has to decide their fate, so let us welcome you in our village, while we decide what to do.”
“Your prisoners? These men and women are wanted criminals in the Empire, and a hefty price is on their head.”
“A price, you say?” said the fat one.
“Indeed, very high. So, if you have these scoundrels alive, we have a high price to pay. Now hand them over immediately, and we may honour that agreement.”
“No,” the one in the dragon armour protested. “This is not right. Sir, you wait for us, this shall be done according to our law.”
“Krenos,” said the fat one. “Do not be foolish. Let’s just give these men what they want and be done with it.”
“The council will not allow it,” that grey-haired Krenos fellow said.
The fat man pursed his lips, and looked at Florianus with poisonous green eyes.
“Excuse us!” Ghabas exclaimed. “We will discuss it. I beg your forgiveness for making you wait like this, but we shall go back and inquire with our colleagues, if you may. Let me assure you that they will come to the most correct conclusion, they just need some working.”
The man in the dragon armour coughed, covering his mouth with his gauntlet.
The other two looked at Ghabas with pale faces and clenched teeth, perhaps offended at the fact that he was inviting an Itruschian leader.
“Now what?” asked Julianus, reining in his horse, trying to control it.
Florianus took a deep breath and extracted a small hourglass of his pocket.
“Listen,” Florianus said; they looked at him attentively. “I will give them thirteen minutes,” he said.
“Thirteen minutes?”
“Yes.” He held the hourglass upright, the upper and lower part were made of gold. He flipped it, and the sand started flowing slowly.
“And what will you do, if we refuse?” Krenos, the troublesome one, said, raising his chin in defiance.
“That you will see, now, prepare now, because time is already running.”
***
“What do you mean give it to them?” Hyrunne asked, hands on her waist, while the terracotta lantern shone inside the yurt. Six council members were gathered for an emergency assembly. Ghabas kept clenching his teeth, he had dealt with Larius, the previous Governor, and only once, but that one was different. He seemed more unpredictable.
“They are fugitives, they’ve always been!” Ghabas said. “They broke the law of their lands.”
“Did you just not hear their story? They were oppressed and murdered without provocation,” said Krenos.
“The Empire doesn’t act with no provocation,” Ghabas said, raising a shaky finger.
“Of course they do!” she said. “You’ve seen it again and again. Or, those children are right, you have betrayed us.”
“Listen,” Ghabas panted. “This is what’s best for our people, we cannot let them go empty handed, please, I just do not wish to provoke them.”
“What if we issue a bargain.”
“He said thirty minutes!” Ghabas said. “Please, let us give them the prisoners and be done with it.”
“A bargain, we cannot let our pride be trampled like that,” Krenos said.
Ghabas knew he should have acted faster, he should have focused his efforts on eliminating them, if he was the only one to survive, he would be the de facto leader. They did not know the only way to be at peace and guarantee the survival of their tribe was through deals with the Empire.
“Fine,” Ghabas said, breathing out. “What’s the bargain?”
“Donations!” an old council member said. “Of cattle.”
“You don’t understand, they need our cooperation,” Ghabas pleaded.
Ghabas shook his head and turned his back, grabbing one of the lanterns.
“Ghabas? Where are you going?” asked Krenos.
He did not answer. He rushed through the tents, running as fast as he could, heart pounding, and noticed the two youngest council members were chasing him. He had to get there first. Then, out from the main camp, he saw the tent where the prisoners were held, surrounded by soldiers.
“Soldiers!” he exclaimed, gasping for air. “Gather the prisoners, we’re taking them outside of the village.”
The soldiers looked at each other, confused.
“And where should we take them, sir?” said one, with an old rusty helmet on his head, illuminated by the fire behind him.
“Quickly!” Ghabas clapped their hands, and the soldiers acknowledged the order, marching inside the tent. Ghabas followed in.
Inside, the prisoners sat cross legged on the grassy floor still alive, although he had hoped the poison had already worked. They turned toward the guards. The light of a few oil lamps lightened the inner walls, and the eyes of the prisoners looked at them with awe.
They were not shackled, but the warriors’ spears gathered them in the centre of the tent.
“Get up,” Ghabas said.
“What is happening?” the tall boy with the green eyes said, standing up.
“We’re marching you out,” Ghabas uttered. “Deliver you where you belong.”
“What are you talking about?” the woman with almond-shaped eyes and scarred arms asked. Her tunic had been partly torn on the back.
“The Itruschian Empire is looking for you.”
“Stop!” Rushed steps echoed in the tent, and two young council members entered. “Do not move those prisoners, gather your weapons and leave only one soldier, we have to defend the village.”
The soldiers stared in confusion.
Then, when no one was looking, the black-haired woman sprung like a leopard and snatched away a soldier’s halberd. Soon, she was smashing it against the warrior’s skull. Her victim collapsed to the ground.
It was too late when the woman pulled out his dagger and passed it to
another fugitive.
***
Florianus stared at the hourglass, its white grains depositing in the bottom, its upper half almost empty.
“Get the riders ready,” he commanded. “We’re coming in.”
“Senator?” Julius raised an eyebrow and pulled on the reins of his horse.
“Listen to me!” He faced his cavalrymen. “These men have disobeyed our orders and defied our Sacred Empire. They favor and protect the fugitives that have caused so much problems in our land. Ares is our witness, that we offered them peace, and a time to prove their loyalty. Now, we shall purge the earth from their putrid stench. Stay close to me, and wait for my signal. If they attack, kill, notwithstanding women and children, but the prisoners, whom you know well, you shall take alive.”
Florianus raised his sword and spurred.
“Advance!” He spurred hard. His horse galloped toward the field, all his men following closely aligned and at high speed. They were not yet halfway to the camp when a buzzing alarm horn rang. Florianus laughed in his steed. For an instant he thought the Varalkians would send their noblemen to kneel and beg for forgiveness. But they wished to die, and so would it be.
Soon, they rode through the first yurts, where their residents scrambled, some running inside their pathetic tents, others trying to reach for the plains, the women with their colourful robes ran with children in hand.
The defensive units came out, too late, as Florianus could have ordered an attack and murder half the village in the time it took him to go. He pulled the reins of his horse, raising his hand so that the cavalry could assemble, similar to a phalanx formation, some of them posted in between yurts.
The enemy started forming, disorganized, mounted, with bows and arrows and armours as old as their horses.
“Where are the prisoners?” Florianus screamed, taking off his helmet as a sign of peace. He was going to give them a last chance. “Where are your leaders!”
A unit of Varalkian soldiers formed on the opposite side, about thirty riders with recurve bows and javelins.
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