Warhorn

by J Glenn Bauer

Caros was not concerned. “We’ll find something tomorrow. I thought I heard sheep bleating earlier. I’ll bet we come across a shepherd or village tomorrow. This area is good farmland.” He settled to sleep.

  “I expect I will take first watch then.” Neugen stated.

  Caros groaned. “What is there to guard against? We are in the wilderness!”

  “Humph, so are the Arvenci. They are out there, not to mention wolves and bear.”

  Caros sighed, “You are right of course. Wake me when you must. We will take spells.” He rolled over to warm his back and get some sleep. The past four days had been exhausting, and he was sure he was slurring his speech he was so tired.

  Neugen watched him quickly fall asleep and smiled. He was a quick learner and after seeing his bravery in a fight to the death, he had developed a huge respect for the young trader. He had heard Alfren speak of the fight with Alugra the previous night while Caros was off tending his mare. Alfren was taciturn and rarely gave praise so Neugen was stunned to hear the warrior extol Caros’ skill with a falcata while on horseback. Neugen suspected the Captain had hoped Caros would remain with the warriors. He was always looking to bolster the Bastetani numbers with good fighting men. It was as though he was preparing for an as yet unrealised war. So much had happened in the past years. Ever since Hamilcar Barca had come galloping into the world when Neugen was a boy. The horses grazed contentedly in the dark and Neugen listened to them tearing at the grass with a happy heart. Two mares! Bring on a good war now he thought. It was time to make a name for himself and gather a big purse of coin.

  The night passed into a brisk dawn. Song thrush began calling while it was still dark and a distant wolf cried into the dying night. The two men blew the embers awake and fed the small fire to heat some water in which they steeped leaves for a meagre breakfast. While they sipped the bitter tea, they watched the day slowly brighten. Caros had noted during the previous day that their packs had been packed too loose on the horses resulting in the contents clinking occasionally. He mentioned this to Neugen who looked thoughtful for a moment before he repacked his belonging more tightly ensuring there would be no sound. “Good point. Looks like we’re tracking three men. The last thing we need is for them to ambush us.”

  Caros worried at this thought and realised that this was a contest that left little margin for error. They were hunting experienced warriors, not deer or mountain goat. He would need to be alert at all times, covering Neugen as the tracker’s attention would be focused on the ground more often than not. “Is there any way we can get the jump on them instead?” He asked once they were mounted.

  Neugen shrugged, “I guess it depends on the lay of the land. We don’t know their destination so I can’t see how.”

  “How far ahead do you reckon they are, a full day?”

  Neugen considered, “I can’t tell from the tracks I’ve seen, but yes a day or more. They may have kept going through the night.”

  “Shit. How about if we pick up their trail then leapfrog and pick it up where we most likely think their tracks are leading? That may save time won’t it?” He was grasping, but something needed to be done to whittle away the lead the Arvenci had.

  Neugen nodded enthusiastically, “Great idea, not easy, but I’ve heard of trackers doing this when chasing down horse or deer.”

  “Excellent, since you are the point man I’ll follow on the established tracks while you head off to where you best judge they are heading. If you lose them you just pick up again from where I am and try again.”

  The two young riders moved out at first light following the trail as it sloped down towards the distant sea. They put their plan into action once the sun had lifted clear of the eastern horizon and daylight was established. Neugen gave Caros some pointers on tracking and then headed for a distant junction between two low, rocky hills. They lay like long mounds to the southeast and the junction bisected them neatly in the center. It was feasible the Arvenci had made for that intersection to avoid climbing over the hills. Caros walked his mare alongside the barely visible tracks, which were really no more than intermittent depressions, turned stones and very occasionally the partial imprint of a foot. He kept an eye on the surrounding landscape as well, trying to second-guess the Arvenci warriors. In the distance he watched Neugen reach the junction and begin casting for tracks. Caros was relieved to see Neugen almost immediately raise himself in his stirrups and wave to Caros. He had found the tracks again. Caros spurred the mare forward, bringing the other two horses along at a canter to catch up with Neugen who was already trotting through the short valley between the two hills. “That went well!” He said in delight when he reached the scouting Neugen.

  “Better than I’d hoped!” He pointed down once again the southeast, “Still seem to be heading that way. I’ll cut ahead again.” With that he headed off to repeat the process. By early afternoon the two men had covered a great distance and had only once been unsuccessful at cutting the tracks left by the Arvenci warriors. Backtracking a little, they had found where instead of continuing in the south-easterly route, the Arvenci had veered east. They were heading for the coast, that was now certain. The men could practically smell salt in the air, but they were still a day’s ride from any coastal town or port even. Neugen estimated they had closed the gap down to less than a few hours at the rate they had cut the tracks. He was bewildered that he had never considered tracking in this way before.

  The pair became more alert than ever as they closed the distance with their quarry. Caros wore his new armour and his shield hung at his left leg, ready to be lifted in a moment. His right hand held the deadly javelin, tipped with an iron point that would drive easily through light armour when well thrown. Their path brought them to a main road. This was well used and headed along the coast. Caros seemed to think the port town of Baria lay slightly north of them and many minor villages lay either way up or down this road. Neugen was casting for tracks up the road and Caros watched disconsolately. He was concerned the Arvenci using this road would be able to hide their tracks amongst the many others. Added to this he was really hungry. They had had little to eat in the past three days and none today. His stomach growled. Deciding that doing something would take his mind off the hunger he hobbled the two spare mounts at the roadside and then trotted his mare south in the opposite direction Neugen was tracking. A javelin rested across his thighs. His eyes sought out anything that may signal that the Arvenci had passed. A fresh sandal print, a warm campfire, fresh turds, anything! The dusty road wormed and threaded past open glades and stands of Strawberry trees. Ahead, a spur of rocky hill covered with tall sundried grass, prodded the beaten road and forced it to disappear from sight around it. Caros scanned the spur for movement and saw only a handful of half-wild sheep wearing their ragged tan fleece loosely. They were languid in the afternoon sun and barely glanced his way. Tracking the road with the spur hard on his right shoulder the land beyond the spur opened up again with a wide grassy glade.

  Caros spotted a wisp of smoke on the far side of the glade. It was almost too little to see having been broken up in its ascent through the canopy of a copse of oak. Caros thought he detected the barest scent of roasting mutton. Perhaps it was just hunger causing him to imagine the smell. He swept his eyes around the glade, but otherwise did not show any signs of his suspicion. Before him the road curled up and over a low hill. No travellers in sight. Yet in this deserted corner he sensed eyes upon him. He cursed the spur that hid him from Neugen’s view. He glanced at the road, but tracks on it were meaningless on the hard, bare ground. He deliberately gazed to his left where the country fell away to the azure sea in the distance. The breeze had shifted and the smell of sea air was strong. He still felt the hairs on his nape rise. He was certain there were people in the shadows of the copse. He urged the mare to a slow trot climbing the hill out of the glade. His eyes scanned the glade, but he consciously tried not to look too alert. He crested the hill and left the glade. He trotted the horse downhill till certa
in he could not be seen then brought her to a halt. What could he do? Ride back to Neugen or wait here for him. In either scenario the Arvenci, if it was in fact them, would realise they were hunting them. They could take flight again into the broken hills behind them and again Neugen and he would be forced to track them. Only then the advantage would be with the Arvenci as they could easily ambush the riders in the hills. Caros was not going to let them escape. This would end here today. There was another option and the more he thought it through the better it seemed.

  He loosened the falcata in its wool-lined sheath. He had one javelin, the rest were on the packhorses. He knotted his brow briefly at the mistake. He closed his eyes and visualised the glade before him. It was crescent shaped with a steep hill on the right and to the rear. The hill behind which he sat ran along the left and was the easiest of the three to climb. The glade itself was covered in tall yellow grass and seemed to be relatively flat. The copse of trees lay in the left rear corner. He could reach them in a short and furious gallop if needed, but didn’t think that would be necessary. He took a deep breath and hooked his left forearm into the shield straps, tightened his helmet and then with reins in his left hand and spear held upright he turned the mare and cantered back over the hill and down towards the glade. Instead of remaining on the road, he nudged the mare into the grass kept her cantering diagonally into the center of the glade.

  The copse of oak trees stood dark and heavy with presence on his left. He rode deliberately and calmly forward into the glade without looking at them until just beyond a javelin throw he finally brought the mare up and turned to the copse. Restlessly the mare pawed the ground, and nickered, sensing the peril. The Arvenci had slaughtered a sheep and had risked a small cooking fire up in the copse. They must have been starved and having a hard time being on foot. They should have made for a village instead, there were many along the road.

  Now Caros rose tall on his mount, “Arvenci! I am Caros! You have killed my family and stolen my property. Come out and fight!” He glared at the trees as his pulse quickened and rage built. He fed it, relying on it. If Neugen was right, there were three warriors in there and he would need fire in his loins. He expertly kept the mare dancing side to side. He sensed the display was important and lifted the javelin, iron barb pointing skywards. “I am here as the killer of Arvenci cowards! I, just one Bastetani. You have run far enough, now fight like true warriors!”

  Sound faded in the glade, the mare’s deep breaths came from far away. Caros saw shadows deepening beneath the oak trees. He lowered his javelin and trotted the horse well into the range of a javelin throw then turned and walked his horse back. He hefted the javelin and turned the mare right and halted. He deftly changed his grip on the javelin. He could now lift and hurl it in the blink of an eye. He turned his gaze and focused on the three warriors who appeared out of the dense shadows and into the sunlight. They kept well apart. These were no boys or first bloods; rather these were seasoned veterans who knew their craft. Their tunics were well padded beneath leather armour and they wore shields on their left arms and greaves on their limbs. Each man wielded a spear and from their waists hung the traditional stabbing sword. Caros took in their weapons and armour and then the men’s faces. Their long, dark hair was plaited and tied with leather and their beards were similarly long and plaited. Above their beards and moustaches their faces were painted red. The trio exuded menace. They strode forward slowly, surefooted, like the lynx on the prowl. They spread apart still further as they stalked, forming a battle crescent. Caros grunted, his anger and hate chewing up the fear that should have been flooding through him. Instead he felt his senses sharpening. This was the real thing. No surprise ambush and injured, bloodied axeman. These were cold, hard killers, and they had closed the gap silently and efficiently. The warrior on the right held his shield fractionally higher. His spear was held in a grip similar to Caros’. In a flash he would have his spear darting at his target. Caros didn’t turn the mare yet. Instead he looked the middle warrior in the eye. “I am Caros, son of Joaquim.” He smiled coldly at the warrior who kept coming forward. He made as though to speak again. “Today...” and then he moved, timing the mare’s ever shifting footfalls, until just the right moment when he could get her to explode to her left, not at the warrior most expecting the assault, but at the warrior in the center.

  With a whinny and yell, the horse and rider exploded from the grass in a cloud of dust. Caros had his arm up and over like lightning, using the horse below him to add momentum to his throw. He set the iron barb on its course. The wicked metal head would punch through shield and leather if thrown well from a galloping horse. Caros opted for a different target. The warrior froze for a split second at the attack, but reflexes kicked in and the shield rose. His left arm slightly flexed, tightened at the sudden charge from the young horseman. The shield rose up to cover his throat, chest and gut. The javelin barrelled through the heat of the afternoon, scored the slightest nick in the shield rim and then tore through skin, muscle and organ. It sliced these apart without visibly slowing and then struck a vertebra and shattered it. The warrior felt the explosion of fire through his lower left side, just above his hip and below the rim of his shield. He felt and heard his spine sliced apart. The resulting agony was beyond any scream could cope with. At thirty-six years, the man was a mature and powerful warrior. He knew his death was done well. He could not raise his spear arm and his knees began to buckle. He almost smiled as he saw what the boy-warrior’s plan was. It was a good plan. The last thing he saw was the mare’s chest and hooves and then he died, his body flung broken to the dirt at the impact with the mares broad chest.

  Like a lynx, Caros twisted his mare to charge the warrior on his left. This warrior, full of confidence a heartbeat ago, had now seen his comrade of twenty years die like a helpless child and was now under attack himself. He didn’t break and run. Instead he howled in fury and charged Caros. Caros grinned wickedly, his falcata already in his right hand. He drove the mare in a single leap at the enraged warrior and leaning far forward, sliced down. The warrior thrust his spear at the horseman’s leering face, striving to jam it deep down his throat and silence his war cry forever.

  The horseman was leaning low over the horse and had only a sword. He would ride onto the spear like a charging boar, except the falcata swung around and the warrior’s spearhead flew away. He met none of the expected resistance and it seemed he ran right into the mare, brandishing just a broken shaft. As he was thrown backwards from the impact with the charging horse, he saw the glint of a blade.

  Caros drove the blade through the spear shaft just behind the iron head with a downward stroke. He was mildly surprised the spear point didn’t quite reach his face. It did slide off his chest plate and nick the inside of his upper right arm. This did nothing to slow the arc of his sword arm as he brought the falcata back up in a backhand swing. The blade struck the already hurtling warrior in the center of his chin and split his lower jaw. The warrior was unconscious when he hit the ground. Caros tore forward, leaning low over the mare’s shoulder. At the appropriate moment he circled her around. At this point he was out of range of a spear throw from the remaining warrior. Caros trotted the blowing mare around, trampling the dry grass and dirt. He danced her to the side while watching the remaining warrior. The man crouched behind his round shield. His face was hideous in rage as he glared across the grass at Caros astride his mount. The warrior had his spear still. Caros had hoped the man would have hurled it as he attacked his two comrades or even fled after the second warrior had been felled. Besting this remaining warrior would take some considerable skill or luck. The warrior clearly had valour and presence of mind to resist fleeing. All element of surprise was now gone, the warrior held his shield at the ready, his right arm stretched behind him at an angle that suggested he would strike hard when he threw. Caros didn’t doubt what the man had in mind and he would be buggered if he would let that happen. Aim big, hit big. The Arvenci warrior would send his s
pear through his mare’s unprotected chest.

  Caros trotted the horse in a wide circle, beyond the distance his foe could hurl his war spear. His mind worked the odds and then his shadow fell between himself and the remaining Arvenci warrior. The sun now hung so low, that his shadow reached out across the trampled grass, almost to where the Arvenci warrior crouched behind his shield. Caros leapt from the mare’s back, rolled and came up, running. The startled horse careened off to the side of the glade. Caros screamed the same war cry he had first used just two days earlier. He held his shield before him, battering the dried husks of grass out of his way and keeping his sight unimpeded. His shadow fell on the warrior who had risen to his full, formidable height.

  The squinting Arvenci warrior at first thought that the rider had fallen accidentally from his mount. The way the rider rolled and sprang like a lynx to his feet, screaming his wild war cry, quickly dispelled this notion. He thought it strange the ground rumbled as the Bastetani charged him on foot, but thought nothing further of it. Now that the rider had dismounted, the Arvenci would use the spear against him just as the Greek mercenary had taught him long ago. He narrowed his focus to the charging warrior, his spear ready to thrust across the upper edge of his shield rim, into the Bastetani’s face.

  Caros felt the rumble of his heart and blood. He shouted his war cry incessantly as he sprinted across the field, his falcata held in an underhand grip. The distance diminished. The Arvenci’s mouth worked as he yelled his own war cry, but Caros heard nothing other than his own voice and pounding blood. He dropped his left shoulder into his shield in the final stride and drove it, like a battering ram, up into the Arvenci shield. Driven by momentum and his powerful thighs, Caros rammed the warrior’s shield up, knocking his spear thrust high and opening up the warrior’s front to the already striking falcata. The Arvenci regained his footing with a snort and grunt. Caros stood chest to chest with him. They glared deep into one another’s eyes for strained seconds, until the Arvenci brought his shield down on Caros’ helmeted head. It glanced harmlessly down the helmet and his back.