by Sandell Wall
Focus. You are a member of the Rune Guard, and so you must still do your duty.
That duty, for the time being, was survival. She steeled herself to the task at hand, thinking of her mother facing, and overcoming, similar challenges. When she approached the border fort she discovered why the enemy had made no effort to hide the evidence of the most recent battle. The garrison was lifeless, its mighty wooden gates smashed. Armored corpses were strewn about the interior, abandoned where they fell. She was not surprised, but she was disappointed and saddened. No help at the fort meant that she must continue on alone. Too exhausted to think about what to do next, she stumbled into the barracks, collapsed into an empty bed, and passed out.
Chapter 17
REMUS LAY ON THE earth floor of the cage, his cheek pressed to the ground. Cold seeped through the hard dirt and into his skin. Sleep had been long in coming, but he had dozed for several hours. Despite his weariness, his body would not let him relax into the deep slumber he desperately needed. He had been lying awake for about an hour now, listening to the trees. Their living silence was both fascinating and terrifying. The trees had presence.
He shuddered. The fear that had been held at bay during their trek through the forest finally caught up with him. Only Omen, who was sitting with his back against the outside of the enclosure and facing Remus, stopped Remus from breaking down. Instead, his chest shook with muffled sobs as tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.
Weakling. He still knows you’re crying.
Remus felt very small. At first, he would have given anything to return to Delgrath and spend the rest of his days as Holmgrim’s apprentice. But as that thought forced its way into his mind, the anger that had simmered since quitting the smithy started to burn hotter. In shock, he realized that he was furious with himself, at his own weakness. His breathing quickened as he chased that thought, pulling at the threads of insight, refusing to let go until he understood. No one else pushed him toward greatness, he demanded it of himself; the need burned like a fire within him. Why? Where did it come from? Why not just choose to be content?
Because the person who accepts happiness has given up.
With surprising clarity, it dawned on Remus that he had no frame of reference for happiness. He did not care about being happy, did not even know what it meant. In his short life he had pushed from one achievement to the next, hell-bent on proving himself no matter the cost. In Delgrath he had proven himself to everyone that mattered, but it was not enough. It was never enough. He disparaged each accomplishment, hating it and himself, concerned only with the next challenge. And then he understood. Self-loathing was power. He would never be happy with himself, and so he would never, ever quit.
His introspection had borne fruit, and with it came surprising strength and determination. Outrage at having cried coursed through him as the tears dried on his face.
You can quit. You can die here in the dirt, forgotten as just another casualty of war. Or you can be the master of your own fate, stand up, and try to survive.
Remus dragged himself to his feet. He ignored Omen’s penetrating gaze as he stumbled to stand in front of the gate of their prison. Through the wooden bars Remus watched the village. To his surprise, the buildings were swarming with people. The light of a hundred torches cast strange shadows against the huddled buildings. It looked to him like an army was returning from battle. Long lines of captives, chained as he had been, were marched towards the cages where Remus was held. The number of captured soldiers was staggering.
They must have taken a full century prisoner!
To his left and right long lines of identical timber cages faded into the darkness. There was more than enough room for a hundred legion soldiers. The rest of the men in Remus’s enclosure stood and watched as their comrades were unshackled and delivered to the same uncertain fate as prisoners of war.
A harsh voice barked out, and the throng parted to make way for an angry-looking barbarian escorting a bound soldier. As big as the barbarian leading him, the soldier was massive. Arms secured behind his back, the soldier was jerked along by a noose around his neck. Obviously wounded, the big soldier stumbled as his captor gave the rope a hard yank. With a grunt, the captive soldier dropped to his knees in front of Remus’s cage. Blood covered the man’s face, but his dark hair and immense size left no doubt in Remus’s mind. Brax had been captured. His thoughts jumped immediately to Aventine, and he felt a pang of worry as he hoped she was okay.
Brax looked up and noticed Remus on the other side of the bars. Recognition dawned in the big soldier’s eyes and he heaved against the rope around his neck, collapsing in the dirt. The barbarian stopped short, Brax’s dead weight refusing to budge. With a curse the barbarian turned to see what the problem was. When he saw Brax facedown in the dirt, he shouted and gave the tether a brutal jerk. Remus and the other prisoners lunged against the bars of the cage, shouting threats and daring the man to open the gate. Two dark-armored soldiers were overseeing the delivery of the prisoners; the disturbance attracted their attention.
An argument broke out between the two soldiers and the barbarian warrior. Remus’s best guess was that they were asking the warrior where he was taking the prisoner, and his response was that it was none of their damn business. The soldiers showed the same tenacity Remus had observed in Dour Face, never losing their calm, and never backing down. The barbarian, on the other hand, only grew angrier.
Finally, the barbarian screamed an obscenity or insult, and flung the rope lead at the two soldiers before storming off back into the village. Unperturbed, the soldiers freed Brax of his bonds and carried him by the shoulders into Remus’s cage. Almost gentle in their handling of him, they left Brax lying on his back before securing the cage and returning to their duties.
“Big blighter, ain’t he?” Omen said from where he sat. The scowling man had not moved when everyone else jumped to Brax’s defense.
Brax opened his eyes and sat up, the motion so quick that the prisoners who were leaning over him leaped back. Even though he was covered in blood, the Guardsman was not as injured as he appeared.
“What happened at the fort?” Brax said, looking at Remus.
He did not know why, but Remus had expected at least some small sympathy. The recognition in Brax’s eyes had not been one of companionship, but of identifying a source of information.
Remus swallowed his hurt and answered, “A small raiding party ambushed us after you entered the forest. Most of the Gladstone recruits that were left behind were captured. Sergeant Braston and a lieutenant from the fort were slain.”
“Damn,” Brax said as he got to his feet. “Damn. Does the fort still stand?”
“It did when we left it. They closed the gates and abandoned us outside.” Remus screwed up his courage and blurted, “Where’s Aventine?”
Brax looked at Remus out of the corner of his eye. “She’s alive. Beyond that, I don’t know. She was captured, but I helped her escape. In truth I exchanged myself for her. One of us needs to warn the emperor, and I’m better suited for infiltrating the wilds.”
Omen barked out a sharp laugh. “Infiltration? You call this infiltration?”
Brax turned to the man, paying attention to him for the first time. They locked eyes and glared at each other, both men trying to guess the other’s measure. “Interesting company you keep,” Brax finally said to Remus.
“What happened in the forest?” Remus said. “Where’s Gladstone Century?”
“We were betrayed. Gladstone Century engaged the enemy, and at the pivotal point of the battle Lorent and Trent turned and marched away. Centurion Durost is dead, and all around you is the remains of his century.” Brax gestured to the nearby cages that were quickly filling with captive legionnaires.
Remus tried to ask another question, but Brax stopped him. “Enough, boy. I’m not here to fill you in on everything you missed. Now if you don’t mind, I need to rest for an hour or two.”
The rebuff stung. Remus
did his best to not let it show on his face. Brax moved to the rear of the cage and sat with his back to the bars. Soon the big man’s eyes were closed and his breathing slowed.
With nothing better to do than wait, Remus sat and tried to piece together what must have happened to Aventine.
——
Somewhere in the night sleep claimed him. Remus awoke with a start when the first rays of daylight hit his face. He was slow to get to his feet. His body ached. The hard ground and awkward sleeping position had taken its toll. Around the cage the other prisoners still slumbered, only Brax and Omen were awake. Omen never looked tired, his eyes were always open and alert. Brax stood at the gate, inspecting the surroundings revealed by the dawn.
A flash of embarrassment and anger shot through Remus when he remembered Brax’s blunt dismissal last night. He resolved to not act like a child in front of the Guardsman, determined to carry himself like someone who deserved respect. So rather than mope, he approached the big soldier.
“What do you think they intend to do with us?” he said, standing next to Brax.
Brax glanced at Remus, eyebrows raised in surprise. He considered the question before answering. “Given how many of us they captured, and how diligent they have been in keeping us alive and whole, my guess is they want slaves.”
In the growing light Remus could see that their cage was one of many in a long line that stretched along the border of the village. Despite the recent additions, most of the pens were empty.
“There must be room for a thousand captives here,” he said.
“Aye,” Brax said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“The dark soldiers aren't human.”
Brax was quiet for a long time. “I know,” he said at last. He turned to look at Remus. “I’m going to have to leave you, boy. I can’t protect you out here. Our lives are cheap in the face of this threat. I have to find out who these strange soldiers are and why they attacked the empire.” After a heartbeat he added, “And why they need so many slaves.”
Remus swallowed, unsure what to say.
Brax saw the fear on Remus’s face and placed a giant hand on his shoulder. “Do whatever it takes to survive,” the Guardsman said. “As long as you draw breath, there is hope.”
Remus nodded, feeling the bleakness of the situation for the first time. Somehow his list of fears had not included slavery.
Brax turned to the gate and bellowed something in the language of the barbarians. Tongue-tied, Remus tried to recover from his shock. “You speak their language?” he finally managed to get out, trying not to shout.
The big soldier nodded, but did not speak or look at him. One of the nearby guards, a soldier in sleek black armor that looked like the exoskeleton of an insect, came to investigate the source of the shout. The guard challenged Brax, and the Guardsman answered in the same language. Obviously surprised, the guard fired questions at Brax, who had a ready answer for every query. When he had run out of questions, the guard turned and walked as fast as he could into the village. It was the first time Remus had seen one of the grey men agitated.
Omen hissed from behind them, and then said, “Traitor! Sir Lorent was right. You lead us into a trap and now you’re going to waltz out of here and look like the sodding hero.”
Brax turned around so fast that Remus recoiled, startled by the movement. Omen jumped up just as fast, feet spread wide and ready to fight.
“Without your blasted runes you’re mortal like the rest of us,” Omen said with a sneer.
“I don’t have time for this,” Brax said.
“You’re going to rot in here with the rest of us,” Omen said, lunging forward.
Brax jabbed with his left hand, forcing the smaller man to duck under the strike. Omen moved with the confidence and poise of an experienced fighter, but when he ducked the left, Brax’s open right hand was waiting. Fingers of steel locked around Omen’s throat and Brax throttled the man with one hand. Huge muscles bunched in Brax’s back and shoulders as he lifted Omen off the ground—only the tips of the man’s toes dragged in the dirt.
“If you attack me again, I’ll rip your throat out,” Brax said.
Omen gagged, incapable of speech or breath. Brax held him for a count of thirty, and then when Omen’s body started to spasm, tossed him against the far wall of the prison as casually as Remus would discard a broken tool. Remus winced as Omen slammed into the wide-set wooden bars. On his hands and knees, Omen retched, gulping down air. Brax turned back towards the gate, waiting for the approaching guard who had returned with Dour Face.
Dour Face paused in front of the cage, looking at Brax and then at the struggling Omen with calm curiosity. Remus got the impression that the man missed nothing. Dour Face and Brax inspected each other, the grey soldier content to wait and watch. Brax broke the silence and talked for a long time in the barbarian tongue. Pleading his case, Remus guessed. Remus watched Dour Face and was surprised to see the man’s countenance harden as Brax talked. It was the first reaction he had seen from the grey commander.
What the blazes is Brax telling him?
When Brax finished speaking, Dour Face gave a curt nod and ordered the guard to open the cage and let Brax out. They made no effort to bind him.
“Arse-faced traitor,” Omen said between wheezes, still at the back of the cage. “You chose the wrong friends, boy.”
Before Remus could respond, a long procession of people emerged from the village and approached the wooden pens. All of the men in Remus’s enclosure stood to watch, curious, and more than a little afraid. Brax and Pikon paused just outside the cage, waiting for the newcomers to approach.
The mob of people organized itself into groups of two as they neared the prisoners. One pair per cage, each duo was composed of a man and woman, both barbarians. It was the first female barbarian Remus had ever seen.
Only slightly shorter and lighter than their men, the women were all taller and heavier than Remus. Fierce in their beauty, the women sported thick and lustrous hair that was either unkempt and wild, or tied back in huge braids. For a companion, each woman was accompanied by an armed guard in full leather armor. These guards stood watch as the women entered the cages.
The woman who approached Remus’s cage looked young, but she moved with confidence and strength. She had long, light brown hair that was trying to escape from a single thick braid. Pikon stopped her outside the cage and they exchanged words. She looked at Brax, who spoke to her as well, and then she reached into the large satchel she carried on her hip and withdrew salve and bandages. With expert hands, she treated and bound Brax’s wounds.
When she was finished, Brax spoke to Remus. “This is Tethana. She will tend to your wounds. Treat her with respect.”
Tethana entered the cage while Pikon and Brax walked away towards the village. Calm and focused, her eyes were the gentlest Remus had ever seen. Clad in a simple leather skirt and roughspun tunic, she moved about the cage without fear. She noticed Remus’s bloody leg and motioned for him to sit down. Once he was seated, she removed ointment and dressing from her pack and proceeded to clean and bandage his wound. Tethana might be young, but she worked like an expert physician. Remus sighed in delight. The relief was instant.
When Tethana’s intent was clear, the other men waited meekly for their turn. She moved through the captives, treating scrapes, cuts, and even the serious wounds of the men dying in the back. While she worked, her guardian stood outside the cage, silent and motionless. Several cages down, Remus heard a commotion, followed by terrified shouts. He watched as a prisoner was wrestled from the enclosure and executed on the spot by the guard.
“Guess we can’t touch the women,” Omen said. He sneered when Remus looked at him.
Finished with her work, Tethana moved to leave the cage. As she passed Remus she looked at him, looked right into his eyes. She held his gaze for a heartbeat. The unexpected attention sent a jolt through Remus. Before he could react, she spoke to her guardian. Her warden unlock
ed the gate and let her out. And as suddenly as they had appeared, the healers and their escorts were gone.
“What in the name of the bleedin’ emperor?” one of the captives said. “Do they want us healthy for their torture?”
“We’re not going to be tortured,” Remus said. “A healthy slave is a productive slave.”
“Slave? Who said anything about slaves?” the man said, his voice growing desperate. As the realization dawned on him, he moaned. “If I hadn't signed up for the blasted Legion, I’d still be home in the empire.”
Remus did not respond. The man would accept the situation and adapt, or not. Nothing Remus could say would help. He sat back and waited to see what would happen next. The sun rose in the sky and peaked at midday and still nothing happened. Food was delivered when the healers left, but after that no one from the village so much as glanced at the prisoners. Omen sulked, staying as far away from Remus as he could in the small space. Around dusk, there was finally movement from the village.
A crew of the dark soldiers carried wooden racks of weapons into the open area between the cages and the buildings. They used long wooden poles to draw giant circles in the hard-packed dirt in front of each enclosure.
Worried, Remus and the other men watched, trying to guess the purpose of the work.
“Sparring. They’re setting up sparring circles,” said a man to Remus’s right.
“Huh,” Remus grunted. “They don’t want laborers; they want fighters.”