by Ellis Knox
Avitus was ten feet behind, still on his donkey.
“The beast was too stupid to run.” His voice was strained and his dark face was pale. “That was an earthquake from the gods, wasn’t it?”
Julian almost shuddered at knowing Avitus was all right.
“I don’t think that was from the gods,” he said.
“The sorcerers? I think I’d rather have the gods. It’s too frightening to think these barbarians can shake the earth.”
“Wondrous, Avi, but not frightening. They’re a weapon, a force, the same way the Legion is. But did you see that one fellow? It was early in the fight. He made it rain?”
“I did see. Rain around himself.”
“Right. About fifty feet around him, a gentle rain and nothing more. Then he ran off the field.”
“I didn’t see that.”
“I think he was trying for more.”
“I should hope so!”
“Yes, but he couldn’t manage it.” Julian frowned a little, then shrugged. “I shall ask Inglena about this. Maybe not all the rixen are blade wielders and earth shakers.”
A rider careened to a stop in front.
“Compliments of Captain Ennius, sir.”
“Yes, trooper?”
“We got all them shits.”
Julian could not keep a smile from his face. “An eloquent report, trooper. Are you quoting the Captain?”
The man’s face fell. “Er, no sir, not at all. I got a bit excited, you see.” He looked down at his hands holding the reins of his horse. “Sorry.”
“I’ll overlook it this time. Next time, do try to give your commander a bit more information. Off you go, and tell your Captain well done.”
The cavalryman snapped to attention. “Yes, sir,” he clipped, then rode off as if pursued.
Julian suddenly felt at loose ends. There was suddenly nothing to do. What is a General’s task after a battle, he wondered. One thing was sure: he needed to find another way to fight these creatures. There had been too many losses.
“Avi, find Ursinus, give the order to set camp near the village. And Avi.”
“Yes, master?”
“I want a list of the dead. Name and cohort.”
Avitus gave him a long look, then nodded. “Yes, master.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Allies
That evening the first Dacians arrived. They were from the village by the river and had witnessed the battle. They besought the great Roman General to take them under his protective hand. He referred the delegation of elders to Inglena and thought no more about it.
The next day came reports of Therving warriors, stragglers from the debacle on the Pyretus River, or else just strays from the countryside. None came to the Roman General and he thought no more of them either. He had other matters on his mind.
He visited the wounded. He viewed the dead and witnessed their funeral pyre—he would not leave bodies behind for the monsters to dig up. Afterward, he walked the battlefield, despite the stench and the entreaties of Avitus. Julian paced off sections, measuring and thinking. When Avitus asked why, Julian would only say he was working and needed silence. After hours of this, he finally returned to camp, where he summoned Inglena, Marcus Salvius, and Captain Ennius to a conference.
“Won’t you sit, please?” Julian said as he occupied the only bench in the tent.
Marcus offered the one chair to Inglena, who accepted it with a small smile. Ennius grabbed a stool and grinned. Marcus sat on the other stool. Avitus stood beside the table.
“First, my congratulations to all on a battle well fought.” Neither officer caught his gaze. “We will do better next time. Before we get to that, I have a question for the Princess.”
“About the ground shaking,” she said with a nod.
“Ah, well, that too, but this question is about rain.”
All three looked at him with puzzled expressions.
“It didn’t rain, sir,” Ennius said.
“Oh, but it did, though only on a few heads. And quite gently.”
“You speak of Pekar,” Inglena said.
“If he brought down a pleasant drizzle then retired from the fight, then Pekar is whom I mean.”
“He is a good fighter,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.
“Don’t be defensive. I presumed he could fight or else he’d have been with the civilians. What happened to him?”
Inglena bit at her lower lip.
“He is not a coward.”
“Of course not,” Marcus said, “no one here thinks that.”
She sighed. “Sometimes,” she spoke slowly, “we have trouble. A thing we could do yesterday, we cannot do today.”
“Or the other way round,” Julian said, “like your earthquake man.”
“Yes, like him.” She uncrossed her arms and spoke more freely. “Our magic sometimes works, sometimes not.”
“Oh, gods and under-gods,” Ennius said beneath his breath.
“And sometimes what happens is new. We are always learning.”
Julian considered this a moment. He spoke to his two officers. “It appears, gentlemen, we have a weapon, but it doesn’t always work.”
“Or works too well,” Ennius said, his pale face darkening.
“I am sorry for the men you lost,” Inglena said.
“It happens,” Marcus said. He leaned forward. “In the confusion of battle.”
“Not from earthquakes,” Ennius said. His face flushed red.
“The magic brought victory,” Julian said, “and victories are not won without price.”
Ennius glowered. “We cannot afford too many more victories. Sir.” He turned to Marcus. “I am sorry, brother. I know you lost men as well.”
Marcus waved it away.
“We have lost too many,” Julian agreed, “and I have something to say on that score, but first I need to hear more from the Princess. If the Captain will oblige.”
Ennius rocked back on his stool. “Of course, sir. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Be honest, but show respect. We’ll leave apologies for city life.”
Ennius gave a curt nod.
“Now, then,” Julian said, turning to Inglena, “my officers are right. Your magicians are a bow that sometimes works but sometimes shoots a broken arrow.”
“Sometimes lightning bolts,” Inglena said, and she set her jaw.
Julian chuckled. “Indeed. But we don’t know which or when.”
Her jaw unclenched. “No.”
“How do you fight like this?”
“Not as you do,” she said. “We catch them by surprise, most times. We attack from this side or that, from above, from hiding. Goblins do not understand stealth.”
“And your broken arrows?”
“General?”
“What happens when magic fails?”
“That one goes to safety. The rest fight.”
“Like Pekar?”
“Yes, like him.”
“Very well,” Julian said. “Gentlemen, I have thought on this since the battle and I have a proposal. Do you agree we shall likely have to fight these things again?”
Both men nodded.
“You agree also that we cannot continue to sustain this loss, so here is my proposal. Rather, here are my orders.”
He stood and went to the table. Ennius and Marcus stood as well. Julian picked up a bag that leaned against one leg of the table, opened it, and dumped the contents onto the table.
“Sticks?” Ennius said to no one in particular.
A pile of twigs lay on the table now, along with three small stones. Ignoring Ennius, Julian set about arranging them into a square pattern, five across, five down. He placed the stones at the sides.
“This is us,” Julian said. “Come closer, Inglena, this concerns you as well.”
“It’s first formation,” Marcus said.
“Exactly so, Tribune,” Julian said. “Traditional Roman formation, with cavalry here,” he indicated one stone
, then the other, “and our new allies here.” He looked up at them. “And what happened during the fight? I shall demonstrate.”
He picked up the largest of the three stones. He moved it in hops across the table. “The enemy advances,” he said, then lifted the stone up. “The enemy strikes.”
With that he struck downward, sending twigs flying, breaking a few.
“Right over our heads, didn’t they? We never imagined they might do such a thing, though we ought to have guessed they might. That was my fault. I’d seen them.”
“As had I,” Ennius said softly.
“I’m the commander,” Julian said. “No matter. The formation is a poor choice against goblins. So are the other formations, for they all depend on us packing men together in bulk. We are going to employ a different approach.”
He took a moment to rearrange the twigs into three long rows with a wide space between the second and third. One stone sat in front of the lines, one on the left side, while the third was again in his hand.
“Here are the rixen, out front of our lines.”
“Skirmishers,” Ennius said.
“Just so. They will do their sorcery and it will be effective or it won’t. As the goblins get close, the rixen must withdrawn to the right flank, where they will continue to fight. Keep any goblins from getting around us.”
Inglena nodded. “We fight this way. Not in … what was the word?”
“Formation.”
“That. We do not fight as Romans.”
Julian indicated the table again.
“The goblins attack.” His hand leaped. “But these two ranks have shields up—first rank lowered, second rank covering above.”
“Like a testudo,” Marcus said.
“What is …?” Inglena asked.
“Testudo. Tortoise. We make a shell with our shields.”
Inglena smiled. “A turtle.”
“Tortoise,” Marcus sniffed. “A turtle’s shell is soft.”
“The goblins hit the shields, or they jump right on over. Either way, what they don’t do is crash into the midst of our men. They crash between.” He placed the stone between the second and third ranks. “Then it’s spear-and-sword work. Cut ‘em down.”
Marcus grinned, white teeth showing in the black beard. “This is good. The men already know the drill for the testudo. It’s a different formation, but the idea is the same. They’ll learn it quick.”
“It’s old-fashioned, I know,” Julian said. “The formation of the old Greeks, in a way.”
“What about the cavalry,” Ennius asked.
“Hold the left. I’ll try to keep the left flank well away from the fighting.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t sound so aggrieved. I keep the cavalry because you’ll be needed. Goblins have no formations, no lines to break, not even a flank to turn. You saw them. But once their attack is disrupted, I intend not to let them flee. No survivors, Captain.”
Ennius nodded and flashed a hungry grin.
“Inglena, your people can fight however they wish, but they must learn a thing. A bugle call.”
“Why?”
“When they hear four short, one long, repeated, they must pull back to the right flank. Can they learn that?”
“Yes, General. We are not children.”
“No, I did not suppose you were. But in battle one’s hearing is sometimes … faulty.”
“They will learn.”
“I can give a day for drill in the new formation.”
“The Julian Formation?” Ennius said, smiling.
“Don’t be foolish,” Julian said. “Give it a number, like the rest. And a field signal. One day to learn. This will give the wounded another day to get stronger, but then we must leave.”
“I cannot. More rixen are coming.”
“You said yourself we can’t rely on their magic. Why should I wait for more warriors on whom I can’t rely?”
“Please, I must wait for Leuva. Most of my people are with her. I called her here. To leave now would be shameful.”
“To stay risks another battle,” Julian said.
“I cannot leave without her.”
“And I will not stay beyond another day.” He looked steadily into her eyes. “You have a decision to make, Princess Inglena.”
Inglena walked the circuit of her camp as the last colors of day faded into darkness. Her people had spent it with the Romans, learning Julian’s new battle formation. That went well enough, but as yet there was no sign of Leuva. The Romans would leave tomorrow at sunrise. She stamped as she walked, as if she would crush her worries.
She was angry at Julian because he was harassing her about leaving. She was angry at Leuva for being late. The old woman should have been here by now, with the rest of the Exiled. More than once she had wondered if Leuva would choose to take the Exiled and flee, rather than risk fighting a Horde. And more than once she had reassured herself: she is my mentor, she loves me, she would not abandon me.
She was angry, too, at the Dacians, her uninvited allies. For two days they kept showing up, always in small groups. The Romans would not house them, for they built their fortresses only large enough to hold themselves. So the Dacians, farmers and shepherds mostly, were simply lying about, clustering around family campfires. Already some were begging food.
Most of all, she was angry at herself—angry because she had believed too much in the Romans, too much even in her own people. She would be better off alone.
She stumbled over that thought, for even as she thought it, the image of the Roman Tribune came into her mind. Marcus Salvius. The good Roman, as she thought of him. In contrast with General Metellus, the irritating Roman.
And now she was angry again, that she should be thinking of men and romance at so critical a moment. That it should even occur to her, when it stemmed from a few looks, a few words, and a moment under the stars. She forced her thoughts immediate matters, deciding she would do something about these wretched Dacians. Get them organized into a single camp.
The rixen arrived not long after. She did not wait to gather a welcome party, but went straight to her own horse, riding him bareback at a canter, her black hair flowing like a raven’s wing behind her. The rixen—her people!—approached from the northeast under a clear sky, a caravan of small carts flanked by riders on both side. Her heart stirred as she rode. These were all the camps, or she hoped it was so; she had never seen them all in one place. There are hundreds of us, she thought, even a thousand. My own legion.
She spied Leuva, riding out front, her gray hair matching the color of her horse. She rode perfectly erect, bouncing a little. The journey must have been hard on her old bones.
“Leuva!” Inglena called as she neared, waving a hand high, “you made it! What took you so long?” Ninny, she scolded herself, the first thing you say is a reproach?
Leuva’s horse shied a little at Inglena’s reckless approach, but Inglena wheeled and fell quickly into step.
“Inglena,” the old woman said, “I see you found your Roman.”
“I did. They are not so many as I’d hoped, but they fight well. We fought twice already, once in the hills and once here. No goblins survived.” She was proud of that.
“Hmph,” was Leuva’s only comment. Inglena ignored the disapproving tone.
“Is this truly everyone? It stirs my heart to see we are so many.”
“We are all who came,” Leuva said. “Not everyone chooses to follow your path. I waited as long as I could.”
“It was almost too long,” Inglena said, still in high spirits. “The Romans leave at dawn.”
“Had we not arrived, would you have gone with them?” Leuva asked this quietly, but her sidelong look glinted like mica in the setting sun.
“Of course not!” She looked at the old woman, hurt by the question. “Though it would be foolish to sit here alone, don’t you think?”
“Foolish to have come here in the first place, if you ask me,” Leuva said. “W
hich you didn’t.”
“If you felt that way, why did you even come?”
“I could not stay. Goblins are overrunning the hills, now that the Tribes have been scattered.”
Inglena blanched. She knew this must be the case, but Leuva’s words brought up memories of long rides through pine and hemlock, or beneath the spatulate shadows of chestnut trees. Hunting goblins, to be sure, but one pack at a time. She imagined those same glades, the ground ripped by heavy claws, stained black with the blood of her people. No more tribes. It was unthinkable, like imagining no more stars. Leuva spoke again.
“I would not stay, because of what you are doing. I hoped to persuade you, even now. You are my favorite grief, girl.”
Inglena refused to smile. She used to like the phrase, liked thinking of herself as a rebel, but liking even better to be Leuva’s favorite. Leuva watched her in silence for a moment, then spoke again.
“Do you still plan to follow the foreigners?”
“You know I do. Oh, Leuva, can we not argue, just for a while? All the Exiled are gathered. Let us be happy for that!”
Leuva nodded, but no more than that. Inglena kicked at her horse to tell that wretched General her people had come.
Julian eased himself onto the bench and leaned back. The heavy, perpetually wet leather of the tent sagged, but held.
“I’m tired, Avi,” he said, “and I’m tired of being tired.”
Avitus looked him over briefly. “Perhaps we can rest at that barbarian town,” he said. Here, at least cover up. I got you one of those enormous furs the Thervings use.”
Julian all but disappeared under a huge blanket. Avitus arranged it with care. He was about to ask about food when the tent opened. A guard looked in.
“Your pardon, General.”
The pile of furs groaned. The soldier hesitated. Avitus tried to wave him away. The soldier merely looked even more unsure.
“What?” Avitus snapped.
“Another band of Thervings arrived. A big one. There’s a fellow says he’s their chief, or maybe it was king. Name of Thrasimund or some such.”
“So?”
“And that other one’s on her way, that witch-queen.”