Ironroot tote-2

by S. J. A. Turney

  Petrus smiled.

  “You always were a charmer! Alright then.”

  He settled back against the wall and uncorked a bottle from a narrow stone shelf.

  “I’ve been here a few weeks now.”

  “Start at the beginning” grumbled Varro. “Like the bit about how you don’t die?”

  “Oh I should have died,” Petrus answered lightly. “That bastard Cristus would be a lot happier. I gather he’s some sort of hero for saving the fort from a barbarian horde these days?”

  Varro nodded. “Prefect for over a decade now.”

  Petrus gave a humourless laugh. “Prefect! Indeed. Well even back when he was still captain Cristus, there was something going on. The bastard was building up some sort of personal group of supporters inside his cohort. I’ve the feeling he was thinking he might be able to push for higher office. I saw it happening over weeks, months even; good men being brushed aside and given shit duty while his favourite lackeys got preferential treatment. But there wasn’t much I could do about it. You and me were Sabian’s men, see? He’d never put his trust in us. But still, what harm could it really do me?”

  Varro glanced round at his companions and was surprised to see a look of abject fury pasted across Salonius’ features. The young man was incensed. He turned his attention back to his cousin.

  “So what happened?”

  “You remember the reports of the Clianii attacking Saravis? We were sent to relieve the garrison. When we got here there was no garrison. The fort had been overrun pretty much without a fight. Don’t ask me how, but I suspect Cristus had even organised that somehow. The garrison was down to a few dozen men hiding out in the land around the fort. There were a couple of small breach points in the walls, but not enough to cause the fort to fall. Cristus put those of us who were out of favour to work on the walls, repairing the structure. As senior sergeant I was left in charge of the work detail.”

  “And what did his favourites do?” Salonius’ voice was thick with contempt.

  “He took an honour guard and rode up the valley to meet with the chieftain of the Clianii. He was gone for a whole day. To be honest, those of us busy repairing the fort were hoping they’d dealt with him for good. We were starting to get our spirits back. The next morning we’d pretty much repaired the walls. We were putting the finishing touches to it after a day and a night’s exertions. We had guards and pickets out of course…”

  “But?”

  “But they were looking for barbarians…”

  “What?”

  “Cristus’ personal sycophant army returned early in the morning. They arrived at the camp, with no sign of the captain. Cristus’ cohort guard sergeant told me we were dismissed and could get some rest. That annoyed me. I outranked the little weasel. That should have been a warning really. We all turned in for a rest.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Next think I know, I’m being woken at sword point by some Clianii bastard with a wide grin. They were all over the fort. We were marched out into the open; all of us who’d stayed behind on the work party. We were marched out to the parade ground and chained together like prisoners of war. And all the time it was happening, Cristus was sat there on the wall, with the bloody chieftain, drinking and laughing. And all his favourites lounging around and watching us get marched off.”

  Salonius’ grinding teeth were audible in the quiet as he stopped. Varro sat staring at his cousin in abject shock. Catilina was shaking her head gently.

  “You don’t believe me, Varro? You think he’s some kind of honourable war hero? Why are his men chasing you down then?”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Varro replied slowly. “Really it isn’t. I wouldn’t put anything past Cristus and the more I learn about him the less I’m inclined to think of him as my superior. So you’ve been where these past fourteen years? Cristus killed the Clianii off…”

  He slapped his head.

  “He covered his tracks; and his own arse! He wiped out the tribe. He did a deal with them. Probably got more cash than the Gods, got his fame and his promotion and then went back and exterminated the whole damn tribe to cover himself!”

  “Better than that,” Catilina interjected. “He lost more than a cohort during that punitive mission. That nearly cost him his new job, those high casualties. I’d be willing to bet that not a man who’d been at Saravis Fork survived that campaign.”

  Varro nodded.

  “Very neat. He plays half an army off against the other, makes a deal with barbarians, then kills both the barbarians and the army off and walks away rich and clean. If I didn’t hate the bastard so much, I’d have to admire him!”

  Petrus leaned back and took another swig of wine.

  “We were all put to work logging and mining. By the time the winter was over the conditions had killed most of us. There were maybe a score of us left and we were the strong ones. We’d tried to escape many times, but when you’re in Clianii lands in the deep mountains where can you run to? Every time we got caught we were tortured. By spring those of us left were too weak to work in the forests or mines, so the Clianii sold us on to another tribe further out. Good thing really, I suppose. Six months later the Clianii had been exterminated and we’d have gone with them if we’d still been there.”

  “So where have you been since then?”

  “I was put in the fields for some smaller tribe along the mountains a ways. I wasn’t much use in the fields and I think my time was nearly up pretty quick, but then they discovered I could read. That changed things. Within a year I had my own hut, fire and food. I taught the whole tribe, boys and men and women. They never quite put me in a position where I could run, though. That only came a few weeks ago.”

  “Well?” Catilina urged.

  “That’s really not relevant to the main issue, Catilina!”

  “I want to know, Petrus.”

  “Alright, I was sent out with the chieftain’s younger son and a couple of guards. We were going to buy paper from another tribe for more lessons, but the boy had something to do while we were there. Well on the way, his horse threw him. Poor sod’s back was broken on impact. He’d have been dead in a few minutes. Both the guards ran to help him. Well I didn’t. I just ran. Kicked my horse and rode south and west until the beast nearly died of exhaustion. Got back to Saravis to find everything all peaceful and nice. Still had the bag of coins to buy paper. Worth a lot to some of these tribes, so I’ve been living here for weeks waiting for you.”

  Varro nodded. “How did you get a soldier to come find me? And why didn’t you come?”

  “Stupid cousin! I couldn’t come on my own! I may have changed a bit, but what do you think would have happened if I turned up at Cristus’ fort and knocked on the door asking for you? The soldier was a deserter. He’d been on a four day drinking binge and decided that going back to the fort would be a death sentence. I offered him an alternative. He’s not known elsewhere and the money I gave him would have kept him drunk for a few weeks.”

  Varro shook his head sadly.

  “He should have stayed here and taken his punishment. Poor bastard was stabbed half a dozen times near Crow Hill.”

  “So what do we do now?” Petrus held his cousin’s gaze.

  “We go see Sabian. He should be safely holed up back at Vengen. He’s the man who’ll deal with all of this. We need to get to Vengen as fast as we can.”

  “Agreed.” He sighed. “I guess we’ll have to steal a few horses then.”

  Varro nodded and, clutching his bloody waist and wincing, slowly opened the door onto the wide cellar room. The four of them piled out, Varro and Catilina carrying their saddles and personal bags, Salonius following along behind, laden with his own kit and his companions’ saddle bags. Petrus watched the stocky young man, under his burden, climb the steps to the stable with surprising ease. He raised an eyebrow but made no comment. As he emerged from the stairway, Petrus walked across the room to the stable boy. The young lad smile
d curiously at him and the scarred veteran withdrew a pouch from his tunic. He gave it a shake so that it jingled. There were maybe half a dozen coins still in it of different denominations. Ah well. He tossed the bag to the boy, whose eyes opened wide.

  “Take it and piss off for about fifteen minutes lad, eh?”

  The boy needed no further encouragement. A swift nod and he disappeared into the building.

  Varro and his companions had already taken a quick glance into the stalls and selected three horses. As Petrus chose his own and nonchalantly lifted the owner’s saddle from the peg, the other three strapped their own saddles and kit to their stolen steeds. Less than a minute later, the four fugitives led their horses from the stable doorway and onto the grass bank. As they mounted up, Petrus pointed behind the next house.

  “If we follow the embankment, it takes you most of the way to the edge of the town without going out onto the streets, but we’ll have to do a bit of classy riding. There’s back garden fences and two orchards on the route. Still, better than going out onto the street, eh?”

  Catilina gave him an encouraging grin and kicked her horse into a trot.

  The four riders emerged from among the last houses in the town and dropped out onto the road in relative privacy. Barring three children playing with a dog and a woman hanging out washing they were alone. Varro shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, now beginning to disappear behind the highest peaks out to the west, and peered into the distance up the road.

  “Two men on foot. We could outrun them.”

  Catilina shook her head.

  “Not this time, Varro. They’re enemies. Pure and simple.”

  “Ok then,” Varro sighed and drew his sword. “But you’re getting out of danger. You and Petrus wait here while Salonius and I deal with them.”

  The stocky young soldier nodded sagely, but Petrus glared at him.

  “I think I’ve earned this, Varro!”

  Salonius looked across at Varro and after a moment’s pause, the captain nodded. Salonius passed his sword to Petrus and walked his horse across to join Catilina. The two sat and watched as the cousins kicked their horses into a gallop, swords at their side, ready to swing.

  “I’d not be the man to get between Petrus and an enemy,” he said to the beautiful woman by his side. I swear I heard him growling as he went.

  “He’s got good reason. But then I suppose we all have. Come on, let’s go…”

  Chapter Nine

  The four companions rode at a steady speed down the valley as they had done for many hours now, through the night and on into the dawn. They had ridden hard past the Imperial way station at the head of the valley in case enough of the garrison remained on alert to hinder them, though not a sound issued from the walls as they thundered past. Likely a skeleton staff remained there at best.

  Salonius glanced across at Petrus with a curious look on his face, something of a mix of awe and horror. The disfigured ex-soldier had dispatched the man at the edge of the village with such awful violence and swift simplicity. The young soldier had given the combat as wide a berth as the road would allow but had been unable to avoid seeing the mess that had been the man’s face. Petrus had only delivered two blows, but Salonius would have bet good money that the guard had been dead before the second one landed. He realised he was staring and, focusing, realised that Petrus was looking directly back at him with his one good eye.

  “Something the matter, lad?”

  “No.” Salonius tried to control the shiver as he thought once more of that guard’s jaw, hanging loosely from one side of his face.

  “You ever been in a fight, lad?”

  Salonius ignored the question and sat silently for a moment before turning back to him.

  “I don’t like the idea of having to kill Imperial soldiers, no matter what the reason. It just seems wrong.”

  Petrus hauled on his reins and pulled alongside his young companion. Salonius turned once more to face forward. Were they not riding hard to stay ahead of potential enemies from the Saravis Fork fort and headed to Vengen to denounce a traitor in the army, he could have enjoyed this ride. The day was turning out bright and warm, accompanied by the constant hum of bees and chattering of birds and the smell of fragrant wildflowers. The valley was widening all the time as they descended toward the northern plains. Varro and Catilina had peeled off a short while ago and were riding together on the other side of the valley, deep in conversation, leaving the scarred veteran and the young soldier to ride together. At this proximity, Salonius became once more aware of the faint aroma of stale beer that clung to Petrus.

  “Try getting screwed and left for dead by them,” the scarred man said flatly. “I think you’ll change your tune.”

  “Huh!”

  Salonius knew he was being unfair to his new companion. Petrus had every right and every reason in the world to mistrust and hate. The man had lived in hell for a decade because of these traitors. He had been a senior sergeant in the army and was cousin to Varro; a man with a position of power and responsibility. And yet there was something about him that Salonius couldn’t quite put his finger on but didn’t like; something that made him uneasy. Oh, Petrus wasn’t a part of Cristus’ conspiracy, for certain; nothing like that. But he was too quick to act with violence, perhaps? A risk? A loose blade that could damage anyone around him? He became aware that Petrus was watching him with that one piercing eye and turned to meet that gaze.

  “I know you’ve been betrayed and hurt by your own. I understand that you must feel hollow and vengeful and I can see why you’d turn to your cousin for help. But I also know that people who are driven by revenge and blood can be dangerous to be around. Varro will tell you a bit about that when we stop, I’m sure, but just remember that when you throw a stone, you cause ripples. And if the ripples are big enough they sink ships.”

  Petrus continued to stare at him, but the look about his eye had changed; softened somehow. Salonius gave him a sad and weary smile.

  “Be careful you don’t sink your friends.”

  Petrus’ one eye bored into him for a moment longer and then he turned away.

  “Varro was right to choose you, lad. I knew you were strong when I saw you, but you’re sharp too.”

  He scanned the valley as he had done every few minutes since they’d begun their ride and then turned back to Salonius.

  “Are your eyes as sharp as your mind?”

  “What?” The young man started.

  “Behind us. A couple of miles, perhaps?”

  Salonius craned his neck and peered into the distance.

  “Shit!”

  “How many d’you see?” the older man asked, his voice low.

  “A dozen at least.”

  Petrus frowned and turned again.

  “You are sharp! I’d only seen one group. So: two groups of six riders. One on each side of the valley. And that likely means there’ll be more coming behind them on the road. These are just outriders to hem us in.”

  Salonius nodded.

  “I know what they’re doing. They’ll try and outpace us in the next hour or two.”

  He pointed to the river rushing and gurgling along to their right.

  “That river crosses to the other side of the valley a few miles ahead in a little village. There’s a bridge in the square and that’s the only safe place to cross unless you ride up the slope. If they can get there ahead of us, they can stop us at the bridge. We won’t have time to turn back and get up the slope and that other bunch that you’re talking about will come up on us from behind. I thought we were staying way ahead of them, but they’re playing us into a trap.”

  Petrus grumbled and snapped his head round to glance back once again.

  “That could work both ways, though.”

  “What do you mean?” Salonius frowned.

  “If a dozen of them try to stop us at the bridge, they’d best be good. They may have us pinned down, but we’ll have them all in one place too.”


  “Are you mad?” Salonius glared at him. “I’ve just got through telling you not to put people in danger!”

  Petrus growled and fixed him once again with that unnerving cyclopean stare.

  “They’re already in danger, boy, and you know that. But Varro and I are good at what we do, and I have a feeling that you are, too. And at a bridge they lose their advantage in numbers. I’m guessing they’ll not be able to get more than four on the bridge at a time. And if they’re just following orders, they’ve more to lose than us, so we gain the advantage, you see?”

  Salonius glared at him for some time and finally, with a sigh, he nodded.

  “You’re right, of course. Unless we swing out and go up the sides of the valley ourselves.”

  Petrus shook his head.

  “No point. We’d only stay a little ahead of them and they’d still be chasing us. We need to deal with this bunch before any more get here.”

  He placed his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Salonius stared at him.

  “They’ll hear you!”

  “No they won’t,” the scarred man replied, wiping his fingers on his tunic. “They’re riding horses a couple of miles away, and it wasn’t that loud.”

  Across the valley, Varro and Catilina had turned their horses and were making for the road at the centre. With a nod to Salonius, Petrus did the same. The four riders converged a few hundred yards further on, just as the floor of the valley crested and took a sudden dip. Laid out before them perhaps five miles away was the village with the narrow stone bridge. An involuntary shudder went through Salonius as he remembered the events that took place there a few days ago.

  “Pursuit?” Varro’s voice was flat; a statement, not a question. Petrus nodded.

  “We reckon about a dozen for now. The lad thinks they’re going to cut us off at the village and that more will be coming down from behind.”