Fort Covenant_Tales of the Seventh

by Marc Edelheit

  After a long, hard day, it was always a relief to shed the heavy deadweight of the armor. Once off, Stiger never tired of marveling at feeling light as a feather. Removing his helmet, Stiger smiled at that thought as he leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree. It would be nice to remove his armor. Unfortunately, there was no time for that. Besides, he was too tired to even try. Tiro had said rest and so Stiger closed his eyes, welcoming sleep.

  “Sir.” A hand shook his shoulder.

  Stiger blinked several times, attempting to focus. Varus was bent over him, peering into his face.

  “Corporal?” Stiger cracked his neck as he straightened. It felt like he had just closed his eyes.

  “It’s been a little over an hour, sir,” Varus said. There was a concerned note in his voice, which, despite Stiger’s exhaustion, alerted him to possible trouble.

  “Right,” Stiger said and held out a hand.

  Varus hauled him to his feet.

  “Gods,” Stiger moaned softly, “I am really sore. I feel worse than after I’ve practiced hand-to-hand with Tiro. Everything seems to ache.”

  The corporal gave Stiger a grim smile and held out a small bundle wrapped in a towel. Stiger took it and unwrapped it, revealing a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese. Despite his concern for potential trouble, his stomach rumbled at the sight.

  “Thank you,” Stiger said.

  “Courtesy of the Rivan, sir,” Varus said. “Our thanks should go to them.”

  A gust of cooler air from the hills blew into the valley, driving the thick, acrid smoke up, out, and through the trees. Stiger coughed, as did a number of others. In thirty heartbeats the wind slackened and the air cleared.

  “I’d expected the fire to have died down a little,” Stiger said, taking a bite of his bread and chewing slowly.

  “About that,” Varus said, with a strained look that caused Stiger to pause mid-chew before completing the motion and swallowing. “The wind has picked up considerably. I think a storm is comin’, but, well, it’s not here yet. The fire has spread to the forest and is climbing up the ridge, sir.”

  “What?” Stiger took several hasty steps and peered over the edge. He could see orange flames sixty yards down the slope, smoke roiling skyward. He had no doubt the fire was climbing the slope as Varus had said. Stiger’s hands clenched into fists. “Well, isn’t that just fantastic. Not only did I set the valley on fire, now I’ve started a forest fire.”

  Varus stepped up next to him and jerked his head toward the fire. “Your first time, sir?”

  Stiger scrutinized his corporal, wondering if Varus was serious. The corporal did not look to be joking, so Stiger said nothing, unclenching his hands.

  “In the Wilds, we started a few fires to flush our enemy out of the trees and bramble,” Varus said as a fresh gust of wind carried thick, choking smoke their way. Stiger and Varus took a step back. “‘Course, the trick is you have to watch which way the wind is blowing before starting the fires, sir.”

  “The wind is blowing our way,” Stiger said unhappily.

  “It is,” Varus said. “We just need to move farther south is all before the flames catch up to us, sir. With how dry things are, that fire will climb the ridge and sweep over the top. We will be forced south and maybe a little to the east, judging by the wind.”

  “We need to go west.” Stiger seethed with frustration. He kicked at a dried pile of leaves that had fallen on the forest floor, scattering them.

  “Sometimes life gives you sour grapes, sir,” Varus said. “It’s what I think they make cheap wine with.”

  Stiger glared at Varus, then deflated as his anger left him in a rush. Stiger rubbed his eyes a moment, not quite believing his poor luck. Fortune was a fickle bitch and the gods were clearly toying with him today.

  Stiger let go a breath. He had to work with the poor dice that had been handed to him. There was no point in raging further.

  “Where is Tiro?”

  “Sleeping, sir,” Varus said, pointing to where the sergeant was slumped against a tree, surrounded by dozing legionaries. “I was about to wake him.”

  Stiger shot a quick glance around at his men. Nearly everyone was asleep. The heavily loaded mules had been secured to trees. Not liking the cloying stench of smoke, the mules fidgeted about, stamping their hooves and braying, but surprisingly did not pull at their ropes. Only Bren and Varus were awake and had clearly been standing watch. Stiger wrapped his bread and cheese back up in the towel before dropping the bundle into his empty haversack.

  “Wake the company,” Stiger ordered curtly. “Everyone gets some food. Then we set off. They can eat on the move.”

  “Yes, sir,” Varus said.

  Stiger moved over to Tiro and shook the veteran’s shoulder.

  “On your feet,” Varus called out harshly from behind. “Up, you lovely bastards. Nap time’s over. Come on. Get on your feet.”

  “Sir?” Tiro blinked several times, focusing on Stiger.

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to loaf all morning,” Varus called, kicking at a legionary who had not moved. “You joined the infantry, not the bloody navy. Get on your feet before you make me angry.”

  Tiro reached out an arm and Stiger pulled him to his feet. All around them, groaning men were dragging themselves up.

  “The fire is climbing up the ridge,” Stiger said.

  “That’s not good,” Tiro said, stretching. Another cloud of smoke blew around them. Both Tiro and Stiger coughed. It passed. They could now plainly hear the crackling fire.

  “The wind has picked up,” Stiger said. “It’s helping to fan the flames our way. I don’t think we will be able to skirt the valley like I planned and avoid the fire. We have thirty to forty minutes before the flames reach our position.”

  “Perhaps I was little hasty suggesting we rest, sir.” Tiro cast a worried look in the direction of the valley.

  “No,” Stiger said. “You were right. The company was blown, and so was I. We had to stop.”

  “In the Wilds,” Tiro said, “I’ve had the misfortune to be in the middle of a forest fire, and it ain’t a good place to be. What do you want to do, sir?”

  “How far do you reckon it is to the road?”

  “A quarter mile to a half, maybe a little more.” Tiro’s forehead creased. “Are you thinking of taking it now?”

  “I am,” Stiger said. “If we continue south and stay in the forest, our pace will be slowed and the fire may catch up to us.”

  “You are hoping to reach the road,” Tiro said, “then follow it and gain ground on the fire?”

  “Once on the road, we should be able to outpace the fire,” Stiger said. “We march hard on the road a dozen or more miles south, then cut west into the forest and move back towards the Third. That is, assuming we can outrace the fire.”

  “It makes sense to me, sir,” Tiro said with a glance in the direction of the valley, where thick clouds of smoke driven by a gust of wind were billowing up into the brightening sky. A loud crash signified the falling of a tree somewhere down-slope. This was almost immediately followed by a roaring of flame, the tops of which they could see. “Perhaps we should get a move on.”

  “Bren.” Stiger called the scout over. “Go along the ridge,” he pointed, “find the road, and determine if the enemy is there. We are going to use the road to outpace the fire.”

  “If it is clear of the enemy, sir,” Bren said, “do you want me to wait for you or continue south on the road?”

  “Yes, wait for us,” Stiger said. “Aronus can go forward after that.”

  “I can keep goin’, sir,” Bren protested, a pained expression on his craggy face.

  “I am sure you can,” Stiger said. “But I will need you later when we plunge back into the forest. Better to have you fresh, eh? Now, go on and get going. We don’t have much time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bren said and started off, in moments disappearing into the trees.

  “Form up!” Stiger shouted.
Another tree cracked loudly as it went down. The roaring of the fire grew louder. “Form up!”

  Chapter Six

  “How are you?” Stiger asked, kneeling next to the litter. He almost sighed with relief at being able to rest. His legs not only burned, but shook slightly.

  “Tolerable, sir,” Legionary Cavius said, sweat beading on his brow.

  His armor had been removed and he wore only his tunic. Cavius was clearly in a lot of pain and struggled to conceal it from his superior. He trembled as if it were cold. The litter he rested upon was a makeshift affair, constructed using two tent poles and heavy weatherproofed canvas hastily cut from a tent. Cavius’s litter had been dragged behind one of the mules.

  Since the company had stopped for an extended break, the litter had been detached and laid on the ground, providing the wounded legionary a break from the uncomfortable jostling and bouncing that Stiger was sure had been an agonizing experience.

  “Tiro says your wound was a clean cut,” Stiger said, patting Cavius on the shoulder. A bandage was tied tightly around the left leg. Blood had seeped through to stain the outer side. “He assures me you should be back up and on your feet in no time.”

  “As soon as the sergeant lets me, sir,” Cavius said. “Being hauled along like this is not all it’s cracked up to be. But it sure beats being left behind.”

  “I’d not leave you, or anyone else,” Stiger said.

  “I appreciate that, sir. I saw what the enemy did to the prisoners,” Cavius said. He nodded over to the left.

  The seven freed auxiliaries were just a few feet away. Like everyone else, they were exhausted and run down. Bruises and black eyes were evidence of their time spent in captivity.

  Stiger’s gaze lingered upon the seven. After being liberated, each had retrieved his chainmail armor and an assortment of weapons. Four had armed themselves with bows and short swords. The other three carried only swords and small round shields.

  Stiger’s eyes roved along the road, where the company was strung out on both sides. Men had dropped to the ground. Most had fallen into an instant sleep. A few sat and ate, looking despondent with exhaustion. Corporal Varus was moving down from the front of the column, checking the mules to make sure the supplies were secure and the animals tethered. Sergeant Tiro was farther down the road, speaking with Bren. A moment later, Bren gave a firm nod and set off scouting ahead.

  “All the more reason to leave no one behind,” Stiger said, turning back to Cavius.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Focus on rest and healing,” Stiger said.

  Ash began to fall again like snow. Stiger coughed, throat dry and hoarse from the smoke. He had pushed his company hard trying to gain as much ground as possible on the blaze. At the pace he had set, Stiger figured they were now several miles from the fire. At least, he hoped so.

  An ugly pall of smoke hung overhead, obscuring the sun and creating near-twilight conditions. Stiger looked off to the west and into the trees. Had he felt confident enough, he would have plunged into the forest. However, judging from the ash fall, the fire behind them was growing in scope and intensity. He felt a need to put some serious distance between himself and the blaze before turning west. The only way to accomplish that was to march hard along the road.

  With luck, the enemy was behind them and not to the front.

  “I want you to focus on getting better,” Stiger said, making an effort to reinforce his earlier statement. “No pushing it. Just lie back and enjoy the ride. You will be marching along with the rest of us soon enough.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cavius replied, as if Stiger had given him an order, which, in effect, he had.

  Stiger squeezed Cavius on the shoulder before standing. His legs protested, and it took effort to keep from groaning.

  Stiger strode over to where the auxiliaries were resting alongside the road, clustered about the trunk of an old oak. One saw him approaching and made to stand. Stiger waved him and the others back down.

  “Do you men need anything?” Stiger asked the auxiliaries.

  “No, sir,” one of the men said as the others shook their heads. “We’re just grateful you rescued us.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ubid,” the man said.

  “What unit were you with?”

  “The Sixth Hannish Cohort,” Ubid said. “We was light infantry, sir.”

  “I see,” Stiger said. “I would appreciate you telling me what happened. How did you come into the hands of the enemy?”

  Ubid glanced nervously around and swallowed before working up the nerve to speak. Stiger well understood the man’s concern. An entire auxiliary cohort had been lost, complete with her standards. The punishment for losing a standard was severe and could result in the execution of any survivors. Before they had departed, Tiro had ordered a search of the enemy’s camp. It had proven fruitless.

  “We was captured, sir,” Ubid said. “Farms were being raided by bandits about ten miles north of the garrison. A few families were burned out. The captain marched the cohort to chase them off. We thought nothin’ of it at the time. Well, we was ambushed right good by the Rivan.”

  “Sir.” One of the other auxiliaries stood. “There was no warning. They attacked us on the road in a heavily forested area. They hit from both sides at once. It was a slaughter. Our cohort never stood a chance, sir.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dergo, sir.”

  Stiger was silent a moment as he considered what they had told him.

  “I am curious,” Stiger said. “Can you tell me, how did the fort fall? Surely your captain left a reserve? He would not have taken the entire cohort with him when he marched, would he?”

  “I don’t know how the fort fell, sir,” Dergo said. “Lieutenant Aggar was left behind with forty men as a garrison.”

  Stiger’s eyes narrowed as he looked from face to face. Each shook his head in turn.

  “Did you see Aggar being held prisoner?” Stiger said, eager to hear what they had to say on the subject. “Or his body?”

  “No, sir,” Dergo said.

  Stiger felt himself frown. “How about any of the men who were left with him?”

  Dergo glanced around at his companions and then back at Stiger. “No, sir. We didn’t see them, nor even their bodies. Which is strange, now that you mention it.”

  “So,” Stiger said, thinking it through aloud, “they may have escaped then?”

  “It is possible, sir,” Dergo said. “Though I doubt they would get far if they did hoof it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, a force of enemy cavalry rode through the valley the day you attacked and rescued us,” Dergo said. “We were being held outside. I saw them as they rode by and counted. Around one hundred strong.”

  “You mean cavalry is ahead of us on this road?”

  Dergo gave a nod.

  “The scouts . . . ” Stiger said, thinking back to Bren’s report, “have seen no evidence of a large body of cavalry, or for that matter even infantry, using this road.”

  In fact, the more Stiger thought on it, if Aggar had abandoned his post and fled, he had not taken this road. Bren and Aronus would have seen evidence of their exodus. They must have gone elsewhere or been killed when the Rivan company had taken possession of the fort. It was possible that the rescued auxiliaries had simply not seen their bodies.

  “They might have taken the road to the Becket Plantation,” Ubid said.

  “That could have been where they went.” Dergo nodded in agreement.

  “Where is that?” Stiger asked. He could not recall seeing any other roads on the map.

  “A mile to that way.” Dergo pointed and swung his arm around in an arc. “It starts at the western end of the valley and goes for five or six miles, then wraps around and connects to this here road farther up a ways. The Becket Plantation is off of it.”

  “I take it the plantation is a large one?”

  “Aye, sir,” Dergo sai
d. “Largest in the region, with over two hundred slaves. Occasionally we are called upon to chase down those that up and run off.”

  Stiger was silent as he absorbed this, pleased with the information he had learned so far.

  “Tell me about the enemy army.”

  “What army?” Dergo’s forehead scrunched up.

  “The Rivan army marching this way.” Stiger was surprised they had not heard of it yet, even from his own men.

  “We did not know,” Dergo said, looking suddenly nervous. “The enemy didn’t say anything to us, only asked us questions.”

  Stiger changed the subject. “Can you use those bows?” He gestured at one leaning against the trunk of the tree.

  “Yes, sir.” Dergo picked up the weapon as if it were an old friend. “These are our bows. The enemy took ‘em when we were captured. You show me an enemy you want dead and I will shoot him for you.”

  Stiger turned at the crunch of footsteps behind him and saw Tiro. Stiger looked over the auxiliaries again and then at his men resting along both sides of the road. Thanks to the late Captain Cethegus, the Seventh was a shadow of her former strength.

  “Sergeant,” Stiger said to Tiro, “have these men entered into the company books.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tiro turned to the auxiliaries, flashing a broad smile. “Welcome to the Seventh, you maggots.”

  “Truly?” Dergo seemed shocked, almost as if he had not heard correctly. “You’re making us all legionaries?”

  “No punishment, sir?” Ubid asked, a guarded yet hopeful expression crossing his face.

  “No punishment,” Stiger said. “When you complete your service, you will be entitled to Mal’Zeelan citizenship.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dergo said, which was immediately followed by an enthusiastic chorus from the others. “We won’t let you down none.”

  “I expect not. Work hard and serve the empire to the best of your ability,” Stiger said. “In return, I promise I will be fair with you in my dealings.”