Clearly I was still hallucinating. Of course, a few hours later I began to doubt that, and in retrospect I’m now totally convinced of the reality of the situation; or at least the reality of it to me. But nothing prepares you to wake from fuddled sleep and find yourself staring deep into the eyes of a stag.
Needless to say, my first reaction was to turn my head this way and that, convinced that this was some trick of the light or reaction to Scortius’ medicine in my brain. Evidently the early morning sunlight streaming in through the glass panes of my room, squeezed to a sliver by the heavy drapes, was colliding with the many dust motes and creating a vision my battered subconscious had forced into the shape of a stag.
Yet as I turned my head and squinted, the creature was still there. I think I chuckled to myself as I struggled off the couch and my feet touched the tiled floor, sending a cold throb through them. I pulled myself upright with little pain and stood, swaying slightly. I remember the smell. I didn’t notice it at the time, but later conversations brought it flooding back to me. The scent of a forest. The mulched leaves and pine needles.
I reached forward, fully expecting either for my hand to pass through the beast like a fog, or to wake with a start and realise that I’d still been asleep. I felt a shudder pass through me as my fingers brushed the fine white hair of the creature’s nose. I had read stories of unwary hunters being gored by the antlers of even small stags, and yet this was no ordinary stag and no ordinary circumstance. In fact, this was impossible, I told myself again.
And yet for some reason it felt right. And more important than that, whereas the previous day I’d felt panic and horror, fear and anger, at that moment I felt none of those. On the first morning of my remaining days as a condemned man, what I actually felt was peace. And not just peace; peculiarly, peace and hope. Peace was a feeling I hadn’t felt in so long it almost floored me with its intensity. An absence of fear and anger.
Cernus had bestowed something indefinable upon me; or possibly removed it from me.
All I can truly tell you is that the stag snorted very gently and as I felt the warm breath brush my face, all I felt was happiness. Without really understanding why, I returned to the couch and lay down, drifting into a pleasant sleep with a smile on my face.
I dreamt of white stags, of glittering swords and, finally, of Catilina.
Chapter Four
Corda sat in the cohort’s small and austere command office within the headquarters building. Behind him, the unit’s raven and boar standards and pay chest sat, protected by a thick iron-grille gate to which only three people had a key. There was only one seat in the room, positioned behind a sturdy table commonly used for maps, charts, unit strength reports, rosters, casualty lists and the like. The commanding officer’s chair. Corda would habitually, as the cohort’s second in command, stand slightly behind and to one side of the seated Varro while the other various sergeants and lower non-commissioned officers would stand at attention while briefed. It seemed wrong to be sitting in Varro’s chair. He considered resuming his usual place but quickly put that aside. As temporary commander, he had to be seen to be acting as such, with full authority.
He leaned forward across the table with a sigh. This was not how he had pictured the victorious return from campaign. This morning was going to be difficult for everyone.
A knock at the heavy wooden door was followed a moment later by a click, and the door swung in to admit one of the two fort guard stationed permanently outside this important room.
“Your visitor’s here, sir.”
Corda nodded solemnly. “Show him in.”
The sergeant scratched his full beard and glanced down at the empty desk. It still seemed wrong.
The solid, stocky, youthful figure of Salonius appeared in the doorway, saluted and stepped inside.
“Close the door,” Corda said quietly.
As the portal clicked shut, the two men waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior, lit only by the two small windows high in the outer wall and an oil lamp burning in an alcove opposite.
“You’re Salonius.” A statement; not a question.
“Yes, sir. Formerly second catapult torsion engineer, currently attached to the command guard,” Salonius replied with a clear voice.
Corda’s brow furrowed.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Sir?” Salonius seemed genuinely surprised, Corda noted. Youth with all its innocence.
The sergeant cleared his throat slowly.
“You had been seconded to the command guard for all of an hour when you became involved in a fistfight with three of your fellow guardsmen. This is not the sort of behaviour we expect from the command guard. What do you have to say?”
Salonius straightened, a hard look flattening his features.
“With respect sir, that was a matter of personal principal and was before I had officially reported for guard duty on my first parade.”
“Regardless,” Corda pressed, “I want to know what happened. Who initiated the fight?”
Salonius raised his chin and fixed his eyes on a spot high on the rear wall.
“I forget, sir.”
Corda sighed.
“I’m not on a witch hunt here, lad, but I can’t have the command guard involved in that sort of thing. They are supposed to represent the highest quality of soldiery in the cohort. Tell me something. Just something.”
“Sir, I was promoted from a basic green engineer to one of the most prestigious posts in the cohort. There would have to be some ‘settling in’ if you see what I mean, sergeant.”
“Yes,” Corda growled. “You settled one of them into the medical tent.”
He sighed.
“So you do want to stay in the guard, then?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why?” Corda leaned forward over the table and steepled his fingers.
“Because it’s an honour, sir.”
The sergeant frowned and closed his eyes for a moment.
“The problem is, Salonius, that the other guards don’t like you. They’ll never like you because you came from the engineers, not through the infantry ranks. They will always consider you a young upstart, and the fact that you stood up for yourself could just as easily turn around and make them hate you as make them respect you.”
Salonius nodded. “With all due respect, sir, I’m willing to take the risk.”
“Well I’m not.” Corda sighed and leaned back in the chair. As the young engineer stared at him open-mouthed, he cleared his throat once more.
“Salonius, the captain selected you specifically for a role close to him. There are any number of more qualified men for the post, even if we were short of guards, which we’re not. And while he’s an exceptionally fair and good man, the captain is not soft in the head and he wouldn’t promote someone unfitting without having a good reason. So there seems to me to be an excellent solution presenting itself here.”
“Sir?”
“I am temporarily, but for as long as is necessary, assuming full command of the cohort.”
Salonius’ stiff stance faltered for a moment, and Corda nodded.
“It’s true. I don’t like it any more than you appear to. But for the time being it’s necessary. The captain is currently unable to resume his position, and so it becomes my job. This means that I will now have the command guard assigned to me. In theory I should post a detachment of them to assist and protect the captain, but that’s not going to happen.”
Corda watched the young man with sharp eyes. He may be little more than a boy, but there was something about him. He was short, but strong and brave enough to take on three bigger and more experienced soldiers and now, as he stood in the low light of the headquarters, Corda could see the lad’s mind racing, piecing things together. He smiled.
“Go on, lad…”
“Well sir,” Salonius said quietly, “the captain’s wound isn’t bad enough to keep him away from his post for any length of time,
especially while we’re in quarters. And, well, I don’t like to listen to rumour, but…”
“Go on…”
“Well, I heard the captain was taken to the hospital last night. And that the marshal actually visited his house last night. And I was in the quartermaster’s office last night finalising my kit change when you came in asking for a list of all the military salvage from the battlefield.”
“And…” Corda prompted.
“I’m not sure sir, and I apologise for my bluntness, but there’s something going on; something you’re not telling me, and something I think you’re keeping from the rest of the cohort too.”
Corda nodded.
“Sharp. I can see why the captain wanted you in the guard. But the fact remains that I don’t. I don’t want to spend half my time separating you and the other soldiers. And I don’t want you ending up knifed in the latrines one night. But I don’t want you to slide back into the engineers either; I suspect you were being wasted there.”
Salonius nodded. He could see where this was going.
The sergeant sat up straight and unfolded his arms. “I want you to report to the captain’s house. He might want to brief you on the situation straight away, or he might prefer to wait until I get there. I have a few things to do, but I shaln’t be far behind you.”
He rose from the chair and straightened.
“You’ll retain your new rank, pay, uniform and all benefits, but I’m assigning you on detached duty to the captain himself. You know where his house is?”
Salonius shook his head slightly.
“No, sir, but I can find it.”
“Good.” Corda stepped round the table and reached out, grasping the younger man by the shoulder. “Get going and tell the captain that I’ll meet you there when I’ve got the morning briefing out of the way.”
Salonius saluted and, turning, unlatched the door and strode out into the morning sunshine. The captain’s house would be close and easy to find. As he stepped between the guards at the door and out into the street, he noted the sergeant of the command guard, followed by all the senior officers of the cohort, marching along the street toward the cohort office.
Stepping respectfully to one side, he hurried across the main square toward the two senior officer’s houses that lay between him and the cohort’s barrack blocks. A swift glance at the house to his left revealed a tile cemented into the wall next to the door with FC. Fortress command; wrong house. A few steps across the thoroughfare and the tile on the house opposite read IIC; commander of the second cohort. Salonius stepped up to the door and knocked firmly.
The door was opened by the captain’s body servant, Martis. The older man gave Salonius a shrewd once-over and then stepped aside without a word. The young guard took a tentative step inside and glanced around. Captain Varro sat in the main room in his tunic and breeches, cradling a bronze cup in his hands and staring down into the contents, seemingly deep in thought. Stepping stiff backed into the room, Salonius came to attention and cleared his throat.
Varro looked up from his cup and frowned.
“Soldier?”
There was something in his tone, Salonius thought, but couldn’t identify what it was.
“Reporting under orders of sergeant Corda, sir,” he announced.
There was clearly something bothering the captain and Salonius realised he himself had an indescribable itch beneath the skin. Risking breaking his attentive stance, he cast his eyes momentarily about the room and sniffed deeply. The room had a peculiar smell; an old smell that he remembered from the days of his youth all those years ago in that village on the edge of the Northern Woods. A smell of wet forest and disturbed undergrowth had been badly masked with some kind of fragrance. In the old days they’d have burned some herbs over the fire in the centre of the room to remove the smell. Someone… Martis, he suspected, had burned a scented oil throughout the house and then opened the windows to drive the combined thick, cloying scent out on the breeze. It had largely worked, but Salonius knew something Martis didn’t.
He smiled nervously.
Varro grunted and took a sip of his heated drink, a wisp of steam wafting up into the air-chilled room. A faint hint of lemon accompanied the steam, adding to the already complex aroma of the room. The captain leaned back.
“Relax, Salonius. I’m off duty for one thing, and for another I actually hold no active rank at all currently.”
“Respectfully, sir” the young guard replied, remaining straight, “you are my superior officer and I am reporting under the orders of the acting captain.”
Varro smiled. A strange smile that Salonius couldn’t quite work out.
“Very well then. At ease, soldier.” The captain sighed. “And that can be an order if you like.”
Salonius shrugged and settled into a more comfortable stance.
“You seem in an odd mood, if I may say, sir?”
It was impertinent, and he knew it, but something was bothering the captain, and something was bothering him too; the same thing, he was sure. He took a deep breath.
“It may not be possible, sir, but it still happens.”
Varro looked up sharply.
“What?”
“A visit? An encounter, sir?”
Varro carefully placed his cup down on the small table and looked past the guard’s head.
“Martis. Go to the shop and get me some wine.”
The stocky servant nodded silently and, collecting a small bag of coins from a drawer in the cabinet by the door, ducked outside and disappeared out into the morning light, leaving the door to swing shut with a click.
“Tell me what you mean, Salonius. And knock off the inferior officer stuff. This is important…”
Salonius stepped forward and the captain gestured at a seat near the window. The guard placed his helmet on the cabinet and sat carefully, making sure his sword sheath hung neatly to one side of the chair.
“Cernus sir,” the young man replied earnestly. “You spoke briefly of him after the battle. It struck me as strange then, you not being one of the folk, if you pardon the expression sir?”
Varro waved that aside and leaned forward, listening intently.
“Well, sir,” Salonius went on, “it’s almost unheard of for someone outside our people to see Cernus in the flesh, so to speak, sir. I presume you’d seen him before the battle?”
Varro nodded, saying nothing.
“And you saw him again last night, sir?”
“Last night… this morning. When I woke. I thought I was dreaming. But how do you know all this?” the captain queried, his brow furrowing.
Salonius shrugged. “I can smell it. Honestly, sir, I can virtually feel it. I don’t know whether any of your servants or friends here would notice, but I know the signs sir. No amount of spiced oil is going to hide that scent.”
Varro’s frown deepened. “You speak from experience.”
The young man nodded.
“Tell me…” the captain urged.
Salonius squared his shoulders.
“I’ve seen him twice sir. Both times have changed my life. Cernus is a Lord of Portents. To see the stag himself is to be given a portent; a herald of things changing. Something for you will change. I can’t speak for what you saw sir, but my first vision was pretty clear.”
He smiled, wistfully, his eyes glazing slightly with the memory.
“I was hunting with my brothers in the woods near our village. Somehow we got separated and I ended up deep in the undergrowth on my own. I had a bow, you see, sir? I was after game really, or a coney. Whatever I could find. Other than that I just had a long knife on my belt. I stumbled into a clearing just as a bloody great boar burst out of the other edge. I didn’t really have time to react. I dropped the bow and reached for my knife, but I’d have been dead before I’d freed the blade…”
“And?” Varro had moved to the edge of his seat in rapt fascination.
“And the wolf saved me, sir. A big grey wolf came from nowhe
re and hit the boar in the flank. He tore its throat out as I stood there, then he looked at me just once and settled down to eat his kill. I turned and ran back into the woods and after a dozen steps, there was the white stag. I’d been saved by the wolf, sir. It was clear to me anyway, but I went to see the village healer and he confirmed what it meant. I set off for Vengen the next morning and enlisted to serve the Imperial wolf, sir.”
Varro blinked and sat back.
“I don’t think your God showed me anything; don’t think he told me what to expect. I just remember the feeling; the aura of the place and the thing.”
Salonius nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re not one of our people, sir. You might not have recognised whatever signs you were given, but rest assured there will have been signs.”
“So a visit from Cernus means your life’s going to change?” Varro sat back heavily, with a strange smile on his face. “Well, it certainly did. And now I’ve seen him twice it’s going to change again?”
“Not necessarily, sir.” Salonius steepled his fingers. “A visit from the Stag Lord is rare enough sir. A second visit is not something that happens very often even in legends. A second visit is… it’s sort of a confirmation of destiny, sir. A chance to change things, sir. Something world-shaking.”
The captain sighed.
“Your God has, I think, taken something from me. I think that’s what our first meeting was. But it’s possible that this morning he gave me something in return. I need to tell you the full story, Salonius. But I need you to keep this totally secret at the moment. Not about Cernus; I don’t think there’s much else to say about that, and most any man you speak to in the army will think you a madman if you start telling them you had a one-on-one with a forest God. I think Corda sent you to me for a specific reason and I need to tell you what’s happened over the last twenty four hours.”
Ironroot (Tales of the Empire) Page 8