“Which one, though?”
Salonius shook his head uncertainly. “Could be either. The copse’d be uncomfortable, but no one’s going to come across them there and they’ve a good view. The shed would be warmer and more comfortable, but there’s the possibility of the farmer finding them.”
Varro nodded.
“But it’s night time. All the farm animals are safely tucked up in their beds. Can you hear a cow?”
“No.” Salonius frowned. “You mean they’ve killed all the cows?”
“We’re talking about people who’ve killed at least an officer and a courier. Do you think they’d baulk at removing a farmer and a few cows?”
The young man peered into the darkness, trying to take the measure of the building.
“So what do we do now, sir?”
“If they’re watching the bridge and the inn then it’s unlikely they can see the rest of the valley. We head to the rocks, then round the trees and down the valley a way before we cross the road and come up behind the shed from the other side.”
Without waiting for acknowledgement from the young soldier, Varro jogged quietly and swiftly away from their cover and disappeared in the gloom around the pile of boulders at the foot of the valley side.
His heart beginning to beat faster once more, Salonius followed suit, sprinting and keeping low. Though it had seemed such a distance when he first looked, he reached the boulders in mere moments and disappeared among them, panting. He found the captain also wheezing and clutching his side, leaning on one of the larger stones.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“Hurts a bit. I’ll have to dip into the medicines when we get back to the inn.”
Without further comment, he took several deep breaths, pushing back his shoulders, and then strode out from the boulders. For several hundred yards their movements would be hidden from the cow byre by the trees and once beyond that they would be far enough away to be masked by the darkness itself. Salonius followed once more, falling in alongside the older man and noting unhappily the way Varro held his side as he walked.
“If the moon comes out from behind the clouds we’re going to be a lot more visible,” he noted. Varro shrugged.
“If the moon comes out we just have to drop to the grass and wait for another cloud.”
The two walked on for a while in silence until Varro judged that they’d gone as far as they needed to, and then as quickly and lightly as they could, they slipped across the road and ran across to the relative cover of the undergrowth on the valley side. Once among the low scrub, they stopped for another rest, leaning forward with their hands on their hips, breathing deeply.
Varro looked across at Salonius and shrugged. The young man nodded and the two began to move toward the byre, now a vague, looming darker shape amid the greater darkness. They moved slowly and carefully. There was little chance the occupants would be watching anywhere but the village, so speed was of far less importance than silence. Picking their way between the scratchy, rustling plants as quietly as possible, they edged closer and closer to the barn, the rough planks from which it was constructed gradually becoming visible in the gloom.
Salonius regarded his superior, three steps ahead, with a worried look. It was clear that all this sudden exercise and movement had stirred up trouble with the captain’s wound. Perhaps it had even opened up once again and he could be bleeding to death as they moved. Salonius wouldn’t be able to tell until they reached a patch of light. The state of Varro added to his collection of concerns as he moved. What if the cows had been locked up somewhere else and the barn was empty. Where would they look then? What if their pursuers had already gone ahead and were at the Imperial way station? What if, and this one had been nagging at him all afternoon: what if these men turned out to be innocent? Or even allies?
He realised his pace had slowed and he was gaining distance on the captain out ahead.
“Damn it” he muttered under his breath and picked up the pace a little. It was no good surrendering to doubt now.
By the time he’d caught up with Varro, the two were mere yards from the shed. At least one of his fears was allayed as they ducked across the open space, the mud fortunately dry due to the recent lack of rain. As they crouched by the wall of the barn, Salonius could hear the murmur of hushed conversation within. He strained to hear more, but the detail was still indistinct. There were clearly two men talking in very low tones.
Varro shuffled silently along the wall to where low flickers of yellow light shone out through a hole in the boards. He peered through and then beckoned Salonius to join him.
Inside the barn were two men. One, lying on a rough bed of straw, was wrapped tightly in a blanket with a saddle blanket rolled up beneath his head. The other sat at the barn’s window, gazing out toward the village in the distance. He was dressed in rough tunic and breeches. Not a military uniform tunic, but that of a civilian, yet on the belt fastened round his waist was a solid Imperial military sword. A quick glance back confirmed that a second sword lay next to the reclining man, within arm’s reach. Salonius craned his neck to look further back into the byre and noted with distaste the source of the smell wafting gently through the window. Half a dozen cows lay in various positions to the rear where they’d been led and, without a moment’s thought, had their throats cut. Salonius felt unaccountably queasy.
Varro nudged him and pointed to the watcher and then tapped himself quietly on the chest. With two fingers making a walking motion, he mimed moving around the shed to the window and then lightly patted his sword. Salonius nodded his understanding and pointed at the door of the barn. The large door was held shut with only a length of twine, designed, as it was, to be shut from the outside. He mimed cutting the twine with his blade and then pointed at the reclining figure. Varro nodded agreement and held out his hand. Salonius grasped it and shook once before slowly and quietly drawing his sword. Varro did the same and, with a single nod, began to creep slowly and quietly around the wall.
Salonius sloped off in the opposite direction, to the door. There were cracks around the door and he’d have to be careful not to be observed. He took up the best hidden position where he could see the tied twine through a crack which would be wide enough to thrust his sword through. His heart racing, he sought another crack and, finding the best, quietly waited, watching the man at the window. Irritatingly, now he was somewhere he could hear, they’d stopped talking. With bated breath he waited.
His first sign that Varro had made a move startled him. There was an unpleasant ‘crunch’ and a faint squawk from the man at the window. Even as Salonius thrust his sword between the planks and severed the twine with ease, he watched with fascinated horror as the man at the window slumped slowly backwards and fell to the floor, a gaping hole where his eyes had been and a multicoloured slick of unpleasantness pouring from the wound. He twitched for a moment, gurgling, as Salonius pulled the door open. Varro had appeared at the window now, a grim look of determination on his face and his sword running with the man’s blood.
The man lying wrapped in a blanket had grasped his sword and was coming to his feet quickly, his eyes flickering between the messy corpse on the floor and the vision of bloodlust at the window. So intent on Varro was he that he never noticed the door swing open behind him and never saw the stocky young soldier leap across behind him, his sword raised high.
With a grim smiled, Salonius brought down the bronze pommel of his sword hard on the very top of the man’s head, knocking him unconscious instantly. The man slumped to the floor.
Varro glared at him.
“You think we’ve time to take prisoners?”
Salonius shrugged defensively.
“I’d rather know who they are before I kill them, sir.”
Growling, Varro rounded the wall of the shed and stormed in through the door. As he leaned down and wiped his sword on the dead man’s tunic, he glared up at his companion.
“You think they’re innocent men?” he barke
d. “They’re in civilian clothes with no insignia or sign of rank. Yet they’re armed like soldiers and following us. You want more?”
Salonius stood silently.
Varro kicked the fallen body.
“This one I don’t know but I think he might have been one of the provosts from Crow Hill.”
He pointed at the unconscious man.
“That bastard, on the other hand, I know. I know the face. He’s one of the prefect’s guard.”
Salonius shrank back from the force of the captain’s anger. Varro walked over and pressed his finger into Salonius’ chest.
“You brained him; you carry him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sheathing his sword, the young man bent down and lifted the unconscious soldier easily, slinging him across his shoulder. As he settled his burden more comfortably, Varro collected the saddle bags from the pile in the room and shouldered them. With a single angry glance at Salonius, he strode purposefully out of the shed and toward the road that led to the bridge.
The young man hurried after him, giving a worried glance back at the interior.
“Sir?” he called as he jogged to catch up.
“What?” barked Varro furiously.
“What about the mess. Shouldn’t we hide the body? And find their horses, sir?”
Varro stopped dead and Salonius almost fell over him. He turned and pointed back at the barn.
“Firstly, if you’d been more aware of your surroundings and less worried about the ethical consequences of what you were doing, you’d have seen that the farmer was lying gutted in the back of the barn behind the cows. No one’s going to find that till tomorrow morning; afternoon probably. We’ll be long gone by then.”
He started to walk again, slowly, and Salonius strode alongside, a contrite expression clouding his features.
“Secondly: we don’t need their horses. We’ve got our own, and I’ve got their saddle bags. There’ll be nothing at the horses that we could use.”
He glanced sideways at the younger man.
“Thirdly, you have got to stop calling me sir!” He sighed.
Salonius smiled weakly.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard. Years as a soldier and these things become ingrained. You know that? I’m finding it hard to stop. Whether you’re with the second or on your own, you’re still a captain. You’re still my superior, and it’s wrong.”
Varro opened his mouth to speak, but Salonius plunged on.
“I know I’ve got to. I know we need to be as unobtrusive as possible at the moment and that ‘captain’ and ‘sir’ draw attention, and I am trying. Time will change things.”
“That’s part of the problem, Salonius,” Varro groused. “I’m running out of time. Every hour that passes for you brings you closer to promotion, or retirement. You might end up owning an inn like that.” He pointed across the bridge at their destination.
“That’s what I always planned. But every hour that brings you closer to your future brings me closer to a hole in the ground.”
He stormed along in silence, his head bowed as he crunched along the gravel leading up to the bridge. There was no need for subtlety now.
“I’m sorry.”
The captain turned to Salonius.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m dealing with this, but sometimes it feels hopeless.”
Salonius gave what he hoped was a supportive smiled.
“What you’re doing matters. What we’re doing matters. We’re fated for this. The Gods themselves set us on this path and who can argue with the Gods. And the future’s unknown to us, for all the Gods might read it. My sergeant says that Scortius is the best doctor in the whole army. If there’s a way to cure you, he’ll find it. But we’ve got to pursue this; get to Saravis Fork and find your cousin. If whatever this is is so important people will kill to stop it, then we need to find it.”
Varro looked down at his companion and finally his brow unfurrowed and a smile passed briefly across his face.
“You put a lot of faith in this Cernus, don’t you?”
“With respect,” the young man replied with a grin, “it’s because of the Stag Lord you found me. When you were wounded you wanted something to drink. On the way to the hospital tent you must had passed more than a hundred men; sergeants, engineers, archers, infantry and medics. How many of those men know Cernus?”
Varro blinked.
“Perhaps a handful,” continued Salonius. “And of that handful of men who’d heard of Cernus out of the hundreds around you, how many do you think had stood in his presence?”
“I never thought of that” replied the captain, blinking again in surprise.
“Fate. Gods. A path.” Salonius smiled. “Cernus blessed you because there is something you have to do. Something really important.” He grinned. “And because you couldn’t do it alone, Cernus blessed me and sent me to you. These events have been rolling forward since before I even joined the army.”
Their voices lowered a little as they entered the village square. The light still shone from the front door and window of the inn. It felt like midnight to the two men who hadn’t slept in two days, but in truth it was still only mid evening.
“I need a drink.” Varro grinned.
Salonius frowned at him.
“Not if you’re taking that strong medication though.”
“I’ll forego that and just take the normal medication and a little of the hard stuff from the shelf behind the bar.”
The two of them dipped into the alley beside the inn and Varro looked at Salonius and pointed to the body slumped over his shoulder.
“I’ll climb up to the roof and lift him from there.”
“Ok.” Salonius shifted the weight slightly and stood still, his legs slightly apart, braced ready. Varro grasped a wooden plank that projected slightly from the wall of the outbuilding and hauled himself onto the roof with a grunt. Salonius took the opportunity to study the captain’s side as he did so and was surprised to see no blood. Perhaps he was worrying too much about the wound. Bracing himself further, he lifted the body to the roof level and felt the weight lift as Varro grasped it and heaved it onto the roof. A casual whistle caught his attention and he ducked back into the shadows next to the outbuilding, his eyes darting to and fro searching for the source of the noise.
A figure, whistling happily and weaving a drunken path, wandered into the alley from the front of the inn. Salonius held his breath and watched in morbid fascination as the man entered the shadows near the alley entrance and fumbled with his trousers before urinating, mostly on the wall of the next house, but partially on his own feet.
“Bollocks” he muttered as he shook his foot, tying his trousers tight once more. Still shaking the piss off his foot, he left the alley without looking back and started to walk across the green. A moment later and he was gone from sight, the only sign of his presence a distant happy whistle.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Salonius stepped back away from the wall and looked up to see Varro convulsed in a fit of silent hysterics, rocking back and forth. Grinning, the young soldier grasped the plank and pulled himself up to join his captain.
Varro wiped his eyes, burst into muffled laughter again and the stopped with a deep breath. “Precious. Absolutely precious.” Clapping his hand on Salonius’ back, he reached across from the roof and grasped the windowsill. He hauled himself up, still facing Salonius, and braced himself in the frame.
“Alright. Pass him up.”
Salonius stretched with a grunt, thrusting the unconscious body towards the window. Varro grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him up, swearing under his breath.
“Heavy bastard, this one.”
As the body came through the window and Varro was suddenly relieved of the heavy weight, he fell backwards into the room, collapsing to the floor on his back to find himself staring up into eyes shining with curiosity.
He started suddenly and, as his eyes adjusted to the room’s darkened interior, found
himself staring into the smiling face of Catilina.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Behind him there was a scraping noise as Salonius pulled himself through the window and dropped down next to the body where he crouched, staring in surprise at the lady sitting on the edge of the bed.
Catilina looked down at the captain.
“You can’t possibly think I was going to let you trot off on your own. Even with your ever-present guardian there.”
Varro sat up, shaking his head.
“Your father’s going to be furious with you. He’ll never let you leave Vengen again. Shit, he’ll have me pulled apart by horses when he knows you’re with me!”
Catilina sighed and her eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Let me handle father. You know I can. Besides which, he’s so busy with everything going on at Crow Hill, he’s probably not even noticed I’ve left yet.” She looked at Varro’s expression and put her finger on his lips as he opened his mouth, squeezing them gently shut again.
“Just don’t bother trying to dissuade me. You know it won’t work, so why waste both our time. If your cousin is alive, we’re going to see him. Besides,” she smiled at him, “if this is some military conspiracy, don’t you think I’m safer here than among thousands of potential enemies at the fort?”
Varro stared at her in a mixture of panic and admiration. He was used to dealing with conflicting emotions when it came to Catilina. He also knew that she was right. Once she’d made up her mind, nothing would change it. Not Varro; not her father; probably not even the Gods themselves. Besides, what would he do, send her back on her own? Safer to keep her with him until he returned from Saravis Fork. Safer. Safer away. “Cristus’ guard!”
Ironroot (Tales of the Empire) Page 13