Clay Legionary (Clay Warrior Stories Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “That, Private Sisera, is the illustrious Rebel Captain, Speckled Pheasant,” Eolus replied. The Medic finished, accepted Alerio’s thanks, and turned to repack his medical bag.

  “Let’s go pay our respects,” Ceyx suggested. “To Centurion Stylianus.”

  As they approached the Centurion, Horus indicated for them to step closer.

  “Sir, may I present Lanced Corporal Ceyx Eolus and Private Alerio Sisera,” their Sergeant announced. “They were the entry team that protected you until the Infantry arrived.”

  Someone had placed Ceyx’s tattered cloak over the Centurion’s shoulder. His eyes were dull but alert.

  “Lanced Corporal Eolus. I know you,” Stylianus whispered through a sore throat. “But I don’t recognize the Private. Is he one of ours, Sergeant?”

  “He just joined the Raiders, Sir. Fresh out of Recruit Training,” the Sergeant replied.

  “Just out of training and you picked him for the Raiders,” Stylianus said hoarsely. “And you picked him for a rescue mission. He must have impressed you.”

  “I didn’t choose him for the mission. That was Lance Corporal Eolus’ decision,” Horus reported. “But, you are correct sir, he is an impressive young Legionary.”

  The sound of screams reached them through the roof opening. Shortly after, the four Infantrymen climbed down the ladder.

  “The roof is secure,” one reported to Horus.

  “Good. Pass your shields down to the men below,” the Sergeant ordered, “You’ll help the Centurion down the ladder. Then, come back for this fat cūlus. I need the Rebel Captain alive for questioning, but don’t be too gentle.”

  A cart hauled Centurion Stylianus and Speckled Pheasant back to the Legion Transfer Post. While Stylianus was taken to the Officer’s tent and helped into a clean, soft bed, Speckled Pheasant was taken to a small, smelly wooden box and helped in by the bottom of a boot.

  On the march back to the Post, Ceyx described the action in the warehouse to Wido and Ireneus. Alerio blushed at the praise from the Lance Corporal. Happily, for the young Legionary, no one could see it in the dark hours of early morning. Still, he was pleased.

  Horus waited for Ceyx to wash up. Once he was presentable, they went to consult with the Centurion. Alerio, with Wido and Ireneus in tow, strolled to the Armory.

  “Private Sisera turning in equipment,” Alerio reported as he laid the duel gladius harness on the counter. “You did a fine job of constructing it. Thank you.”

  The leather, just hours before, had been new with a freshly tanned aroma still clinging to the material. Now, it lay creased with flaks of dried blood peeling off and falling on the counter.

  “I can’t take that harness,” the Armorer replied as he carefully poked the leather. Using only two fingers, he eased first one of the gladii and then the other out of the sheaths.

  “Oh, excuse me. It’s been a long night,” Alerio said. “Of course, it should have been cleaned before being turning it in.”

  “No, you misunderstand me,” the Armorer explained. “I have no one who wants or needs a two gladii rig. I’ve already written it off as research and development. It’s yours.”

  The Armorer reached back and pulled a leather pouch from a box. “But you’re right,” he stated handing Alerio the pouch. “The leather should be cleaned. Here’s a bag of goose grease so you can do it right. It’s better than the goat grease you were issued.”

  “Hold on,” Lance Corporal Wido insisted. “What good is the harness without gladii?”

  “Sorry, the Legion only issues one gladius per Legionary,” the Armorer replied. “He already has one.”

  “How would he requisition another?” Wido asked. Then he studied the new gladii the Armorer had extracted from the harness and added, “More specifically, those two?

  “He’d need a chit from a Centurion,” answered the Armorer while pointing a thick, gnarly finger at Alerio. “Stating the requirement for equipment is for a Legionary specialist. Specifically, that Legionary.”

  “Don’t put them away,” Wido said as he pulled Alerio and Ireneus out of the Armory tent.

  “How am I going to get a chit from the Centurion?” Alerio asked once they were outside.

  The sun was peaking over the horizon casting soft shadows as the rays chased away the dark of night.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up and after breakfast,” Wido explained. “We camp outside the Officer’s tent and wait for Sergeant Horus. He’ll know. Meanwhile Private, you need to clean your gear.”

  Sergeant Horus had spread the four Nocte Apibus out on a table beside the Centurion’s bed.

  “The assassins from the Golden Valley want their knives back,” he explained. “Apparently they were hired by Speckled Pheasant for the attack on the Transfer Post. Their part was the killing while the Rebels set the fires. Seeing as Speckled Pheasant hired them, the Sweet Fist hold him responsible for returning the Nocte Apibus. If the Dulce Pugno had to come and retrieve the knives themselves, they were going to kill whoever possessed the knives, as well as, Speckled Pheasant. Grabbing you was supposed to help him trade for the knives.”

  “Alright. We have two issues. One is what to do with the Rebel? Slit his throat, or kill him slowly by crucifixion as an example,” Centurion Stylianus pondered. “The other issue is how many Centuries we’ll need to wipe out that nest of vipers in Golden Valley?”

  His voice was low, rough and scratchy. His message, on the other hand, was clear. The Legion did not barter with or abide threats from Rebels or terrorists.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Ceyx asked, “If I may?”

  “Go ahead Lance Corporal. I believe you’ve earned the right to voice your opinion,” the Centurion assured him.

  “The Dulce Pugno have defended the Golden Valley against their enemies for centuries. In all that time, only once have they punished an enemy beyond their mountains. It was the King and his family,” Ceyx explained. “One story told by my people is about a greedy merchant group. The merchants grew weary of the restrictive distribution practices and the high price of the honey from the Golden Valley.”

  “They hired a Warlord to attack the Golden Valley and claim it for the merchants,” continued Ceyx. “The Warlord force marched his troops into the mountains. A half a day’s march from the valley, the army set up camp. Three scouts were sent forward to run reconnaissance on the valley’s defenses. As the sun set beyond the high peaks, extra sentries were posted. As darkness descended, the warriors settled in for the night.”

  “In the morning, the common soldiers awoke late. Confused by the lack of morning harassment and marching orders, they began searching for their Lieutenants and the Warlord,” explained Ceyx. “The search ended in the command tent. There, they discovered the Warlord and his command staff laying in pools of honey and blood with their throats slit.”

  “As they milled around leaderless, the three scouts staggered down the rutted track from the direction of the Golden Valley. Each scout had a heavy yoke strapped across his shoulders. Hanging from the ends of the yokes were large buckets of honey,” recounted Ceyx. “The men feasted on the delicious honey, broke camp, and marched from the mountain.”

  Sergeant Horus blustered and challenged, “You think a bunch of amateur assassins could sneak into a Legion camp and kill our command staff? I don’t think so.”

  “Hold on Sergeant, while I agree with you, I have a few questions,” Centurion Stylianus stated. “Did the Dulce Pugno murder the merchants?”

  “No sir. The merchants lived. Although for years they traveled with bodyguards,” commented Ceyx. “After assassinating the Warlord and his staff, the Dulce Pugno extracted no additional retribution. It was as if the planned attack never happened.”

  “Curious. You mentioned something about the restricted distribution of the honey,” Stylianus commented before asking. “Explain that?”

  “Honey from the Golden Valley is handled by small trading houses,” Ceyx further explained. “The honey is beyond the me
ans of all but the wealthy. As such, the trading houses specialize in rare delicacies such as wines and teas, silks, exotic grains, and of course, the honey. Produce from the Golden Valley is transported to specialty houses located around the region. Always under guard and always under the protection of the Dulce Pugno.”

  “That’s the answer,” Centurion Stylianus announced. “The assassins have a reputation for non-intervention. Other than the paid killings, they don’t leave their valley. I can’t imagine we’d ever encounter them if a squad of our Legionaries hadn’t killed four of their assassins and taken the Nocte Apibus.”

  He pointed to the table where the four knives were displayed.

  “Excuse me, sir. It wasn’t a squad,” explained Sergeant Horus. “It was Private Sisera, before he started recruit training.”

  “Well, I guess he is a special young man,” the Centurion said as he slowly closed his eyes. Horus and Ceyx, assuming their Officer needed to rest, began backing out of the tent. Stylianus’ eyes popped open and he said sleepily, “Before we go stomping all over what might be the Consuls’ and the Senate’s favorite honey farm, let’s get more facts. Find the trading house. Question the merchant.”

  He snuggled his tortured body deeper under the blanket, rolled onto his side, and began snoring. Horus and Ceyx stepped softly out of the tent. They were met by a squad of Heavy Infantrymen in full kit. Three more Legionaries sat off to the side.

  “Corporal Thornernus assigned us to guard the Officer,” reported the squad’s Lance Corporal. “He said if anything happens to the Centurion, we’d have the worst merda duties he could invent until the day we died. That’s if he didn’t kill us first. The Officer will be safe. I can assure you.”

  “Sound reasoning,” Horus said to the squad leader before turning to the three sitting Legionaries. “Wido. We’re going to speak with a merchant. Stay here and keep an eye on things.”

  “Sure Sergeant. But Private Sisera needs a favor.” The Raider Lance Corporal explained, “The Armorer wants a specialist chit to issue gladii for the duel rig.”

  The harness was splayed over Alerio’s knee and he was vigorously rubbing the leather with geese oil. He looked up and nodded in agreement

  “We’ll take care of that later,” Horus promised.

  He and Ceyx strolled away. At the end of the tent, they turned towards the main gate.

  Chapter 58 - Intelligence, the Rarest of Commodities

  The trading house for rare goods was indeed a house. Sitting in the center of the warehouse district, it was out of sync with the surrounding buildings.

  Horus and Ceyx passed the warehouse from last night’s action. Circled three more long, low warehouses until they arrived. The out of place villa was surrounded by a high stone wall with a wide gate. To secure the gate, thick, iron reinforced doors hung open. Although open, the feeling as they walked through the gate was grave.

  Maybe it was the silence in the courtyard compared to the shouting of men filling or unloading carts. Or, maybe it was the whinnies and hee-haws of mules waiting impatiently to haul the goods from the warehouses’ loading bays. In any case, a sense of being stalked raised the hairs on the backs of their necks as they marched to the front door. Horus grabbed the knocker. Before he could rap on the door, it swung open.

  “Legionaries. Please, enter,” A young boy greeted them with a bow and an outstretched arm. He was pointing to a large but sparse office set just off a long hallway.

  Doors to other rooms faced the hallway. Where the hallway ended, they could see short stacks of polished wooden boxes. Obviously, the rear of the villa acted as the warehouse for the expensive merchandise.

  In the office, a slightly built man sat behind a large desk. Scrolls and parchments were neatly stacked in front of him. Although his body was hidden under a bulky robe, he appeared slender. When the man extended his arm to indicate two chairs for his visitors, the sleeve of the robe rode up displaying a thick forearm. The slight movement of pointing caused the muscles to ripple under the taunt skin.

  “Not the build of an ordinary merchant,” thought Horus. “It would take hours of daily training to achieve those muscles.”

  “Legionaries. Welcome to our humble trading house,” the man said in the sing song accent of the East. “I am Bright Home, or Hampus in your language. Call me whichever you favor. How may I be of service?”

  Horus pulled the Dulce Pugno scroll from a pouch and passed it across the desk.

  “What can you tell me about this?” he asked.

  Hampus weighed the scroll in his hand while he thought. Then without unrolling it, placed the scroll on the desk.

  “I am aware of the Dulce Pugno’s warning,” he admitted.

  Hampus and Horus stared at each other. The Legionary waited for more information. The merchant, with a blank look on his face, not giving any. As the standoff stretched into an uncomfortable length of time, the veins in the Sergeant’s neck began to bulge and his patience ran out.

  “Look, I’m not here to verbally duel with you,” Horus stated bluntly. “Before I gather a Legion and lay waste to the Golden Valley, I want answers. Give me an alternative or live with the consequences.”

  “I can assure you, we are a simple trading house,” Hampus replied defensively. “The Golden Valley is one of our clients. A very loyal client but still just a supplier. I know nothing about the intensions of the Dulce Pugno.”

  Horus, out of frustration, shoved back his chair and jumped to his feet. “If that’s the case, we’re done here,” he said taking a step towards the doorway. “I’ll take the Nocte Apibus to the valley myself and shove the four of them up a Dulce Pugno’s cūlus when I get there.”

  “Wait. You know about the Night Bees,” Hampus stated. It wasn’t a question, “Please return to your seat. I don’t know about the Sweet Fist’s plans. But possibly, I can give you some guidance as far as the Nocte Apibus are concerned.”

  Ceyx hesitated as his Sergeant sat back down. When Horus stood, the Light Infantryman had slipped from his chair and drifted back. His intention was to cover his Sergeant’s back as he moved to the door. Something about Hampus made him leery. He remained behind the Sergeant’s chair.

  Hampus shifted his eyes from the Sergeant to Ceyx. “Please countryman. We are simply talking,” the odd merchant said. Hampus held up his wrists while spreading his hands apart to show they were empty. “Sit and let’s discuss this issue,” he encouraged the Light Infantryman.

  The movement of both arms caused the sleeves to slide up the arms allowing full view of the merchant’s lower arms. Both were thickly muscled and crisscrossed with knife scars.

  Ceyx shuffled around Horus and retook his seat. He never took his eyes off of the merchant.

  “I apologize for the confusion,” Hampus stated before continuing. “I truly don’t know the intensions of the Dulce Pugno. If I were home in the Golden Valley, I would ask. But alas, I am here and cannot. What I can tell you is the Sweet Fist do not start blood feuds. Yes, they contract out assassins. That’s business. They protect the honey shipments. That’s also just business. People die. Those of the valley and those in the outlying world, that’s also business. However, when a Nocte Apis, or worse yet, four Nocte Apibus are misplaced, it becomes a matter of pride.”

  “That confirms our suspicions,” Sergeant Horus interjected. “The scroll mentioned retribution. We are prepared to return the Nocte Apibus. But, we are concerned with the retribution comment. The Legion will not allow the murder of our people without taking vengeance of our own. So, do you have a suggestion as to how we avoid a bloody war?”

  “It is tradition for one possessing a Night Bee to return it to the Golden Valley. Or pay the cost in blood,” Hampus advised. “As for retribution, that would be for the Dulce Pugno to decide. I can tell you, most return. Say if the squad of Legionaries who killed the owners of the Night Bees returned them to the valley, they might also return.”

  “Why would I send men to their deaths?” challenged Ho
rus. “Without a guarantee of safe passage?”

  “In this life Sergeant, there are no guarantees,” Hampus stated, “We are born, we do our duty, and we die. Nothing is promised. It is tradition that guides us along the way. As I said, traditionally, most return from the Golden Valley.”

  Horus and Ceyx stood and said their goodbyes. While Sergeant Horus marched out of the room, the Lance Corporal backed out never taking his eyes off the merchant. As he stepped into the hall and just before exiting the front door, Hampus jerked his arm. Suddenly, a gleaming knife appeared in his hand. The merchant pointed the blade at Ceyx and winked. The Light Infantryman didn’t rush, nor did he hesitate, he simply backed out of the house.

  They remained quiet while crossing the courtyard. Once through the gate, Horus glanced over at Ceyx, “They think a whole squad took down their assassins.”

  “You didn’t correct him,” Ceyx replied.

  “Never tell all you know when negotiating.” Horus advised then asked, “How many men would you need to defend the villa?”

  Ceyx glanced around at the villa, the wide clean streets, and the low single story warehouses boarding the trading house.

  “With a reinforced squad of Light Infantry on the walls and a squad of archers on the roof,” the Lance Corporal stated. “I could hold this place against a Century of Heavy Infantrymen for a week.”

  “From your answer, I can tell you’re Light Infantry,” laughed Horus. “But you’re close. The villa is nothing short of a strong hold in the center of a defensive area. The only thing missing are barricades between the warehouses. From the roof of the villa, archers can shoot over the surrounding buildings.”

  As they reached the corner of the villa’s perimeter wall, the wind rustled a pile of rags laying on the side of the street. In the warehouse district, packaging and wrappings were stacked for future use so, the pile went unnoticed.