Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Form a defensive wall with living ponies?” asked Alerio. “Not much good if the wall can shy away with a single swat.”

  “Hopefully, they won’t shoot the ponies,” Ceyx explained. “Maybe it’ll give us time to talk with them before they murder us.”

  “That easily?” inquired Alerio. He looked into the cart and Speckled Pheasant’s eyes were wide open and the fat man was sweating.

  “Not if we had two squads of heavy infantry with their big shields,” Ceyx stated. “You wouldn’t happen to have two squads in your kit?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “In that case, yes, they can kill us that easily,” pronounced Ceyx as he began tying ponies together nose to tail.

  They sat on the cart surrounded by confused ponies and one mule that didn’t seem to care about anything. The dust in the distance billowed to form a low swirl of boiling, brown clouds. Soon a line of men and ponies appeared on the leading edge of the dust.

  “The Frentani tribesmen are from the high plains far north of here,” Ceyx explained. “They migrate in hoards and send out foraging parties. Actually, more like war bands. Everyone who’s confronted them is dead. The caravans simply pay them to go away.”

  The riders went from a gallop to an ordered stop. None of the tribesmen used a rein. Pressure from their knees guided the ponies so their hands were free to hold short, sturdy bows. One trotted forward, halted his mount, and crossed a leg across the pony’s neck. As he relaxed, the tribesman observed the caravan.

  A ring of fine ponies and an ugly mule circled a two-wheeled cart. On the cart were two men in leather armor and a fat man in a woman’s vest. The war leader laughed at the man.

  He raised an arm, pointed, turned his head and said something to the riders behind him. They laughed as well. Not seeing any of the three holding a bow, he nudged his pony closer to the strange formation.

  Despite his shortcomings with the weapon, Alerio reached down for a bow.

  “Don’t,” Ceyx ordered placing a hand on the young Legionary’s arm. “Let’s see if he’ll bargain.”

  The Frentani war leader edged closer. From his pony’s back, he leered at the caravan as if it were no more dangerous than a herd of sheep.

  “Is that your man-woman?” he asked indicating Speckled Pheasant. “She’s nice and fat, but she is ugly. I bet she likes the big boy best.”

  Alerio’s spine straightened and he tensed up. The war leader had no respect or caution in his tone. His insulting confidence stung the young Legionary.

  It took an elbow in the ribs from Ceyx to stop Alerio from drawing his gladii.

  “But your ponies are nice,” the Frentani war leader added. “I’ll take them after you’re dead.”

  The threat was too much for Alerio. He jumped up on the cart and blurted out, “You want me dead. Fine, fight me.”

  Ceyx cringed and the war leader laughed.

  “I’ll use a bow from the back of a flying pony,” he bragged. “Where are your weapons?”

  Alerio reached over his shoulders and drew both gladii.

  “These,” he said as he stepped down from the cart. After ducking under a pony’s neck, he strutted to within four paces of the tribesman. “These are my weapons. You want me dead. I challenge you. My gladii against your bow and your pony.”

  The ten Frentani plainsmen trotted up as Alerio moved. They all had arrows notched and aimed at the Legionary.

  Ceyx held his breath as the war chief looked around at his warriors. Some shook their heads no. Others shrugged noncommittally. Most indicated their excitement by rapidly jabbing their bows at the Legionary.

  “I am Wolf Shout, a war chief of the Frentani family,” the war leader stated. “It is our custom to know the names of the men we kill in single combat.”

  “Alerio Sisera, Decanus of the Republic Legion,” Alerio replied. “We have no…”

  A wineskin slammed into his chest.

  “We also have a custom,” Ceyx announced. Then out of the side of his mouth whispered. “Take a drink and salute the Frentani war chief.”

  “But I’m not thirsty,” Alerio complained as he placed a gladius under an arm and took the wineskin.

  “Just do it,” insisted Ceyx. He turned and offered up another wineskin to Wolf Shout. “Our custom is to drink with our enemies, before killing them in single combat.”

  The war leader started chuckling before throwing his head back to allow a belly laugh to break over the assembled warriors.

  “Drinking and killing,” Wolf Shout explained. “Two of my favorite things.”

  Alerio pulled the stopper, lifted the wineskin above his head, and sent a stream into his mouth. Disappointingly, it was the weak watered vino they carried on the trail. At least, he thought, Ceyx could have given him the strong red they’d liberated from the dead rebels.

  He held out the wineskin in salute. Wolf Shout followed his example. As the vino streamed into the war chief’s mouth, Alerio could tell it was the strong red wine.

  “Wolf Shout. To you, who is about to die,” Alerio announced taking a second drink. “I salute you.”

  “Alerio Sisera. To you, who is about to die,” the Frentani mimicked with a laugh and a drink. “I salute you.”

  “To the Consuls, vaulted Leaders of the Republic,” Alerio said before pouring in a mouth filling stream. “I salute you.”

  “To the old fathers, esteemed by the Frentani family, and feared by our enemies,” Wolf Shout said. He also drank with vigor and finished. “I salute you.”

  “To my comrades, living or dead,” Alerio proclaimed. Now he was struggling to find more ways to keep the salutes and the drinking going. “I salute you.”

  “You honor your dead?” challenged Wolf Shout.

  “I do,” replied Alerio. “To those who have laid down their shields and no longer fill our earthly ranks. I salute you.”

  He took a hardy drink. The smile on the Frentani chief’s face vanished and was replaced by a serious scowl. Alerio figured he had made a mistake. But what the Hades? If he truly was about to die, it couldn’t hurt to honor those he was about to join.

  Chapter 66 - Duel in the High Desert

  “We also honor our dead,” Wolf Shout stated as he pulled his leg from the pony’s neck. He straightened, held the wineskin out, and shouted. “To our forefathers.”

  As he took a drink, the ten Frentani tribesmen behind him repeated the line.

  “To the ground that guards their ashes,” he said taking another drink.

  Again, as if a choir, the tribesmen repeated the phrase.

  “To the sun and stars that guide our way,” he announced.

  He drank while his warriors echoed his words.

  Ceyx snapped his heels together and slammed a loud, cross fist salute into his chest. The salutation didn’t go unnoticed by Wolf Shout. Alerio was a heartbeat behind. He raised his gladius to his chest to add his own salute to the ritual.

  “To the wind that carries the whispers of our ancestors,” Wolf Shout declared.

  He drank. His men repeated.

  “To the rain that waters our ponies,” he roared.

  His men replied in full voice while he drank.

  “To the trail forward, which leads eventually to the ground,” he said lowering his voice.

  The Frentani tribesmen also lowered the volume as they uttered the words.

  “To the ground, where our ashes will join with our forefathers,” the Frentani chief almost whispered the final words.

  The tribesmen mumbled those words as Wolf Shout took a long pour from the wineskin.

  “We also honor our dead,” slurred the war leader to Alerio. “Now we fight.”

  The pony responded immediately to the knee pressure and pivoted. Wolf Shout wobbled on the back of the animal as they trotted away. At fifty feet, the pony spun about and the Frentani over rotated before righting himself.

  “How drunk do you think he is?” asked Alerio.

  “I have no idea my fri
end,” Ceyx replied. “Hopefully, enough. I think I’ll watch from the cart.”

  “You do that,” Alerio remarked as he dropped the wineskin and adjusted his grasps on the gladii.

  Ceyx made it to the cart before Wolf Shout notched an arrow in his bow. Two additional arrows were clutched in his teeth. As he kicked the pony into motion, all signs of inebriation vanished.

  The instructors in Legion recruit training had four words of advice when facing an archer; duck behind your shield. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a shield. Beyond the advice, none of the lectures covered defense against a mounted archer.

  Alerio didn’t watch the pounding hooves or the bow and Wolf Shout’s body. He focused on the tribesman’s eyes. While an opponent’s eyes, in a swordfight, weren’t always reliable for judging a blade’s path, an archer would need to aim. Or, did he?

  Apparently, the wandering Frentani warriors from the high plains didn’t aim like Legion archers. The arrow launched, from hip level, at twenty feet. While Wolf Shout failed to sight along the actual arrow, his eyes did lock on to the area he targeted.

  Alerio raised both gladii in front of his face and held them together. One blade rocked back as it deflected the arrow. Rapidly, he lowered the blades to cover his midsection. It was a guess. If his head had been the first target, and it was protected, the next logical target should be his belly.

  A blade rang as the second arrow impacted and ricocheted off the steel. Alerio spun to keep his gladii between him and the passing pony.

  He dropped to a knee reducing his silhouette and flipped the blades up at an angle. Wolf Shout twisted around and released the third arrow. The arrow struck the blades and bounced high into the air.

  Wolf Shout nudged the well-trained pony and it turned in a tight half circle. As the animal came about, Alerio stood. At the position of attention, he saluted with one of his gladii. With the other, he motioned for the tribesmen to come at him again.

  There was no delay. While the pony was digging in his rear hooves, Wolf Shout notched one and placed two more arrows between his teeth. As if shot from a ballista, the mounted archer raced forward.

  Alerio turned sideways to the charging pony. One of his blades was facing up while the other faced down. It looked ridiculous as if the Legionary was attempting to hide behind the blades. At their widest, the gladii were just under three inches in width.

  The first arrow came at his knees. With a clue from Wolf Shout’s eyes, Alerio rotated the top blade downward and used both to shield his knees. Just in time it seemed. The arrow immediately deflected off a blade.

  Wolf Shout notched the second as the arrow to the knees struck without doing any harm. He pulled and released the second arrow. After a lifetime of shooting from the back of a moving pony, aiming was as simple as looking where he wanted the arrow to impact.

  He looked at the Legionary and released the arrow. The arrow left the bow and sped across the distance. But, the target was no longer there.

  By standing sideways to the charging pony, Alerio’s body aligned with the track of the rider. When Wolf Shout focused his eyes, Alerio figured the archer would release the second arrow. Instead of standing and trying to block the arrow, Alerio jumped and rolled towards the path of the charging pony.

  His feet found the ground and once he stood, he was one-step from being trampled.

  By extending a gladius, he managed to slip the blade between Wolf Shout’s leg and the animal’s flank. As the pony raced by, the leg reached the hilt. A hard shove on the gladius unseated the rider. It also spun Alerio back and to the ground.

  The deadly bow flew through the air and landed between the men. Both scrambled to their feet.

  “Now we’re on my terms,” Alerio sneered. “Go for the bow and you’ll lose an arm. Pull your knife and we’ll fight blade to blade. Your choice.”

  Wolf Shout pulled his knife, spread his arms, and positioned his legs.

  “Blade it is,” Alerio declared as he tossed one of the gladii to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like that sword? It’s longer. Tell you what. You get the gladius and I’ll fight you left-handed.”

  He switched hands and stood waiting for the confused Frentani tribesman to decide. As the men stared at each other, the pony pranced up beside Wolf Shout. It was the proper place for a war pony, next to its warrior and ready to be mounted.

  Wolf Shout, without taking his eyes off Alerio, gently ran a hand down the animal’s flank. As if confused, he chanced a glance at the pony. Other than a shaved area where the sharp blade had slid along its side, the pony’s skin was undamaged. He’d expected to feel blood pumping from a deep wound.

  “The pony is unharmed,” stated Wolf Shout. He was puzzled and curious so he asked. “Why?”

  “It’s you I have to kill,” Alerio explained. “Not a well-trained pony.”

  “But you could have sliced my leg and ended the fight,” the Frentani war chief suggested. “Your blade would have butchered the animal in the process, but I’d be out of the fight.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” the Legionary questioned with a smile. “See, you have ten mounted warriors watching. I kill you; I die. You kill me, I die. So why add a helpless pony to the killing.”

  “You are an odd man, Alerio Sisera,” Wolf Shout observed.

  “I’m a thirsty man,” the Legionary replied. “Where is your wineskin?”

  “We drink. Then we fight,” announced Wolf Shout.

  “If we must,” Alerio answered slowly while looking around. “Or you could take the seven ponies, the knives, and the bows as barter.”

  “Barter for what?” demanded Wolf Shout.

  “Our lives,” Alerio said. “In trade for our lives.”

  Chapter 67 - Caravan Town

  “Do you think you could have unseated him if he was sober?” Ceyx asked.

  They were standing next to the cart, the mule, and Speckled Pheasant. Wolf Shout and his Frentani warriors were specks vanishing in a trail of dust. Along with the tribesmen, went the seven ponies, the rebel’s weapons, and the last wineskin of the excellent vino.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Alerio. “My ego says yes. But common sense tells me otherwise. Can we make camp here for the night? I’m a little tired.”

  “Of course, we’ll camp here,” Ceyx replied. “And for you, my grand swordsman, I’ll prepare something special for dinner.”

  “Sounds good,” Alerio admitted. “What’ll you make?”

  “Barley meal with goat jerky,” Ceyx said as he walked away. “My specialty.”

  At the mention of the menu, Speckled Pheasant gagged as a bit of puke rose in his throat.

  ***

  Days later, a town appeared on the hills overlooking the high desert.

  “Civilization,” announced Alerio indicating the single-story clay buildings.

  “Civilization might be giving the caravan town a little more credit than it deserves,” Ceyx corrected. “It’s there to supply merchants crossing to the harbor. Or for those crossing the mountains or continuing north on the high desert route.”

  “Still, it should have a variety of food,” Alerio said. Then realizing the statement might be insulting added, “Oh, no offense to your cooking.”

  “None taken.”

  They camped that night with the lights of the caravan town in view. It was only half a day’s march away. But they agreed it was better to arrive in daylight. Finding supplies in the dead of night in an unruly, frontier town wasn’t a good idea.

  “Captain. When we get into town, don’t try to enlist help,” Ceyx warned Speckled Pheasant. “If you do escape, Lance Corporal Sisera will hunt you down and your hired help. Then, he will kill all of them, and you.”

  “Why can’t I kill him first?” asked Alerio. “Or better yet, why not kill him now?”

  “Hold on,” begged Speckled Pheasant, “I’m not going anywhere. The Dulce Pugno will hear my side. And, they will murder both of you. Me? I’ll be in a caravan heading back to the
harbor while the vultures are still rendering the flesh from your bones.”

  “Are you sure I can’t kill him now?” asked Alerio.

  “We hauled this fat cūlus and put up with his merda, all the way across the desert,” Ceyx explained. “At this junction, we might as well finish it, and take him to the Golden Valley.”

  ***

  They broke camp while it was early morning and still dark. As the sun rose, the rough clay buildings stood out in stark contrast to the green trees of the foothills. The pens and stockyards, where the merchant’s draft animals were held, came into view. They led the mule and the two-wheeled cart between the fencing.

  “Livestock pens available,” a man shouted. “Feed, water, and guards throughout the day and night. You’ll not find a safer place for your mule.”

  “We’re just passing through,” Alerio yelled back. He and Ceyx were dressed in woolen trousers and shirts. No one would recognize them as part of the Republic’s Legion unless they identified the gladii hanging from their hips.

  “Young, sir. Everyone here is just passing through,” the man replied by holding out both arms indicating the caravan town. “Your stay will be better if you don’t have to keep an eye on your ass.”

  The man and Speckled Pheasant laughed. Ceyx didn’t.

  “He’s not kidding,” Ceyx advised. “The only law here is the one you can enforce, personally.”

  “We’re pretty good at that,” Alerio suggested.

  “That we are,” Ceyx agreed but warned. “One of us has to keep the cart in sight at all times.”

  The small caravan passed through the pens and between open air buildings. Under the roofs and around cooking fires, merchant guards and drovers lay about relaxing.

  Alerio and Ceyx failed to notice when two guards suddenly became alert as they passed by. The small caravan turned a corner and proceeded onto a well packed dirt thoroughfare. Once the subjects of their curiosity were out of sight, the two guards leaped to their feet and rushed out the far side of the building.