Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  The thoroughfare was lined on one side by stalls offering supplies for caravans. On the other side of the street, more permanent establishments were housed in unfinished clay brick buildings. Some offered divided spaces for sleeping. Some beverages, food, and tables for dining. Some served as offices for trading houses. A few buildings were occupied by lawyers and doctors. Merchant business and injuries to the men working the caravans were ongoing concerns.

  Further down the wide street, the trail leading into or down from the mountains bisected the town. Beyond the trail stood a cluster of warehouses. These were for the temporary storage of goods awaiting transfer between caravans.

  An aroma of roasting venison filled the street. It was carried on smoke lazily arising from a fire pit. The smell was a superb advertisement for the restaurant. Alerio and Ceyx were entranced. Resupplies forgotten, they marched by shouting vendors and didn’t stop until they halted in front of the restaurant.

  A man stood turning the meat on a spit. Another man inside the building shouted out an order. The outside man stopped turning, pulled a sharp knife, and sliced off a healthy portion of moist venison. After slapping it on a clay platter, he passed the platter to the inside man. Then, he returned to rotating the venison.

  Alerio and Ceyx stood mesmerized by the process.

  “They do sell the meat,” an exasperated Speckled Pheasant sneered. He crawled out of the cart and waddled towards an opening in the low façade of the restaurant. Knee high boards acted as a barrier between the dust and mud from the street and the slightly raised flooring of the restaurant. “Well. Park the mule lads, and join me,” invited the rebel Captain.

  The restaurant occupied a corner at the junction of the vendor’s street and the mountain caravan trail. They should have backtracked up the street for supplies. At the moment, though, the smell and promise of a delicious venison meal seemed like the better idea.

  The mule was led in a U-turn and tied to a post just passed the fire pit. After strapping on a feed bag, they made directly for the eating establishment.

  Speckled Pheasant had already chosen a seat. After studying the location, Ceyx motioned him to a table with a better view of the cart.

  “Meat, my good man,” Speckled Pheasant ordered when the proprietor approached. “Venison for three.”

  “We have bread and mead, as well,” the proprietor explained.

  “Even better. Meat, bread, and mead,” the dissent Captain said. “We’ll take all three.”

  The man limped over to a wall of barrels and selected three clay mugs. While the honey wine splashed into the mugs, he spoke to a teenage lad. The lad was occupied coiling silk thread around the looped end on a line of waxed hemp.

  “Bread will be out shortly,” the man explained as he set down the mugs. “You want rib, rump, or shoulder?”

  “Shoulder for everyone,” Speckled Pheasant declared without asking either Alerio or Ceyx.

  The man turned and shouted the order to the outside man. Then, he limped over and said a few words to the lad. The teen carefully laid his project on a barrel before running out and disappearing behind the building.

  As the proprietor laid the three platters on the table, Ceyx asked, “Are you the hunter?”

  “Not me. I’ve got a bum leg,” the man stated. “It’s my son. A few years ago, a bow maker stayed with us. He took a shine to the lad and showed him how to make a bow and how to shoot. The hunting he learned by wandering the mountains. That’s a new bow string he’s tying.”

  The teen leaped the low wall while balancing an arm load of bread loafs. One he dropped on the table beside the platters of meat. The others he placed on a barrel before gingerly picking up the silk thread and hemp line.

  “I used to barter for meats from hunters,” the establishment’s owner said with pride. “Now, the lad brings me all the stock I can cook and sell.”

  “He must know the mountains really well,” Ceyx suggested. “to bring in that much game.”

  “That he does,” admitted the owner. “And his bows are starting to fetch a hefty price.”

  While Ceyx spoke with the proprietor, Speckled Pheasant gobbled down his venison, half a loaf of bread, and drained his mug of mead.

  “I’ll have the same again,” Speckled Pheasant ordered with a loud wet burp. “But first, I must relieve myself. Where is the proper place?”

  “There’s a waste trench out back, behind the ovens,” explained the owner.

  Alerio was only half way through his venison and Ceyx had taken just a few bites.

  “Want me to go with him?” asked Alerio.

  “No. He can’t organize a rebellion in the time it takes to cacāre,” Ceyx said. Then he told the renegade. “Be quick. Don’t make me come looking for you, Captain.”

  “It’ll take, as long as it takes,” Speckled Pheasant said using the table top to push up. He waddled towards the entrance.

  “For some reason, the food tastes better without all the slurping,” Alerio said between bites and sips.

  “I believe you are correct,” Ceyx replied as he placed a piece of venison in his mouth. “It does taste better.”

  Chapter 68 - Divide, Conquer, or Die

  The half loaf of bread disappeared swiftly.

  “I’ll get another,” Alerio volunteered.

  As he walked to the barrel to retrieve another loaf, three men entered. They took seats at a table behind Ceyx. Alerio glanced at the men and thought it strange when they ordered mead and declined the offer of venison. The teen’s coiling drew his attention and he stepped over to watch.

  “Tying bow strings properly takes patience and talent,” Alerio observed.

  “Mostly just time,” the boy replied without looking up.

  His fingers wrapped a loop of silk thread and pulled it tight. Finishing the loop at one end of the waxed hemp line, he measured out a length of the line between his fingers. At a specific place, he formed another loop and began to secure it with silk thread.

  While Alerio was admiring the teen’s skill at making a bow string, Ceyx cursed and stood up.

  “Someone’s a little too interested in our cart,” Ceyx explained. “You stay and wait for the Captain. I’ll go run him off.”

  The Legionary strolled through the entrance obviously in no hurry. Alerio took it as a good sign and returned his attention to the small tight coils the teen was making.

  Ceyx’s voice carried into the restaurant, “You! Get away from the cart. Now. Are you deaf?”

  The urgency in his voice drew Alerio’s focus. He strolled back towards the table to get a better view.

  Ceyx shouted at a raggedly dressed and dirty man. The Legionary, probably repulsed by the filthy beggar, attempted to warn him off verbally from a distance.

  Alerio understood the need for space to avoid the stink. Still, he was tickled by the frustrated expression on Ceyx’s face.

  Two men approached from further up the vendor street. Both men were also amused as demonstrated by the wide grins on their faces. They slowed to observe the show before stepping up their pace. As they drew abreast of Ceyx, one pulled a club from behind his back.

  The club connected with Ceyx’s arm and the Legionary was launched away from the cart and to the side of the street. He lay still and defenseless. The attacker swung the blunt weapon back and forth as he casually strolled towards his victim.

  Alerio’s mother preached as he was growing up, ‘There was always time for good manners.’ The lesson took. Before Alerio rushed to help his companion, he bent to lay the loaf of bread on the table. That crouch saved him from the full impact of a second club.

  The club did strike the back of his head but it was a glancing blow. Alerio, disorientated from the crack, stumbled forward. His shins collided with the knee-high wall of the restaurant and he flipped over and landed in the street.

  Laying on his back, Alerio shook his head attempting to fix his vision. A double image of the three men standing in the restaurant and looking down at him
emerged. One held up a club.

  “From the Captain,” the man stated.

  Alerio was in no shape to fight. His ears rang, he couldn’t think, and the world was spinning around him. Anger flashed in his chest and he gritted his teeth. With effort, he rolled over, got his fists on the ground, and pushed up while driving forward with his legs.

  He sprinted with slow unstable steps right into the side of the man standing over Ceyx. The force of Alerio’s weight drove the man away from the Veles and into the second man. While the men tumbled to the ground, Alerio squatted, tilted on the brink of falling over before placing a hand on the road for balance. He snaked the other arm under Ceyx and stood them both up.

  Three voices called out in anger from the restaurant. Alerio, in his dizziness, couldn’t tell how far away the voices or the thugs were and didn’t care to stick around and find out. The two Legionaries staggered down the vender street. They crossed the mountain caravan trail moving unsteadily towards the cluster of warehouses.

  “What happened?” Ceyx asked. Alerio stumbled in reply but didn’t answer. “I think my right arm is broken. If not, it hurts enough to be.”

  Alerio staggered again and Ceyx ordered, “Grab my belt for stability.”

  The five attackers were in no rush. Although their prey had crossed the mountain route, the two victims were weaving back and forth. Even better, they were heading for the storage buildings.

  One of the attackers enjoyed their plight and direction more than the other four. It would be quieter with fewer witnesses between the warehouses. Sure, the Captain wanted revenge on the men who had taken him prisoner, but among the buildings was an opportunity. He would kill the Legionnaires and apologize when the Captain returned from the Golden Valley.

  The other four didn’t care one way or another. Two were the caravan guards who had recognized Speckled Pheasant in the cart. They had gone to a known revolutionary organizer expecting a small reward. Instead, they were offered a substantial fee to help in killing or capturing the men holding the renegade leader. Two unscrupulous drovers were also hired. The plan was to disable the men and hold them for the Captain.

  The disgusting pig of a rebel had issued the orders while squatting over the waste trench. Their dislike for the fat dissent was offset by the promised coins.

  Alerio chanced to communicate verbally as his head cleared a little, “You got clubbed in the street. Me, in the restaurant.”

  “Speckled Pheasant is resourceful,” Ceyx admitted. He was cradling the injured arm and with each step pain radiated up and down the limb. “and lucky.”

  “No. We’re lucky,” Alerio observed. “If it weren’t for my mother we’d be at the tender mercy of the Captain by now.”

  “I don’t understand. But, if Mrs. Sisera had a hand in you pulling me off the street, I thank her,” Ceyx said. “You know at this pace a two and a half-legged goat could catch us.”

  “I can run but I’m still dizzy,” admitted Alerio. “I’ll probably run into one of those fuzzy buildings up ahead.”

  “The pain is taking a lot out of me. I’m only good for a jog,” Ceyx advised him. “Lean on me and I’ll guide us. You supply the leg power.”

  The five attackers strolled casually behind their wounded prey. Why rush when you could easily stay within striking distance and the victims were headed in the correct direction anyway?

  The Legion trains beyond long distance running. In combat, units were required to rush from one position or formation to another. To assure a smooth and efficient maneuver, each Legionary spent time running sprints. Full rations, half rations, or quarter rations, it all depended on foot speed over a relatively short distance.

  Caravan guards and drovers didn’t run a lot and they never ran wind sprint drills. When their prey suddenly straightened up and raced off, they picked up their pace but didn’t run.

  The Legionaries passed the corner of the first storage building. At the end of the warehouse, Alerio glanced at the space between the walls. He didn’t break stride.

  Ceyx didn’t know or care about the choice. His eyes closed involuntarily against the jarring pain. His legs faltered. After a sharp turn, he stumbled. If it weren’t for the young Legionary’s strong hold on his sword belt, he would have face planted on the street.

  Chapter 69 - Only Defenders Like Funnels

  The dizziness and double vision faded as Alerio ran. Hopefully, the sprint had put distance between them and their pursuers. He dared not turn to check. Spying what he was looking for he made a sharp turn. Ceyx slumped and tripped.

  “Only ten more paces, Decanus,” Alerio shouted. “One, two, three, four…”

  Ceyx, being slightly invigorated by the countdown, forced an eye open, regained control of his legs, and added his own voice, “five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

  But they continued running. “I thought you said ten?” Ceyx asked breathlessly.

  “I lied,” admitted Alerio as they continued to cross between storage buildings. “Do you know any songs?”

  “Songs?” questioned Ceyx.

  For a moment, he became numb to the pain as he attempted to remember a tune. Then they passed into shadows. On either side, rough clay brick walls closed in blocking the sunlight. The deeper in they went, the narrower the space between the buildings. At the end of the alley, there was only room for a single man to turn sideways in order to squeeze through the opening.

  Ceyx found himself leaning against the side of a building. His curved knife was placed in his right hand and the weight of his gladius lifted as the sword was taken from his scabbard.

  “Lance Corporal Eolus. Watch my back,” Alerio directed. Then asked again. “Do you know any songs?”

  “Songs? What do you care about a song?” insisted Ceyx. “We’re about to be murdered by a handful of renegades and you want to find your happy place?”

  “No. Not happy,” Alerio explained. “We have hard, hot work to do. Someone once told me, when the task is difficult and maybe beyond your abilities, find a rhythm and keep swinging until the end. So, give me a song.”

  “In that case,” said Ceyx. He cleared his throat and in a high pleasant voice, he began to sing.

  Oh, the wolves came down from the hills, they did

  And the sheep dog watched in the night, he did

  While the shepherd boy slept on rocks, he did

  And the sheep stirred in fright.

  Oh, the wolves came down from the hills, they did

  And the sheep dog charged into the fight, he did

  While the boy grabbed sling and rocks, he did

  And the sheep stirred in fright.

  Oh, the wolves came down from the hills, they did

  And the dog and wolves exchanged bites, they did

  While the boy hurled words and rocks, he did

  And the sheep stirred in fright.

  Oh, the wolves scurried back to the hills, they did

  And the sheep dog hounded their flight, he did

  While the boy hurled the final rocks, he did

  And the sheep stirred in fright.

  Oh, the wolves vanished in the hills, they did

  And the sheep dog watched in the night, he did

  While the shepherd boy slept on rocks, he did

  And the sheep stirred in fright.

  “Your people seem to prefer story verse,” Alerio commented as five men rushed to fill the entrance of the alleyway. The Legionary swirled both gladii in figure eights. “It’ll have to do,” he said as he stepped forward to meet the first two assailants. “Please, Decanus Eolus, grace me with your song again.”

  “Oh, the wolves came down from the hills, they did. And the sheep dog watched in the night, he did,” Ceyx sang. As the words flowed, he heard a distinct rough and out of tune echo of the song from the young Legionary.

  Partially to drown out the harsh vocal rendition of a beloved family folk song, and partially so Alerio could hear over the yelling and clash of swords and knifes, Ceyx sang lo
uder.

  Alerio chose his spot in the alley. Just wide enough for two men to attack comfortably. The comfortable part was important so the men felt confident in a two on one attack. Apparently, they did as both men rushed forward.

  Alerio engaged the first man by slicing across the knee with his right gladius. The man fell and Alerio lifted the blade awkwardly as if he couldn’t believe the lucky strike. Of course, the man on his left swallowed the act and charged. His long knife held high for a stab to the chest.

  “Oh, the wolves came down from the hills, they did. And the dog and wolves exchanged bites, they did,” Alerio rasped out as he opened the man’s gut. Then he jumped forward and caught another thug unready. “While the boy hurled words and rocks, he did. And the sheep stirred in fright.”

  Now in a rhythm, Alerio stabbed the fourth man in the solar plexus. His instructors always warned against a high center chest stab. Your blade might get caught between the flexible cartilage and the hard bone of the ribs. It was like getting your boot caught in mud. You could pull it out in time, but in combat, you don’t have time. He left the blade in the man’s chest and looked for the final insurgent.

  The man was spinning on his heels and preparing to bolt from the alleyway.

  “Oh, the wolves scurried back to the hills, they did. And the sheep dog hounded their flight, he did,” Alerio crooned as he threw his gladius. It didn’t stick, however, the heavy steel sword landed with authority. The man fell. Before he could rise, Alerio had a foot on his back. “While the boy hurled the final rocks, he did. And the sheep stirred in fright.”

  “You sing like merda, Legionary,” the man mouthed.

  “What? I am blessed by the Goddess Canens with a manly singing voice,” Alerio stated. “But I’m finished singing. Now it’s your turn. Who put you up to this?”

  There was a scuffling sound behind him. He turned just as Ceyx stabbed the man with the knee wound in the heart.

  “He didn’t know anything,” the light infantry NCO explained. “Then he began pulling my arm. It hurt like Hades so I stopped him.”