Sword of Ares

by Alex Morgenstern

  “Over my dead body!”

  “Foolish girl. We will kill him, so stop getting in the way. We must kill all men capable of telling the tale, and this one will talk.”

  “Talk? The boy is mute!”

  The foot soldier wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then, he laughed like a madman. He stepped out and reached for Alana’s arms, forcing her to let go of Tor, then pushed her to the side. She fell on her elbows and groaned when the rocky path bruised her skin.

  “Are you really mute, boy?” the soldier said, grabbing the boy’s face and lifting it up, pushing him against the round wall. “What’s your name, vermin?”

  Tor opened his lips, but an unintelligible sound came out.

  The soldier lifted his sword menacingly.

  “No!” Alana said, stretching her hand.

  “Talk, you vermin! Come on, what are you waiting for?”

  The soldier pressed the sword against the boy’s neck. Tor panted, turning his head away, Alana cringed when a single drop of blood formed above the tip of the blade.

  “Come on, say something or I cut you up slowly!” the soldier growled.

  Tor would not speak. He just could not.

  Suddenly, the soldier faced her.

  “Girl, you know what? I like your bravery. Maybe I want to keep you for myself.”

  He glanced back at the boy, clenching his teeth, as if resisting the urge to slice his neck with a flick of his wrist.

  “So, we don’t have all day, kid,” he muttered. “Say something. I know it’s in you. Say it in one… two...”

  Alana got up silently, on her tiptoes, and grabbed a sharp rock from the road and jumped at the soldier with it, smashing it on his head.

  The soldier collapsed forward. He growled furiously and got up, teeth clenched and eyebrows tensed. Anger flashed in his eyes.

  “Now you’ll see!”

  Alana gasped. She knew she had to run. Her feet responded quickly, and she rushed upward.

  “Get back here, Gadalian whore!” the soldier’s rough voice called, and she heard his pounding feet chasing after her. She thought of running into a house, but as she approached one, fire blazed on top and threw fiery ashes beneath. A rider loped in front of her, blocking her path. The horse neighed and rose on two muscular legs.

  She stepped back, losing her balance. As she tried to go around it, its armoured rider spurred hard, and the white horse lunged on her, raising clouds of dust and ash. She could not run away and tripped forward. The horse's hooves surrounded her, and she curled her body defensively.

  The rider spurred, the horse rose its forward legs, and she rolled out of its way, crawling on her hands and back. She stood up and reached for a passage in between two houses. She raced through it as the flaming roof was collapsing and bathing the ground around with fire.

  But it was too late, as the foot soldier dashed out of the other side and lunged at her, pushing her to the ground. She crawled back to the wall, as the man pointed his bloodied sword to her neck. She swallowed and looked up.

  “Up,” the soldier growled. “Up! We don’t have all day!” he said.

  “Walerius, what are you doing?” the rider spoke from above. He was way younger than the foot soldier.

  The foot soldier turned. The rider glared at him bitterly.

  “Get on with the program,” the rider said. “Stop wasting time and bring the girl.”

  Alana heard a sound like a foreman’s whip next to her and jumped in fright. The man had struck the ground with his blade, then drawn a line on the ground.

  He looked up and spat on the road.

  Suddenly, he reached for Alana’s hair and pulled. She screamed, frantically grabbing his arms.

  “Come on,” Walerius, the foot soldier, said, facing her with his scarred face. Alana felt his warm breath, it smelled of garlic and cheese. She dared not to breathe to not smell it again. He quickly let go of her hair, and she stepped back, her body against the round wall.

  “Get your hands off me!” Alana said.

  “Don’t make this any harder,” Walerius said. “From now on, you will behave, or we will not treat you well. Understand? Be a good girl, we’ll treat you right. Be bad, you’ll see what we mean.”

  She frowned and looked at him in the eye.

  “You’re worse than a monster. You...”

  The rider yelled at his comrade.

  “Come on, Walerius, everybody’s finished already except you. Here.” The rider took out a rope from the saddle and threw it at him.

  Walerius pulled one of Alana’s hands and drew it toward him. She kicked Walerius in the shin, trying to break free.

  “Now you do put up a fight.” He rushed to tie the rope around Alana’s wrists, then got up. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her close.

  “We will kill you, just wait until our legionaries come,” Alana said with a frown, pushing her arms away.

  “You don’t have to worry about them,” Walerius said.

  “Just wait!”

  He forced her back into the rocky road, and she looked up at the hill where her roof was now burned to ashes, and a bloodied arm lay nearby, the body hidden by other houses’ walls, its palm up, inert.

  She did not need to see her father’s face to know it was him. There was something around his palm, a cloth of red and green. It was the scarf she had weaved during the week.

  She looked away and shut her eyes again when he passed through the bodies of people she could recognize. Wailing buzzed through her ears as she wished to shut out the world around her but could not.

  Finally, the soldier pulled the rope and let her fall on her knees in the town square. The carriages that had brought the soldiers stood in the middle. Its horses still. A trail of women were sitting on the floor, backs against the carriage or each other.

  On the opposite side, a more gruesome sight ensued, and Alana looked away instantly; the bodies of the men of the city were piled against the round walls. All killed by sword and bow. Most of them unarmed. A race of warriors killed when they were the meekest, when they enjoyed time with their families.

  “Sit there and wait with the others,” Walerius scoffed.

  Alana looked around. She caught a glimpse of Irema. She was sitting, with her back erect, a painful expression on her face and tears coming down.

  “Irema!” she said and rushed through the wailing women to sit next to her friend. Irema stared at her, stood up, and wrapped her arms around her. She pressed her face against Alana’s shoulder. The hug became tighter.

  “Alana… They killed my fiancé. They killed him,” Irema said into Alana’s shoulder, Alana placed her arm firmly on her back.

  “Irema...” Alana shut her eyes, her spirit sank lower and lower, vibrating around her. She did not know what to say. She wanted to be reassuring, she wished to strengthen her friend’s spirit, but her own heart had been torn to pieces. She had also lost her father, though she dared not speak those words. Thinking of what she had just seen hurt to the very core.

  “Why...” Irema muttered. “Why?”

  “Enough!” She heard a voice, and a soldier pulled them apart. “If you two don’t keep quiet, you’ll see.”

  Alana nodded silently and drew her eyes away from her friend’s. She stared at her wrists, now bruised, and sat between the women.

  “They killed them all,” a woman next to her whispered. “Why did we even come to this land?” the woman lamented.

  Alana shook her head. Her mind raced through possibilities… She fantasized of rising up, all the women standing up at the same time, stealing the soldier’s weapons and using them against them.

  She looked around. Not possible.

  Women young and old, girls, small boys, a few elderly men, sitting close to each other, awaiting their destiny.

  Her heart pounded so loudly she could almost hear it.

  Was this really happening?

  Father… Was he really gon
e? She felt as if a stone had settled in her stomach.

  And what would happen to them now?

  She slid her fingers down through the rocky floor and gripped Irema’s hands tightly.

  Suddenly, the captured multitude started to turn their heads toward the road uphill.

  There they saw Aranus the Elder stepping out of the shrine escorted by two Itruschian soldiers. His face was pale, almost matching his white beard as if he had seen a ghost, or worse; his village massacred.

  As the people fixed their glance on him, he lifted his arms.

  One of the guards approached him and spoke into his ear. Aranus turned swiftly and spoke, protesting to his words; then, turned back to the crowd, determined.

  “My beloved people...” he said, his voice trembling. Everybody’s glance was fixed on him. “Today…” He cleared his throat.

  Alana thought, whatever he was going to say, the guards had forced.

  “A day of mourning, a… A consequence for a nefarious plot on which the men...” He paused for a moment.

  The guard next to him continued on his behalf.

  “On which the men of this village had partaken. And not only here… But Gathians, Hunyars, and the Sons of Wanaz. They have also been dealt with.”

  Aranus had lowered his head.

  Alana looked at Irena.

  “By Ares… What do they want to do with us! They are killing everybody! What did we do?”

  “Lies!” said a woman in the crowd, standing up with both fists in the air. A handful of others imitated her.

  “Liars!” another woman shouted, as many others accused Aranus of treason. “My husband would never do that,” said another.

  A woman grabbed a rock, threatening to throw it but seemed paralyzed. Was it the Elder’s aura? No… They could not harm a man of the gods.

  And then, Aranus stepped forward and said in a loud voice:

  “Please… I beg of you… Let us comply with the guests who have allowed us here… Until…”

  The women protested, and a few rocks did fly in his direction, but failed intentionally.

  “Until the Sun of Ares is set upon our stars again, the scourge of giants is raised, and… the sword is found. We shall submit.”

  The soldiers stared at each other, in confusion.

  Alana understood.

  And so could only the ones who knew the legends.

  Chapter VII - The Conspiracy

  Cladius felt as if the whole world hung over his shoulders. He felt disgust and could barely look at the imperial eagle that stood at the back of the amphitheatre, guarded by three soldiers that stood like puny ants beneath its majesty, yet armed with bows, quivers, and short swords. Cladius had his hands clasped together, supported on his elbows, and his eyes were fixed on the empty space before him. His colleagues, the senators, discussed trivial matters, and Larius, the governor of Tharcia, walked down from the grand stairs. He reached the center of the amphitheatre. He cleared his throat, and it echoed throughout.

  “Hail to thee, forgers of a great Empire. And hail our mighty Eagle of Jupiter,” he solemnly said.

  “Hail!” The senators responded in chorus and saluted with their hands on high.

  “Now, we come to you with news of a project,” he said boldly. “A project gruesome and painful to us, fellow representatives of this great Senate, Empire, and People. But as grim as the matter at hand is, it has also been resolved.”

  Cladius’s eyelids were twitching. He sunk his head between his hands. Yes, he had made disparaging comments about Gadalians. He had made them while drunk, in the presence of Larius. Could that have made him the recipient of that knowledge? Had he been proven himself trustworthy in any way to such a coward and a killer? Or was it because of his intent on becoming Consul? Was that the reason?

  Larius went on with his tale.

  “A few days ago, our loyal spies discovered a great conspiracy in the core of the Gadalian villages of Gathia, Adachia, and others. Many of these barbarians were found to be followers of vast and warlike superstitions, which they refer to as the Mysteries of Ares. In this dangerous sect, men are initiated into wanting blood and swearing to become kings; willing to enslave any other group as they go about killing hundreds and eating raw meat, drinking blood, and destroying every other Empire under the wheel of their chariots. Crushing civilization itself, agriculture, and peace under the hooves of their horses in exchange for gold and material wealth.”

  The senators looked attentively, as Larius wandered through the place, his toga and bracelets shining under fiery torches on the wall. His shadow grew like a giant.

  “Among their prophecies is that when a purported Sword of Ares is found, all their oppressors will be crushed. By oppressors, they mean us. The Sacred Itruschian Empire.”

  A man stood in the crowd.

  “Any objection, Senator Hunas?” Larius asked.

  The objector was wearing a long robe and a coat which could not hide the muscles of his frame. He was taller than most men in the group, and in his green eyes shone a fiery will.

  “This is not true... None of my people have sworn...” The man’s voice from the stairs was weak compared to the amplified echo when Larius spoke.

  “Your people, Hunas Iulius Gadalicus? Explain to us what that means...”

  “Senator Larius, I am from the high caste of Itruschia, but among my ancestors are renowned Gadalian warriors. I still have a connection to such a people group, and what you say is not true.”

  “Is it not true that the Sword of Ares refers to the elimination of an oppressive enemy.”

  “Sire, it is a legend, like out of Elysian myths. Besides, that legend talks about giants. Giants, sir, not men nor beasts, but creatures from long ago. Myths, good sire.”

  “Don't you mean we are not giants? And that, my fellow noblemen, is the meaning this superstitious group has found in our glorious Empire! We, the greatest Empire in the world became the giants they fear.”

  “Sire, that interpretation is...”

  “Now let me continue. As I was saying, this dangerous cult extended to most men, as delivered by some of their priests, in secret. Thus, we uncovered a vast conspiracy which threatened to attack our city during next year’s Juvenalia celebrations.”

  The crowd murmured.

  A senator raised his hand.

  “I am Yurius Meridus, resident of Tharcia; and my son, under your own sponsorship, is an apprentice at the workshop of Alan of Vharzia. My son was prohibited to attend this week, the reason was not given; but sire, the people I have known are honourable and loyal to the Empire. No word of discontent has come out of his instructor’s mouth. This Alan even instructs my child instead of his own daughter, who as my son has said, wishes she could study instead.”

  “Yes,” Larius said. “We ordered the Tharcian office to stop your son from traveling because of the operation. And coming back to them. That is how deceitful they are. As we found about their preparations, our team in the province came to the most disturbing conclusion. Their plans were too dangerous and cunning, just as masterful as their metalwork. We made the most difficult decision. We decided to ambush them and eliminate them. We targeted all the men who were found to have ties to the pernicious sect, and we eliminated each and every one of them. And for your son, a more suitable instructor has already been found.”

  The murmuring began once again.

  So he had done it. In all three villages.

  “The women, most of them at least, were spared,” Larius continued. “Such an unfortunate situation, is it not? As not to cause further suffering to these women and children, we decided to provide them with opportunities. Families of soldiers from the province will now have the capability of taking them for wives.”

  “As wives?” asked one of the senators.

  “Yes, whenever possible, if not, some of them will be legally adopted as slaves but treated right. Understand that we have to take care of t
hese people. Unfortunately, many of them have been lost to ensure stability.”

  “You murderer!” Hunas jumped from the crowd and ran down the stairs; the senators around him watched him as a madman sprawling onto the floor. “How... how could you?”

  Larius remained still.

  “I assure you it was of the best interest for this Empire and its peace and prosperity,” he said calmly. “It is a costly matter, but it will save us from a great deal of suffering. Imagine the damage they could do to a city? I do not want Itruschia to be sacked again. Not again! I lost my eye against those very same barbarians.”

  “You... Our people made a deal with you.” Hunas was already in the amphitheatre, walking toward Larius, his shadow a massive spectre of blackness covering the room.

  “You calm down, Hunas...”

  Old senators rushed to the stage, grabbing Hunas by the arms and pulling him back. From Cladius’ angle, it looked as if he was watching a classical tragedy.

  “Liar! Killer! None of that is true,” Hunas twisted his head and cursed.

  “Now you, Hunas...” Larius pointed at him. “Why are you opposing me!”

  “You... you killed my people!” Hunas screamed, and his amplified voice rang through their ears.

  “I am preserving this Empire,” Larius remained his calm. “I am protecting...”

  Cladius observed in shock. He bit the nail of his thumb. Things were getting ugly.

  Hunas kicked one of the old men who were grabbing him. He let go. Then, the half-breed stuck his hand under his coat and unsheathed a short bronze sword. The old senators stepped back, alarmed, one of them with blood dripping down his arm from when he unsheathed.

  Hunas rushed toward Larius with the sword in hand.

  And yet, Larius remained calm.

  “Traitor!” Hunas said, and arrows from the guards above the amphitheatre shot him before he could make a move. Cladius breathed deeply so as not to faint. Five or six arrows pierced through Hunas’ back, one on his leg, and he collapsed to his knees, his face up, teeth clenched. He dropped the sword, which echoed across the room, as he slowly drifted into the world of the dead.