Last stand at Fort Paxtas

[Banehero]

CHAPTER ONE


The cry of a wolf could be heard over the persistent winds that blew down the slope. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly. Ariston could see the moon in all its full glory, casting an eerie light across the land.

He shivered and wrapped his woollen scarlet cloak about him more tightly, to keep back the chill of the wind. He coughed and muttered a curse as he almost slipped, saving himself a fall with an outstretched arm. He noticed his hand was bleeding as he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm. The wolf cried out again.

He was almost at the top of the steep hill now, for which Ariston was glad. He had lost his horse two days before after an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. He had put the beast out of its misery with the point of his sword and had to walk the rest of his journey.

He could see a small ruined building at the top of the hill and noticed the light that flickered within its stone confines. His man was there as promised. Ariston pushed further onwards, eager to get within the shelter of the ruined Temple of Poseidon.

The trail was slippery and he fell twice more before he reached the stone steps. A statue of the God Poseidon lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, its arm and head separated from the body. Damn the Kalami scum! How dare they desecrate a temple dedicated to the Gods!

He marched up the steps avoiding the rubble and was relieved when he could no longer feel the cold harsh wind upon his face. He could see the fire at the centre of the room, crackling away, spreading its warmth through the room.

A draft could be felt and he found it to be coming through a gap in the wall. This was where he must have seen the light from his ascent. He reached it and blocked it with some large stones found scattered in the room, rolling them into place.

He looked around the room and paced towards the fire, removing his scarlet-plumed helmet with ease. He placed it on the ground and proceeded to roll out his sleeping mat from the inside of his shield.
“Well, looks like I’ll be sleeping on the ground again.” He removed his cuirass and let it clatter to the ground. He was exhausted. He took off his bronze greaves and put them aside and sat besides the fire.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty taking off your armour warrior.” The voice startled Ariston, but it did not sound threatening.

“I have come as you asked. Who are you and why have you called for me?”

“My name is Eunerich and I have summoned you here for good reason.” Eunerich stepped from the shadows slowly, draped in a purple hoodless robe, a robe of a Priest of the Gods. His face was worn with age but the strength Ariston found in his gaze was startling.

“I have a message from the God’s.” Ariston rose to meet the man.

“Why did you not come to the fort? Your message could have been delivered quicker if you had come by horse, instead of sending the boy.” The old man seemed to smile, though Ariston was not sure if it was that or a sign of agitation.

“It is too dangerous for old men such as me to be off riding horses, I’ll leave that to the younger generation. But you are right, time is of the essence. The Tribes are massing.” Ariston’s eyes widened.

“What are their intentions?”

“To destroy your people.” He paused to note the reaction of the young man before him; he studied the blond haired youth admiringly. “The Kalami want their freedom.”

“How do you know all this?” Ariston felt stupid for asking the man the question; surely it must have been the Gods who had given him this information.

“I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it from the voice of Zeus in my dreams. You must be ready, or they will kick the Empire out and drive into your kingdom, slowly and surely. And you know what will happen then.” Ariston swallowed his mounting saliva.

“Every barbarian nation at our borders could flood into Corinthia at anytime, and those within who have fallen under Corinthian rule could take up arms against us also. We have beaten them back before, we shall do so again if necessary.” He spoke with confidence.

“You have beaten them back as individual nations young warrior, but the Kalami are finding allies and quickly, from across the sea. The nations of Asia and the Oceania are coming to their aid.”

“What do you suggest I do?” He asked puzzled.

“Keep your eyes on the Kalami knight, and send word to your cities that the Barbarians are coming to crush all of Corinthia.” With that the old man turned and faded into the shadows. Ariston stared into the flames of the fire and proceeded to kit himself up for another long journey home.



*



The peaks of Mount Geteus shone brilliantly in the morning sun. A weak breeze blew Ariston’s cape softly about him. His hands stroked the palisade as he leaned against the battlements. His thoughts were on that evening that seemed so long ago, back to the night he had met the Priest Eunerich in the Temple of Poseidon. It had been three years since that night and since then Ariston had seen little movement from the Kalami.

Fort Paxtas sat before the narrow valley of Mount Geteus and was the furthest outpost in the Corinthian Empire a hundred leagues north of Corinthia. And it was his. Admittedly he had been quite daunted at first. Being promoted at such a young age was practically unheard of before.
He was in command of a thousand men, most of which were his senior in years of living. This had caused great friction at first when he had arrived now not more than a year gone, but he had quickly gained his men’s respect through combat and his leadership. In his first month Fort Paxtas was attacked and he had stood at the forefront of battle all day, refusing to retire until the barbarians had been routed. Whatever reservations the men held towards him were vanquished that bloody day.

“Admiring the view sir?” Ariston turned his head and greeted his friend. It was Paxtas, a man who coincidently shared the same name as the fort he lived and served in. It had been a constant source of un-malicious ridicule from all who lived there; the jokes were something Paxtas seemed to enjoy.

“Good Morning Paxtas, come to give the battlements your eyes.” Paxtas smiled and looked out to the mountains. He was dressed in his scarlet undergarments; his armour had been left in his room. Paxtas was a beast of a man, standing at least a head taller than everyone else in the fort, his black beard was bushy, and it was obvious he had only just woken up.

“You know, every time I stand here I am still taken by the sites of these mountains. There really is nothing like this back home.” Paxtas was a Corinthian half-breed. His father was Corinthian, but his mother was a Mesinian, a girl who lived in a country that had long ago fallen to the might of the Empire. Mesinia was a country filled with rich farming land, a reason why it had become a target of the Empire. Its land was flat, with little hills and no mountains.

“They are beautiful friend, perhaps that’s why we like it here so much.”

“Aye, but I can’t wait to be relieved; we have been far from home for too long Ariston. I have been away from my wife for three years; I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the company of a woman again.” Ariston smiled sadly and turned to face the courtyard.

“You know it will be a few more months till that happens my friend. Till then look at your mountains. Who knows when we will see there like again once we have left?” Ariston clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned away to walk down the narrow platform.

He made his way to the lookout tower, greeting those sentries that stood fully armoured and erect at their posts, the sun shined off their polished armour, their shields gleamed like mirrors. The tallest point in Fort Paxtas was the lookout tower which he slowly made his approach towards, making his way up the winding staircase.

He gave a nod to the man who stood there spear in hand and took note of the long horn bow that lay against the wall.

“Morning sir.” The man was in actual fact no more than a child and went by the name of Derklydes. He stood to attention sweating in the morning sun under the labour of sixty pounds of full armour.

“You haven’t used that thing in a while,” Ariston pointed out the youths bow. Derklydes shook his head and touched the bow.

“Not since last month sir.”

“That was the bear was it not?” Derklydes beamed a triumphant smile. He was happy his commander remembered his fine shot that brought down the mountain bear. It had been a huge beast, terrifying to behold in all its anger and rage, but he had taken his shot despite the pressure. It had taken four arrows to fell the thing.

“Anything to report?” Ariston asked quietly, almost as though the daily routine was boring him. It was.

“I have seen some riders, galloping towards the village; the dust cloud that trailed them was pretty big. I would say there was a few of them too.” Ariston stared out towards the Kalami village to the east of Fort Paxtas and stroked his hair. What could they be up to he wondered. The Kalami village was called Fuxtar in his tongue, and was a small settlement compared to most of the barbarian villages further north, past the mountains, who could the riders be and why so many?

“Thank-you Derklydes.” With that he turned and made his journey back down the stairs deep in thought.

It was busy down on the parade ground and Ariston briefly remembered giving his second the order to form up his men in ranks for inspection. It was not absolutely necessary but it had been a while since he had checked his men thoroughly. They were now rushing from the barracks, save those on sentry duty, to fall in on the parade ground. The sound of heavily armoured troops rushing upon hard earth filled his ears, along with the shouts of his officers.

“Morning Ariston!” A gruff call from his left led his eyes towards Centurion Lexicus. Lexicus was the oldest officer in Fort Paxtas, indeed he even reminded Ariston of his own father. His thick grey beard and hair was whiting now, his skin was thick leather, no longer soft from youth.

At first the old man had been trouble, possibly because he had been waiting to take over the fort from the old commander. He had been a centurion for over thirty years and watching a younger man with little experience promoted over him take charge of the fort must have been hard. Ariston trusted no one more than Lexicus however; the man seemed wisest of all he had ever met.

“You look troubled.” Ariston nodded.

“I need a group of men to ride to Fuxtar immediately, only the best riders and those with good eyes. Five will do.” Lexicus stared over at the men forming in lines. He was pleased to see them looking so splendid. His light blue eyes sparkled with interest.

“Is there trouble?”

“I do not know. That’s what I want to find out, you lead them Lexicus.” Lexicus gave a salute, sharp and well rehearsed and stomped off. The old Centurion began calling out names above the din, and before long Ariston watched them ride off out of the east gate.

[Banehero]

whats wrong with everyone, its like ghost town when I post...

[Banehero]

sorry, just a little upset back then, was infuriated by a 'friend' at the same moment I went to post, I'm ok now : ) Heres the rest of the chapter, please tell me what you think. Thankyou for your time :surprise:


The plains of Esturo rolled out before the riders like a carpet. Behind him lay Fort Paxtas and to the left was the strong borders of the mountains that cast shadows across the plain.

How lovely the weather was Lexicus thought as he gulped down the revitalizing liquid from his canteen, looking up at the blue sky. Red wine dripped from his chin and he wiped it away quickly with the back of his free hand. It should be water in his canteen he knew, but what harm would it do if he had a sip? He had become accustomed to drinking wine on campaigns for years now.

Behind him trotting at a measured pace were his picked men, all chosen for their horsemanship and fighting skill, and of course, their eyesight. If they encountered problems on the way, these men knew how to confuse a larger enemy force. If one was unhorsed they were also the fastest men on foot, so with luck they could make there escape if the others could not help them.

The village of Fuxtar was still a few hours away, and they had been riding all morning. It was time to rest the horses. Lexicus stopped the group at the river Esturous, the largest river east of the fort, and one that supplied the village of Fuxtar and the fort with its water, it round its way on a meandering course through the plains. It was a deep river, more than thirty yards wide.

The horses stooped to refresh themselves while the men washed away the sweat of the mornings ride from their faces and bodies. The morning sun shone on the rivers surface casting Lexicus’ reflection back at him. He was tired, his bones ached, his joints would need massaging so he could move properly. It was always a problem, especially now he was past sixty. He shook his head and spoke softly to his ageing reflection.

“Haven’t even been riding for long, my arse is as raw as a fresh wound.”

“You have gone soft with age.” The melodic voice of the long blonde haired youth called Valorous filtered through Lexicus’ mind. He turned to face the young man before him.

What would he give to be young again? He studied Valorous, the man was strong and tall, his face handsome. His strong jaw gave him a noble appearance almost like the statues of the old Kings back in Corinthia. A scar ran down his left cheek, the only flaw visible on his face.

“I will be laughing from the heavens when I see you in the same position, ‘Blondie’.” Valorous cringed as he heard his nick-name. No one else used it but Lexicus. It was a name he would rather the old man stopped using.

“What do you think is happening in the village?” he asked instead, trying to ignore the old centurion’s smile and comment.

“Perhaps it is just Ariston’s anxiety mounting again; you heard the story of the night he went to the Temple of Poseidon. He is so set upon the barbarians rebelling. I think he barely thinks about anything else sometimes.”

“I have heard talk of dust clouds rising in the east, near Fuxtar.” Glavious joined the conversation, adding his thick Lacion accent to the mix. Lexicus pinned his ears back and tried to make sense of the dark-haired youths words. It was such a hard thing trying to decipher the guttural Lacion accent.

He was another man Lexicus was proud to have under him. Glavious was the quickest runner in all the land; he had won the armoured sprint races at Olympia two years running and was an excellent swordsman as well. His tanned muscled frame was envied by all but Valorous.

“And who told you such a thing?” asked Lexicus, washing the cold water from the river across his brow.

“Derklydes told me, he was up the lookout tower this morning. He said the dust cloud was large. Only one thing can cause that.” Silence ensued as each man was deep in thought. Only a large force could churn out a cloud of dust from miles away. If what the boy had said was true, Lexicus would find out soon enough.

“Kit up lads, we have a ride ahead of us.”

It took ten minutes to arm themselves again, and with the horses full from the drink and feast, they rode on towards the Kalami village of Fuxtar. They arrived less than two hours later. The sun was still burning violently in the sky and each man was covered with sweat from riding in the morning sun in armour.

Fuxtar was situated on a large hill, surrounded by a forest. The river Esturous ran at the bottom of the hill and already they could see women and children on its banks drawing water from it in large buckets. They were poorly dressed like most barbarians, but were clean in appearance despite the dirt on their clothes. The wooden wall that surrounded the village was twice as high as a man. Smoke rose from some of the hovels indicating food being prepared.

As they rode near the village the women and children noticed them and cast them mean glances. Some of the children even shot imaginary arrows at them, drawing back on their invisible bow strings before rushing off back up the hill.

“Can’t see anything strange from here.” Grumbled Ageaous, the quick-witted thief jumped from his horse and led it by its reins. He stooped to the ground, studying the many footfalls and hooves that left an imprint on the trail.

“Lots of footprints here Lexicus, from what I can tell it goes right towards the village, some of them go into the woods as well.” Ageaous indicated to some deep tracks. “It looks like some kind of wagon left this track, whatever was on it must have been heavy.” Lexicus nodded his agreement and turned to Valorous, his expression grim.

“Well, let’s ride into the village and see what we can find out. I want you to look around the woods and the other side of the village Valorous, take Ageaous with you and report back to me. I don’t like the look of this, remember, keep your eyes peeled, the Kalami aren’t too friendly.” Valorous nodded. “Be quick.” The centurion added, noticing the wind pick up and rustle the leaves. The darkness of the woods could conceal thousands of warriors, if there was a force of barbarians massing around here, it would be very dangerous to hang about.

Lexicus rode towards the village at a quickened pace. His head was pounding from worry and the heat; he was getting too old for this. It was about time he returned to Corinthia to retire in his pleasant abode and spend his last years philosophising and in study; perhaps he could try his hand at politics. It had been a long time since he had last returned to check the affairs of his house; would it still have been kept in fine condition, would the garden look as beautiful as he imagined? He dispelled the thoughts from his head as he rode between the open gates of Fuxtar.

The village was quiet. The women and children who had watched them as they rode down the trail had vanished into their homes, small wood and mud hovels that lay scattered about in no particular order.

He could hear a dog bark; it was a large shaggy grey animal, thin as a rake and tied to a post. The dog reminded him of those that were trained for the dog runs in the coliseum back home, though not as well kept of course. It barked at the riders as they entered the village, straining against the rope that tied it to the post. For a moment Lexicus thought he could see the post rocking in the ground as though it were about to be ripped from the earth.

Lexicus knew the village by heart. How many times had he come here in the last ten years of service for the Empire he did not know? He gingerly dismounted from his horse, hitting the earth with a quiet metal crash. His men did the same.

He led his horse to a horizontal strip of wood near the closest barbarian home and tied the reins to it loose enough so all that would be necessary if he were in trouble would be a tug and a leap and he could be away.
Lexicus looked over to his three companions. Glavious looked anxious and carried his shield and spear ready for trouble, staring at the huts as though he expected a horde of barbarians to emerge from the depths. His other man removed his helmet to wipe sweat from his forehead.

This was Crixus, a man born into slavery who had won his freedom in the Battle of Lindium sixteen years earlier against the savage Picts in the western edge of the Empire. His face was scared and pockmarked, when he took off his shirt scars ran down his back that indicated he had been whipped at some point in his life, probably when he was a young slave. He was a man Lexicus greatly admired for his abilities in combat and tracking despite his wild un-tamed spirit.

“Someone better shut that dog up.” Crixus cursed bitterly and scowled at the beast, who tried even more frantically to break free of its bounds. Crixus drew his sword and smiled; the dog yelped and was silent, it moved behind the cover of its post.

He looked over at the youngest member of his party, Eytes, he who was not a warrior of Corinthia but a man born from the Kalami after his mother had been ***** by a Corinthian centurion. The man served as a squire to Lexicus, and he was a slave who would most likely live out his days in servitude of the army regardless of his actions. Lexicus treated the man as a freeborn however, and needed him to speak to the Kalami. He watched the man pace over to a hovel, calling out in his native tongue. There was a sharp reply, a woman’s voice.

Lexicus wondered over to Eytes who simply shrugged.

“What’s wrong, what did she say?”

“She said she does not want to talk to us ‘bastard Corinthian’s’.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Tell her we must speak to her. I want to know why the village is so quiet. Where are all the men?” Eyte’s nodded his understanding and spoke out once more. He got the same reply. Lexicus cursed.

“Damn it, I think we should try elsewhere.” Suddenly there was a scream from behind; Crixus was dragging a young woman out of her home roughly. She screamed in rage and slapped him. Crixus replied with his fist, knocking the girl almost senseless, her struggles stopped.

“That will do Crixus.” Lexicus shouted angrily as he marched over to the pair. The centurion looked the girl up and down. She was young, not past twenty, and very pretty. Her cheek was red from where Crixus had punched her and she stared fiercely at him as though she were trying to kill him with her gaze. He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease. Crixus let her go and she stood before them, brushed back her hair and spat on the ground.

“Where are all the men?” Eyte’s asked her softly. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the stranger who spoke her language yet stood by her enemies. She replied with confidence, her voice strong and un-wavering. Eyte’s translated.

“She said they have gone away.” Lexicus shook his head and urged Eyte’s to continue.

“Ask her where they have gone and why.” Once again the girl spoke and shot a look of disgust towards Crixus.

“She won’t say sir. I don’t think any of them will talk.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Sir, you better take a look at this!” Lexicon turned to see Valorous at the gates, pointing towards the woods. He looked at the girl; she appeared terrified and rushed off towards her home. Crixus moved after her but Lexicon held out his hand.

“Let her go.” Lexicon paced towards his great white steed that stood patiently waiting for its master’s return. He pulled the reins from where he had them tied and mounted slowly, easing his tired joints that creaked with the exertion onto the saddle.

“What have you got Blondie?” he called out, already frustrated with the women’s refusal to speak. He did not want to return without anything solid to report.

“Lots of camp fires in the woods, all out obviously but it’s a sign of life at least. Lots of the forest has also been cut down, there are huge clearings.” Lexicon’s heart jumped, this was what he was looking for. Some sign of the strange absence of men from the village.

Valorous led the group down the hill and into the shade of the forest. A multitude of birds sang their delightful tunes to one another and any who would listen. It did not ease the centurion at all.

He could see a lot of plant-life crushed by nothing other than footfalls and wheels. Ageaous could be seen crouching low over something Lexicus could not make out until he arrived.

“This whole area was cleared sir, I’d say there were about twenty fires burning here recently, some of them pretty big ones at that, no more than a few days ago. I’d say the clearings here were made recently too, all these trees have only been cut down in the last few months.” He pointed out the stumps.

“They must have cut them down to make weapons, spears most likely.” Added Glavious, he shook his own eight-footer to emphasise the point.

“I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you, if there is something going on here the women at the village might warn someone of our arrival. We must get back quickly.” Lexicus gave the order to move out to Fort Paxtas, where he did not relish passing on the news to his commander.

[Banehero]

Sorry about that word you covered : ( I will try to keep the language to a more suitable level :thumbsup:

well anyway tell me what you think. I have a part of chapter two to put up as well.

This story is not Diablo 2 related, its just a bit of fantasy set in a world trapped between the Greeks and Romans periods.

[0xDEADCAFE]

:thumbsup:

I enjoyed it, my interest is piqued, and I am definitely looking forward to the next chapter. I particularly liked the pace of the story and the breadth of detail. You must have given a great deal thought to this world:
This was Crixus, a man born into slavery who had won his freedom in the Battle of Lindium sixteen years earlier ...
Lindium? Sixteen years ago? Sounds like you have quite an epic in mind here!



On the nit-picky side: in general the prose is lean, easy to read and nicely descriptive, but there is the occasional awkward phrase, a bit too many. Another proofread would probably help.

Another nit-pick: the way you attribute dialog, or rather the way you don't, is occasionally confusing. You often mix the dialog right into the narrative rather than denoting each line of dialogue with "so-and-so said", and I like that, usually it flows nicely, but I had to re-read the conversation between Ariston and Eunerich to figure out who was saying what, and there were maybe one or two other places where I had momentary dialogue confusion.




whats wrong with everyone, its like ghost town when I post...
I feel your pain. I didn't get a single comment for about a week after my first post, which was, how can I put it, agonizing. I've only been reading this forum for a couple weeks, but from what I've seen the pace of feedback here seems to be something less than frantic. :sleep: On the other hand the comments generally seem to be thoughful so hang in there - and keep writing!

[Banehero]

Thanks for the reply Ox :thumbsup: Thankyou for your thoughts, I will go through it again tonight and take a look at a few of the problems you mentioned, I'll clean up the dialogue confusion at the start and re-post.

[Banehero]

Thanks for the reply Ox :thumbsup: Thankyou for your thoughts, I will go through it again tonight and take a look at a few of the problems you mentioned, I'll clean up the dialogue confusion at the start and re-post.

I've noticed that Lexicus' name changes in it for a few times to Lexicon, that has to be corrected, sorry for the confusion. I'll post part of chapter 2 later : )

[Banehero]

Here is chapter One again with a few changes (not many though so just go to chapter two if you want) along with chapter two


CHAPTER ONE


The cry of a wolf could be heard over the persistent winds that blew down the slope. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly. Ariston could see the moon in all its full glory, casting an eerie light across the land.

He shivered and wrapped his woollen scarlet cloak about him more tightly, to keep back the chill of the wind. He coughed and muttered a curse as he almost slipped, saving himself a fall with an outstretched arm. He noticed his hand was bleeding as he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm. The wolf cried out again.

He was almost at the top of the steep hill now, for which Ariston was glad. He had lost his horse two days before after an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. He had put the beast out of its misery with the point of his sword and had to walk the rest of his journey.

He could see a small ruined building at the top of the hill and noticed the light that flickered within its stone confines. His man was there as promised. Ariston pushed further onwards, eager to get within the shelter of the ruined Temple of Poseidon.

The trail was slippery and he fell twice more before he reached the stone steps. A statue of the God Poseidon lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, its arm and head separated from the body. Damn the Kalami scum! How dare they desecrate a temple dedicated to the Gods!

He marched up the steps avoiding the rubble and was relieved when he could no longer feel the cold harsh wind upon his face. He could see the fire at the centre of the room, crackling away, spreading its warmth through the room.

A draft could be felt and he found it to be coming through a gap in the wall. This was where he must have seen the light from his ascent. He reached it and blocked it with some large stones found scattered in the room, rolling them into place.

He looked around the room and paced towards the fire, removing his scarlet-plumed helmet with ease. He placed it on the ground and proceeded to roll out his sleeping mat from the inside of his shield.

“Well, looks like I’ll be sleeping on the ground again.” He removed his cuirass and let it clatter to the ground. He was exhausted. He took off his bronze greaves and put them aside and sat besides the fire.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty taking off your armour warrior.” The voice startled Ariston, but it did not sound threatening.
“I have come as you asked. Who are you and why have you called for me?”

“My name is Eunerich and I have summoned you here for good reason.” Eunerich stepped from the shadows slowly, draped in a purple hoodless robe, a robe of a Priest of the Gods. His face was worn with age but the strength Ariston found in his gaze was startling.

“I have a message from the God’s.” The priest announced as though he were talking in front of an audience. Ariston rose to meet the man.

“Why did you not come to the fort? Your message could have been delivered quicker if you had come by horse, instead of sending the boy.” The old man seemed to smile, though Ariston was not sure if it was that or a sign of agitation.

“It is too dangerous for old men such as me to be off riding horses, I’ll leave that to the younger generation. But you are right, time is of the essence. The Tribes are massing.” Ariston’s eyes widened.

“What are their intentions?”

“To destroy your people.” Eunerich paused to note the reaction of the young man before him; he studied the blond haired youth admiringly. “The Kalami want their freedom.” The old priest added, his eyes fixed on Ariston, his watch unwavering.

“How do you know all this?” Ariston felt stupid for asking the man the question; surely it must have been the Gods who had given him this information.

“I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it from the voice of Zeus in my dreams. You must be ready, or they will kick the Empire out and drive into your kingdom, slowly and surely. And you know what will happen then.” Ariston swallowed his mounting saliva.

“Every barbarian nation at our borders could flood into Corinthia at anytime, and those within who have fallen under Corinthian rule could take up arms against us also. We have beaten them back before, we shall do so again if necessary.” Ariston spoke with confidence.

“You have beaten them back as individual nations young warrior, but the Kalami are finding allies and quickly, from across the sea. The nations of Asia and the Oceania are coming to their aid.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Ariston asked puzzled.

“Keep your eyes on the Kalami knight, and send word to your cities that the Barbarians are coming to crush all of Corinthia.”

“Why are you telling me all this, surely you could have gone to somebody else, I am only a centurion?” The old man smiled and looked up dramatically, as though he were performing a role on a stage in the amphitheatre raising his right hand towards the ceiling.

“Only the gods can tell you, but ask me that question the next time we meet.” With that the old man turned and faded into the shadows. Ariston called after him, demanding what he had meant.

There was no reply.

Ariston stared into the flames of the furious fire and proceeded to kit himself up for a long journey home.



*



The peaks of Mount Geteus shone brilliantly in the morning sun. A weak breeze blew Ariston’s cape softly about him. His hands stroked the palisade as he leaned against the battlements. His thoughts were on that evening that seemed so long ago, back to the night he had met the Priest Eunerich in the Temple of Poseidon. It had been three years since that night and since then Ariston had seen little movement from the Kalami.

Fort Paxtas sat before the narrow valley of Mount Geteus and was the furthest outpost in the Corinthian Empire a hundred leagues north of Corinthia. And it was his. Admittedly he had been quite daunted at first. Being promoted to Legatus at such a young age was practically unheard of before.

He was in command of a full legion, ten cohorts, almost six thousand men, most of which were older than he. This had caused great friction at first when he had arrived now not more than a year gone, but he had quickly gained his men’s respect through combat and his leadership. In his first month when Fort Paxtas had been attacked by some troublesome Kalami, he had stood at the forefront of battle, refusing to retire until the barbarians had been routed. Whatever reservations the men held against him were vanquished that bloody day.

“Admiring the view sir?” Ariston turned his head and greeted his friend. It was Paxtas, a man who coincidently shared the same name as the fort he lived and served in. It had been a constant source of un-malicious ridicule from all who lived there; the jokes were something Paxtas seemed to enjoy.

“Good Morning Paxtas, come to give the battlements your eyes.” Paxtas smiled and looked out to the mountains. He was dressed in his scarlet undergarments; his armour had been left in his room. Paxtas was a beast of a man, standing at least a head taller than everyone else in the fort, his black beard was bushy, and it was obvious he had only just woken up.

“You know, every time I stand here I am still taken by the sites of these mountains. There really is nothing like this back home.” Paxtas was a Corinthian half-breed. His father was Corinthian, but his mother was a Mesinian, a girl who lived in a country that had long ago fallen to the might of the Empire. Mesinia was a country filled with rich farming land, a reason why it had become a target of the Empire. Its land was flat, with little hills and no mountains.

“They are beautiful friend, perhaps that’s why we like it here so much.”

“Aye, but I can’t wait to be relieved; we have been far from home for too long Ariston. I have been away from my wife for three years; I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the company of a woman again.” Ariston smiled sadly and turned to face the courtyard.

“You know it will be a few more months till that happens my friend. Till then look at your mountains. Who knows when we will see there like again once we have left?” Ariston clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned away to walk down the narrow platform.

He made his way to the lookout tower, greeting those sentries that stood fully armoured and erect at their posts, the sun shined off their polished armour, their shields gleamed like mirrors.

He gave a nod to the man who stood there spear in hand and took note of the long horn bow that lay against the wall.

“Morning sir.” The man was in actual fact no more than a child and went by the name of Derklydes. He stood to attention sweating in the morning sun under the labour of sixty pounds of full armour.

“You haven’t used that thing in a while,” Ariston pointed out the youths bow. Derklydes shook his head and touched the bow.

“Not since last month sir.”

“That was the bear was it not?” Derklydes beamed a triumphant smile. He was happy his commander remembered his fine shot that brought down the mountain bear. It had been a huge beast, terrifying to behold in all its anger and rage, but he had taken his shot despite the pressure. It had taken four arrows to fell the thing.

“Anything to report?” Ariston asked quietly, almost as though the daily routine was boring him. It was.

“I have seen some riders, galloping towards the village; the dust cloud that trailed them was pretty big. I would say there was a few of them too.” Ariston stared out towards the Kalami village to the east of Fort Paxtas and stroked his hair. What could they be up to he wondered. The Kalami village was called Fuxtar in his tongue, and was a small settlement compared to most of the barbarian villages further north, past the mountains, who could the riders be and why so many?

“Thank-you Derklydes.” With that he turned and made his journey back down the stairs deep in thought.

It was busy down on the parade ground and Ariston briefly remembered giving his second the order to form up his men in ranks for inspection. It was not absolutely necessary but it had been a while since he had checked his men thoroughly. They were now rushing from the barracks, save those on sentry duty, to fall in on the parade ground. The sound of heavily armoured troops rushing upon hard earth filled his ears, along with the shouts of his officers.

“Morning Ariston!” A gruff call from his left led his eyes towards Centurion Lexicus. Lexicus was the oldest officer in Fort Paxtas, indeed he even reminded Ariston of his own father. His thick grey beard and hair was whiting now, his skin was thick leather, no longer soft from youth.

At first the old man had been trouble, possibly because he had been waiting to take over the fort from the old commander. He had been a centurion for over thirty years and watching a younger man with little experience promoted over him take charge of the fort must have been hard. Ariston trusted no one more than Lexicus however; the man seemed wisest of all he had ever met.

“You look troubled; I can always tell these things from the blank lost expression written across your face.” Ariston nodded.

“I need a group of men to ride to Fuxtar immediately, only the best riders and those with good eyes. Five will do.” Lexicus stared over at the men forming in lines. He was pleased to see them looking so splendid. His light blue eyes sparkled with interest.

“Is there trouble?”

“I do not know. That’s what I want to find out, you lead them Lexicus.” Lexicus gave a salute, sharp and well rehearsed and stomped off. The old Centurion began calling out names above the din, and before long Ariston watched them ride off out of the east gate.



The plains of Esturo rolled out before the riders like a carpet. Behind him lay Fort Paxtas and to the left was the strong borders of the mountains that cast shadows across the plain.

How lovely the weather was Lexicus thought as he gulped down the revitalizing liquid from his canteen, looking up at the blue sky. Red wine dripped from his chin and he wiped it away quickly with the back of his free hand. It should be water in his canteen he knew, but what harm would it do if he had a sip? He had become accustomed to drinking wine on campaigns for years now.

Behind him trotting at a measured pace were his picked men, all chosen for their horsemanship and fighting skill, and of course, their eyesight. If they encountered problems on the way, these men knew how to confuse a larger enemy force. If one was unhorsed they were also the fastest men on foot, so with luck they could make there escape if the others could not help them.

The village of Fuxtar was still a few hours away, and they had been riding all morning. It was time to rest the horses. Lexicus stopped the group at the river Esturous, the largest river east of the fort, and one that supplied the village of Fuxtar and the fort with its water, it round its way on a meandering course through the plains. It was a deep river, more than thirty yards wide.

The horses stooped to refresh themselves while the men washed away the sweat of the mornings ride from their faces and bodies. The morning sun shone on the rivers surface casting Lexicus’ reflection back at him. He was tired, his bones ached, his joints would need massaging so he could move properly. It was always a problem, especially now he was past sixty. He shook his head and spoke softly to his ageing reflection.

“Haven’t even been riding for long, my arse is as raw as a fresh wound.”

“You have gone soft with age.” The melodic voice of the long blonde haired youth called Valorous filtered through Lexicus’ mind. He turned to face the young man before him.

What would he give to be young again? He studied Valorous, the man was strong and tall, his face handsome. His strong jaw gave him a noble appearance almost like the statues of the old Kings back in Corinthia. A scar ran down his left cheek, the only flaw visible on his face.

“I will be laughing from the heavens when I see you in the same position, ‘Blondie’.” Valorous cringed as he heard his nick-name. No one else used it but Lexicus. It was a name he would rather the old man stopped using.

“What do you think is happening in the village?” he asked instead, trying to ignore the old centurion’s smile and comment.

“Perhaps it is just Ariston’s anxiety mounting again; you heard the story of the night he went to the Temple of Poseidon. He is so set upon the barbarians rebelling. I think he barely thinks about anything else sometimes.”

“I have heard talk of dust clouds rising in the east, near Fuxtar.” Glavious joined the conversation, adding his thick Lacion accent to the mix. Lexicus pinned his ears back and tried to make sense of the dark-haired youths words. It was such a hard thing trying to decipher the guttural Lacion accent.

He was another man Lexicus was proud to have under him. Glavious was the quickest runner in all the land; he had won the armoured sprint races at Olympia two years running and was an excellent swordsman as well. His tanned muscled frame was envied by all but Valorous.

“And who told you such a thing?” asked Lexicus, washing the cold water from the river across his brow.

“Derklydes told me, he was up the lookout tower this morning. He said the dust cloud was large. Only one thing can cause that.” Silence ensued as each man was deep in thought. Only a large force could churn out a cloud of dust from miles away. If what the boy had said was true, Lexicus would find out soon enough.

“Kit up lads, we have a ride ahead of us.”

It took ten minutes to arm themselves again, and with the horses full from the drink and feast, they rode on towards the Kalami village of Fuxtar. They arrived less than two hours later. The sun was still burning violently in the sky and each man was covered with sweat from riding in the morning sun in armour.

Fuxtar was situated on a large hill, surrounded by a forest. The river
Esturous ran at the bottom of the hill and already they could see women and children on its banks drawing water from it in large buckets. They were poorly dressed like most barbarians, but were clean in appearance despite the dirt on their clothes. The wooden wall that surrounded the village was twice as high as a man. Smoke rose from some of the hovels indicating food being prepared.

As they rode near the village the women and children noticed them and cast them mean glances. Some of the children even shot imaginary arrows at them, drawing back on their invisible bow strings before rushing off back up the hill.

“Can’t see anything strange from here.” Grumbled Ageaous, the quick-witted thief jumped from his horse and led it by its reins. He stooped to the ground, studying the many footfalls and hooves that left an imprint on the trail.

“Lots of footprints here Lexicus, from what I can tell it goes right towards the village, some of them go into the woods as well.” Ageaous indicated to some deep tracks. “It looks like some kind of wagon left this track, whatever was on it must have been heavy.” Lexicus nodded his agreement and turned to Valorous, his expression grim.

“Well, let’s ride into the village and see what we can find out. I want you to look around the woods and the other side of the village Valorous, take Ageaous with you and report back to me. I don’t like the look of this, remember, keep your eyes peeled, the Kalami aren’t too friendly.” Valorous nodded. “Be quick.” The centurion added, noticing the wind pick up and rustle the leaves. The darkness of the woods could conceal thousands of warriors, if there was a force of barbarians massing around here, it would be very dangerous to hang about.

Lexicus rode towards the village at a quickened pace. His head was pounding from worry and the heat; he was getting too old for this. It was about time he returned to Corinthia to retire in his pleasant abode and spend his last years philosophising and in study; perhaps he could try his hand at politics. It had been a long time since he had last returned to check the affairs of his house; would it still have been kept in fine condition, would the garden look as beautiful as he imagined? He dispelled the thoughts from his head as he rode between the open gates of Fuxtar.

The village was quiet. The women and children who had watched them as they rode down the trail had vanished into their homes, small wood and mud hovels that lay scattered about in no particular order.

He could hear a dog bark; it was a large shaggy grey animal, thin as a rake and tied to a post. The dog reminded him of those that were trained for the dog runs in the coliseum back home, though not as well kept of course. It barked at the riders as they entered the village, straining against the rope that tied it to the post. For a moment Lexicus thought he could see the post rocking in the ground as though it were about to be ripped from the earth.

Lexicus knew the village by heart. How many times had he come here in the last ten years of service for the Empire he did not know? He gingerly dismounted from his horse, hitting the earth with a quiet metal crash. His men did the same.

He led his horse to a horizontal strip of wood near the closest barbarian home and tied the reins to it loose enough so all that would be necessary if he were in trouble would be a tug and a leap and he could be away.

Lexicus looked over to his three companions. Glavious looked anxious and carried his shield and spear ready for trouble, staring at the huts as though he expected a horde of barbarians to emerge from the depths. His other man removed his helmet to wipe sweat from his forehead.

This was Crixus, a man born into slavery who had won his freedom in the Battle of Lindium sixteen years earlier against the savage Picts in the western edge of the Empire. His face was scarred and pockmarked; when he took off his shirt jagged scars ran down his back that indicated he had been whipped at some point in his life, probably when he was a young slave. He was a man Lexicus greatly admired for his abilities in combat and tracking despite his wild un-tamed spirit.

“Someone better shut that dog up.” Crixus cursed bitterly and scowled at the beast, who tried even more frantically to break free of its bounds. Crixus drew his sword and smiled; the dog yelped and was silent, it moved behind the cover of its post.

He looked over at the youngest member of his party, Eytes, he who was not a warrior of Corinthia but a man born from the Kalami after his mother had been shamed by a Corinthian centurion. The man served as a squire to Lexicus, and he was a slave who would most likely live out his days in servitude of the army regardless of his actions. Lexicus treated the man as a freeborn however, and needed him to speak to the Kalami. He watched the man pace over to a hovel, calling out in his native tongue. There was a sharp reply, a woman’s voice.

Lexicus wondered over to Eytes who simply shrugged.

“What’s wrong, what did she say?”

“She said she does not want to talk to us ‘bastard Corinthian’s’.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Tell her we must speak to her. I want to know why the village is so quiet. Where are all the men?” Eyte’s nodded his understanding and spoke out once more. He got the same reply. Lexicus cursed.

“Damn it, I think we should try elsewhere.” Suddenly there was a scream from behind; Crixus was dragging a young woman out of her home roughly. She screamed in rage and slapped him. Crixus replied with his fist, knocking the girl almost senseless, her struggles stopped.

“That will do Crixus.” Lexicus shouted angrily as he marched over to the pair. The centurion looked the girl up and down. She was young, not past twenty, and very pretty. Her cheek was red from where Crixus had punched her and she stared fiercely at him as though she were trying to kill him with her gaze. He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease. Crixus let her go and she stood before them, brushed back her hair and spat on the ground.

“Where are all the men?” Eyte’s asked her softly. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the stranger who spoke her language yet stood by her enemies. She replied with confidence, her voice strong and un-wavering. Eyte’s translated.

“She said they have gone away.” Lexicus shook his head and urged Eyte’s to continue.

“Ask her where they have gone and why.” Once again the girl spoke and shot a look of disgust towards Crixus.

“She won’t say sir. I don’t think any of them will talk.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Sir, you better take a look at this!” Lexicus turned to see Valorous at the gates, pointing towards the woods. He looked at the girl; she appeared terrified and rushed off towards her home. Crixus moved after her but Lexicus held out his hand.

“Let her go.” Lexicus paced towards his great white steed that stood patiently waiting for its master’s return. He pulled the reins from where he had them tied and mounted slowly, easing his tired joints that creaked with the exertion onto the saddle.

“What have you got Blondie?” he called out, already frustrated with the women’s refusal to speak. He did not want to return without anything solid to report.

“Lots of camp fires in the woods, all out obviously but it’s a sign of life at least. Lots of the forest has also been cut down, there are huge clearings.” Lexicus’ heart jumped, this was what he was looking for. Some sign of the strange absence of men from the village.

Valorous led the group down the hill and into the shade of the forest. A multitude of birds sang their delightful tunes to one another and any who would listen. It did not ease the centurion at all.

He could see a lot of plant-life crushed by nothing other than footfalls and wheels. Ageaous could be seen crouching low over something Lexicus could not make out until he arrived.

“This whole area was cleared sir, I’d say there were about twenty fires burning here recently, some of them pretty big ones at that, no more than a few days ago. I’d say the clearings here were made recently too, all these trees have only been cut down in the last few months.” He pointed out the stumps.

“They must have cut them down to make weapons, spears most likely.” Added Glavious, he shook his own eight-footer to emphasise the point.
“I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you, if there is something going on here the women at the village might warn someone of our arrival. We must get back quickly.” Lexicus gave the order to move out to Fort Paxtas, where he did not relish passing on the news to his commander.

[Banehero]

CHAPTER TWO



Ariston sat on the cushioned seat, his head in his hands. He had noticed recently he had been falling into a depression, one that would leave him at times simply staring at things without any clue of what they were. He could look at a wall but it was not a wall.

He missed his wife Anetea. It had been more than a year since he had last held her in his arms, since he had last made love. He thought of her smile that radiated beauty, her eyes that sparkled with wisdom and love. He could still picture her before him walking up the garden path of his stately home, her figure draped in fine blue cloth; her raven coloured long hair blowing in the wind, laughing; that laughter that was more of a giggle than anything else.

In a few months he would be back home if only for a few weeks before being re-posted to another far away place. He would hear her laughter soon. Ariston looked at the small table that lay before him and the last letter he had received from Anetea.

His son Ajax was growing strong. He had missed his first steps which had been taken in the kitchen of his home. How much more had he missed? Had his son began to talk? He had left the child only weeks after he had been born. The night before he departed north he had held his son in his arms, cradling him with care and fear. He wished to see his face again, to feel his son’s small hands grip tightly around his finger. But that would have to wait.

The candle on his desk flickered and caught his attention. His thoughts now moved towards what the boy Derklydes had told him up on the watch tower and he remembered the words of the priest Eunerich spoken now so long ago.

Were the tribes united now? The thought made his blood run cold. The only reason why they had been defeated in the first place was because they had stood divided, quarrelling and warring with each other even when the Empire invaded.

If they inspired all the other nations under Corinthian rule to rebel, the army of the Empire would surely break to pieces. Many of its soldiers were from those conquered countries. If that happened would his people die, or become enslaved themselves?

Why had the council of ephors at the court of Corinthia dismissed his claims that the barbarians were massing? Despite no hard evidence surely they could see the threat as well as he could, had not the Gods themselves imparted this knowledge to Eunerich, to the Corinthian priests themselves?

He had asked for more forts built further north, to support those few that stood there now, but the same replies came to silence him each time.

“We have our armies too thinly spread out across the Empire to garrison more forts in the north.” One would say.

“The war in the west is taking up all our forces and resources, nothing can be spared.” Another would reveal, not able to look at Ariston directly when he spoke.

If the barbarians did come they could drive deep into the northlands, into Thracadonia and Germaous and then into the heart of the Empire itself. Would they listen to him then, when it would be almost irrefutably late to save most of the great Empire?

He had tried to convince his father to talk to someone with authority on these matters, someone who had some control over the ephors. His father’s influence and reputation across Corinthia had been responsible for Ariston’s promotion and attachment to Fort Paxtas and so he had hoped he could use it once again.

His father was ignored and Ariston marched north, unable to press the matter further in person, only urging them in despatched letters. He had not received a reply other than that of the date to expect the relief force.

A hard knock came at his door. He raised himself from the seat and opened the stout oak door, which creaked loudly on its hinges. Lexicus stood before him; his face told Ariston he bore urgent news.

“Come in Lexicus, I take it what you have to say will not bring relief to my heart.” Lexicus looked at him gravely and shook his head.

“Come, sit yourself down you look tired.” Ariston pulled out the seat he had occupied and offered it to his friend, and rounding the table he pulled out the chair opposite the centurion and sat down himself.

He placed his elbows on the table and stared into the old man’s eyes, waiting for him to proceed. Lexicus spoke clearly so that his words would be understood in an instant.

“Not good news I’m afraid. When we arrived at Fuxtar we found tracks, most of them faded on the trail but still visible to a keen tracker. There were deep lines in the grass and mud, indicating several carts had moved through this way, perhaps bearing heavy loads. We moved into the village and found it to be strangely quiet.” Ariston stopped him there.

“What do you mean quiet. Was the village deserted?”

“Well, on my previous trips to Fuxtar I had always seen the place bustling with activity. It may be a small village but there would always be noise. It was not deserted, as we made our way towards the gates we saw women and children by the river and smoke rose from above its walls. They were there, just not all of them. I did not see one man of fighting age within its wooden walls.” Ariston’s heart raced, was this it, had it begun?

“When we questioned some of the villagers they refused to answer our questions, until a girl mentioned that all the men had gone away. Further inquiry revealed nothing; the girl refused to say anything more.

“It was then that Valorous called to me from the gates, I had sent him scouting around the village and the woods. He had found something that I believe tells us that they are preparing some kind of attack.

“A short distance into the woods we located many abandoned burnt out campfires that suggests many men have been living in the forest. Also, lots of the trees have been cut down. We did not find anything more because I thought it would be best to return here and tell you this. I feared the village women would warn the men that we were snooping about the place.” Ariston was silent; he stared at the table briefly.

“You did the right thing, good work Lexicus. Go get some rest, in an hour I will call a meeting of all officers on and off duty, I will expect you then.”

“Do you think they will attack us?” Lexicus asked, already aware of the answer.

“Lets hope there just preparing a festival that needs lots of wood.” Ariston replied, in no way relieved by his joke.


*


Ariston studied the expressions on his officers’ faces as Lexicus told them what he had discovered at Fuxtar. They listened well; he could see the worry on some of their faces and could understand their concern. Some of these men had been here for years, waiting to be relieved and sent home to their families. Now within months of seeing their homes the barbarians had stirred, which could mean only one thing, trouble.

“How can we be sure they aren’t just chopping the forest down for firewood, and are bringing it back in the carts?” The question was put forth by Claudius, the centurion who led the 7th cohort. He was in his early thirties and had been in Fort Paxtas for a little over a year. From what Ariston knew of him the man had been a farmer before enlisting to fight for the glory of the Empire.

“The barbarians do not trust us at all. I think they hid there forces in the forest, which would explain the campfires.” All eyes turned on the new speaker. It was Sarpedon, another senior officer in his forties. Sarpedon’s rank was well respected; being the prafectus castrorum he was responsible for the organisation and training of the legion. The grey in his beard and the scars that littered his once fetching appearance portrayed his years of experience of combat and hard living; one could tell he had tried his hand at no other career than that of the army. A nod of agreement met his calm words from the gathered officers.

“We can’t ignore what was seen; now we must decide on the action to take.” Ariston spoke plainly. The room was silent, no one offered a suggestion each man troubled by his dark thoughts.

“I will send a despatch to Fort Cyprus, to tell them there what we have seen and to make sure they are ready for an attack. An emissary should be sent to the barbarians to discuss peace if possible, and to truly find out what they are planning.” No one countered Ariston’s words.

“I will go talk to the barbarians of Mokkuralfi, I know the Chieftain of that tribe, his name is Ithalk and he is a good man, one who will perhaps listen to what we have to say and talk the rest of the barbarians out of going to war. My squire should accompany me and that’s all.” He nodded as if what he had suggested was final. Ariston stared at him and nodded.

“If they aren’t prepared to listen they will most likely kill you.” He spoke with unreserved sincerity.

“I know. That’s why I should be the one to go. If they kill me my loss won’t be greatly felt, my sword-arm and stamina aren’t what they used to be and if they attack...” Ariston looked at the old man and could see the determination on his face. Lexicus would not be dissuaded.

“Very well,” Ariston paused and let out a small sigh, “Lexicus shall talk to the barbarians. In the mean time I want scouts in the mountains and also along the Esturous. A rider must be sent forth with haste; I must get in contact with Tribune Lucus at Fort Cyprus!” Ariston had already written most of the letter during the time it had taken to arrange and gather his officers. He went about adding the final details from the discussion before dismissing his men, handing the piece of paper to his Primus Pilus, his first centurion Lexicus.

“Find someone good old man,” he whispered touching the centurion on his shoulder as though he were saying goodbye. He watched Lexicus handle the message in his old veined hands.

“Don’t worry lad, everything will be fine.” Lexicus gave a smile and Ariston once again felt like he was in the presence of the wisest grandfather to walk the earth. Lexicus turned and followed the rest of the officers out of the room.

Lexicus left the room with his heart heavy. His palms were sweating and he felt the bitter cold night even more harshly. He walked to the barracks and was greeted along the way by a figure hidden in darkness.

“Evening!” the figure called.

“Valorous?” Lexicus asked the shadow.

“Yes sir,” Valorous stepped into some light cast from the moon and Lexicus could see who he was talking to. Just the man I’m after!

“Valorous, I need you to ride out to Fort Cyprus and pass this message to the Tribune.” He passed the youth the folded paper and gave a nod, “be careful.” Valorous nodded and departed. He was gone as soon as he found his horse.

Lexicus watched the warrior ride off into the night. Once Valorous had vanished from site he walked to the stables, where he found his horse was already set up for a ride. Eyte’s was sitting in the saddle of his own animal.

“Thought you would be the one going to talk to the tribes,” he spoke sadly; fully aware of the danger his master and mentor was riding towards.
“You’re a good lad,” Lexicus said, grunting as he heaved himself up onto the saddle. He turned to look at his squire with fondness but his smile was quickly replaced by a frown. He took out a paper from his pack that hung at his side and opened it. Eyte’s stared at him, was he just opening a private despatch!

Lexicus cleared his throat and made ready to announce what was on the paper. It was as if a town crier had wandered into the fort, so clear and ear-piercing was his voice.

“You are no longer in my service young squire, you are a free man!” Eyte’s eyes widened. What was the old fool doing, had he just set him free? He stared at the centurion dumbfounded unable to find the words to express his gratitude.

“You know as well as I do Eyte’s that this could well be a suicide mission, but duty must be done, I just hope I can talk some sense into Ithalk!”

“I will ride with you ‘white-beard’.” He said sternly. One look could tell he would not take no for an answer.

“Is that the name you have been calling me behind my back all these years?”

“There are many others, but I won’t say them out loud,” Eyte’s laughed followed by Lexicus’ hearty rumble. Then they rode from the safety of the fort and their comrades, into the dangers of the night and isolation.


*

Valorous spurred his horse forwards, keeping low on his saddle as though he were racing. He could feel the rush of wind against his face; it was always cold at night. Through the Esturo plains he galloped, a trail of dust the only sign of his passing, so silent was the rhythmic tread of the horse’s hooves upon the soft thick grass.

A rider unskilled at such stealthy work on a beast would have failed to stop the metal of his armour from crashing against his shield and greaves creating noise and giving away his position. Valorous covered this like a phantom.

What was in the despatch? Were the barbarians planning an assault on the Empire? What better chance for glory he thought as he rode past the camp mile marker; a small stone inscribed with the distance to Fort Cyprus.

It read two miles.

In the darkness he could not see the fortification. Where were the torches that should be burning on the lookout towers? Perhaps he could not see them. Valorous covered those miles quickly, spurring his steed on vigorously until the solid shape of the forts wooden walls met him.

The outpost was strangely dark. Even at night one should see a light from far away burning bright and clear as though it were a beacon. He slowed his horse to a trot and approached the fort with caution.

He climbed from his saddle with the silence of an assassin and moved towards the fort. He was now no more than twenty yards from the gates, which were wide open, as though it were left like that inviting anyone in. It was deadly silent, only the fluttering sound of a tent met his ears, no laughter or chat amongst the soldiers could be heard from within Fort Cyprus.

Valorous drew his sword, unable to prevent the sound of it ringing in the night air. He stalked into the camp boldly. It was smaller than Fort Paxtas, only able to fit just three cohorts within its confines. It was empty.

Where was everyone? If there had been a fight there would have been signs of it, bodies on the ground, broken weapons and blood. Not even an arrow head could be seen on the ground.

Valorous started searching the tents and found them deserted; nothing was there, no personal equipment that belonged to those who had lived here. Valorous searched the small wood lodge that held the officers of high rank last. He found the small armoury empty and the food store barren. Dust blew across its floor mischievously.

What could have happened here? There had been no fight of that Valorous was certain. He had seen the horrors of combat before at the ‘Fields of Slaughter’ in Southern Kamidia, the battle that had left over twenty thousand men dead on both sides. Valorous would never be able to shake the image of the field filled with corpses, the blood was so thick on the hard ground it had turned it to sludge and he had slipped during the fighting on more than several occasions.

It was obvious what had happened. The garrison had left the fort, though Valorous could think of nothing to explain why Fort Paxtas had not been informed of this movement. All the weapons and supplies had been taken so they would not fall into enemy hands, always a common procedure. The tribes must be massing for war.

Valorous left the fort and mounted his steed which had been waiting patiently for him, head lowered to the ground munching on the parched grass.
Fort Coriolanus was a short distance away; he would search there too and hope to find some answers. He raced onwards. The grass was replaced by patchy thin turf and solid ground, the hard sound of the horse’s hooves thundered across the plain, no longer blanketing his movement.

It took Valorous three hours to reach Fort Coriolanus. It was a bigger fortification than Cyprus and stood out upon the hill it was founded. No lights burned from within. Further exploration led to the same result as his investigation at Fort Cyprus.

It had been abandoned but this time it had also been left in ruins. The gates had been destroyed and most of the walls had been torn down to leave gaping holes in its defences.

Valorous’ blood ran cold as he heard thunder roar in the sky.

*

The Mokkuralfi village loomed before them. Camp fires surrounded it as far as the eye could see. Lexicus could hear the voices of those who crowded around the fires, shouting in their course tongue.

Lexicus and Eyte’s lay on the soft grass of a small knoll overlooking the site before them with horror.

“There must be thousands of warriors here.” Whispered Eyes’s, his eyes wide and filled with both awe and fear. Lexicus nodded. He looked across to the village. He would have to go past the barbarian camp if he wanted to talk to Ithalk.

“Well, no point in just sitting here. If I don’t move soon I don’t think I will be able to find the courage.” Lexicus stood slowly, placing his hands on the grass to lift him from the ground. He brushed the mud and grass from his robe. He was glad his scarlet tunic looked almost black in the dark; at least he won’t be spotted as a Corinthian soldier straight away. Well at least he hoped not.

“At least you fit in here.” He said, turning to his young companion, whose barbarian heritage would stand out.

“If we cross into the village I do not want you to come inside Ithalk’s hall. Watch and listen from outside, there are plenty of places to hide in there so keep to the shadows. If there is any trouble whatsoever do not come to my aid.”

“But if you are attacked…”

“Then I will die Eyte’s. One of us must inform Ariston of the evening’s events. If I can not persuade the barbarians to lie down their arms they won’t want to lose any advantage they believe they have over us by letting me leave. You must be the one to return to the fort.” Lexicus smiled and raised his hood.

They approached with caution leaving their rides to rest on the hill. Lexicus could feel his whole body screaming at him to leave, this was madness. He mustered his courage and with Eyte’s besides him stalked through the camp.

Many of the occupants were sound asleep, lying in piles covered by crude blankets besides the fire. Some were too drunk to pay them any notice while others barely cast them a glance. And why would they? They had no reason to believe a Corinthian Centurion was marching through their camp.

Lexicus stepped over a leg but brushed it with his heel; the leg shifted and was followed by a shout, deep like thunder.

“Watch where your going!” the voice said. Lexicus did not understand a word of it. It was a barbarian dialect he had not encountered before. Lexicus stared down at the form he had almost tripped over. The man was a giant.
Long blond hair flowed from his scalp. His nose had been broken so many times the shape of it had all but faded, and he had the ears of a boxer, swollen and bloodied.

Lexicus stared into the pale wild eyes of the barbarian; they were the colour of iron. Lexicus went silent, his hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. The stench of sweat and alcohol assaulted his senses as the barbarian stood to his full height and looked down at him, chest-to-chest. The man stood towering over Lexicus.

Lexicus’ heart raced, should he strike this man down? He was relieved to see the flash of metal from behind the barbarian. It was Eyte’s. The youth had crept around the giant and now with knife in hand stuck it into the clansman’s back, covering the enemy’s mouth with his right hand so he would not scream out and alert his allies.

The barbarian jerked in Eyte’s arms and tried to break free. Lexicus looked anxiously about the dimming campfire. He drew his sword quietly, worried that the noise had woken the barbarians companions.

He heard the sound of Eyte’s knife at work striking again. Twice more Eyte’s plunged the dagger deep into the foes back. The man stopped his struggles and his head dropped to the side, blood dripped from his mouth.
Eyte’s carefully lowered the body to the ground and wiped the blood from his blade with the barbarian’s tunic. Lexicus nodded his thanks and sheathed his sword. To his surprise no one had noticed.

They continued towards the walled village. Torches flickered in the wind at the gates. It was quiet within the wooden walls. Light escaped from windows in homes and the hall, where he guessed Ithalk would be.

It was the grandest building in the village, built to the highest standards known to barbarian architecture. Hints of Corinthian design could be distinguished by its red tiled roof.

“Stay there,” whispered the centurion, pointing Eyte’s attention to the west side of the building, its shortest sided wall. It was a good place to hide; there were plenty of crates and barrels lined under an opened-wall roofed building to hide behind. There was also a window if a hole in the wall could be called that, so he could see into the hall.

“Good luck,” Eyte’s offered Lexicus his hand. The centurion took it firmly.

“I’ll see you presently Eyte’s.” He said then turned towards the entrance. His pace was quick, his footsteps heavy.

Eyte’s watched Lexicus walk to the door as he moved towards the area Lexicus had pointed out to him to hide. He rushed the last few yards as he heard voices to his rear.

He crouched behind an iron rimmed barrel and pressed his body against the wall. He shook with worry as he peered through into the hall, his heart jumped at what he saw.

*
Lexicus gripped the cold door knob and opened the door. He was immediately hit by the warmth of the place and had to lower his gaze as the light hurt his night-adjusted vision. He entered the hall and drew back his hood. His heart raced but he kept the worry from his face with his usual practiced ease.

The hall was packed. All eyes were on the newcomer.

A long table stretched out before him, upon it sat a feast fit for a king, so diverse was the food and drink on offer. He could recognise spices he had only smelt while on his trips to the Asiatic nations during his youth.

Feasting around the table was a host of barbarians and dark-skinned men dressed in fine silk decorated with gold necklaces and earrings. Several stood with expressions of disbelieve.

“I have come in peace.” Lexicus addressed Ithalk. The barbarian chieftain was sat at the head of the table, his strong sons flanking him.

Ithalk stood, his eyes narrowed as if he was making sure it was a Corinthian that stood before him, not a vision brought on by drink and his imagination. He was dressed in a dark bear belt that covered his broad shoulders and muscled frame. His black beard dripped with ale and food while his eyes burned with rage.

“You should not have come here Lexicus.” Ithalk spoke, a hint of a slur in his speech. It was obvious the barbarian was drunk or getting there.

“What is going on here Ithalk, are you gathered for war?” As Lexicus took a step forward a seat was thrown back and a barbarian stood from the table, drawing his blade. The barbarian was young; barely a hair stood out on his face but it was obvious he was fuming and ready to spill blood. Ithalk shouted at him. A host of other voices joined in, all loud and full of fury.

Many stood up, hands on the hilt of their swords. Lexicus watched as the gathered barbarians looked set to fight amongst themselves. Only the dark skinned men from Asia remained seated.

“What is this I see,” remarked an Asian. He was a handsome man, his features elegant. He was dressed in the finest cloth of purple. His dark eyes and sharp voice silenced the gathered mob.

“The first Corinthian you see as a unified nation and you instantly squabble amongst yourselves. Come now, I expected better. How do you propose you will beat these warriors if you kill one another?” The man spoke good Mokkuralfian. He was a man of good education Lexicus guessed. His words seemed to find a place within the hearts of the gathered tribal leaders. They almost appeared shamed.

“So you plan on fighting us?” Lexicus spoke clearly, his gaze rooted firmly on Ithalk.

“I am sorry old friend,” muttered Ithalk in Corinthian. “But you are the invader here not I.”

“I see you have crawled to the Asians for help.” Lexicus was angry; it was obvious about the outcome of this discussion. Not even the gods could stop it.

“We have the help of Asia yes, and the Pict’s.” A cold shiver ran through the centurion’s body. The Pict’s were involved as well!

“We can not allow you to return to your fort Lexicus, even if my heart wished it, the others here will not allow it.” Ithalk lowered his gaze; Lexicus could see the sadness in the barbarian’s eyes.

“So be it!” Lexicus muttered, drawing his short sword. A red-haired barbarian charged him, a blood curdling cry parted from the foes lips. Lexicus gritted his teeth and lunged forward. His blade pierced the barbarian’s throat. Lexicus withdrew the blade and was soaked by the splash of blood that flowed from the wound. The foe dropped but two more stepped forward.

Lexicus blocked an attack that swept in low to his right and stepped backwards. The second attacker caught him in the ribs. He felt the cold steel pierce his skin and smash bone. With a cry of rage and pain Lexicus lunged once more, plunging the length of his sword in his attacker’s chest. His second attacker moved in and stabbed the centurion in the face.

The blade sheared half of Lexicus’ cheek and jaw from his face. The old man dropped to the floor with a crash. The barbarian withdrew his blade and stuck it between the shoulder blades of Lexicus’ back

[Banehero]

heres chapter three.

CHAPTER THREE


Eytes closed his eyes after he watched the barbarian withdraw his sword from the centurion’s back. His heart raced and his hands were covered with sweat. He held back the tears that were swelling round his eyes.

Lexicus was dead. The man had been like a father to Eytes and was the only man he ever truly trusted. Now the man’s lifeless corpse spilt blood onto the ground.

Eytes wanted to drive his own blade into the barbarian and was angered even more when he watched another large red-haired barbarian cut Lexicus’ head from his body.

The barbarian held the head by the long grey hair and thrust it into the air with a roar of triumph. What a victory Eytes thought, killing an old man outnumbered. He turned away in disgust.

There was nothing he could do. If Eytes attacked he would be killed also, and Lexicus did not want that. The old man had told him to tell Ariston about the events of the evening, not squander his life needlessly. He had more than enough information to impart. War was inevitable.

Eytes composed himself and moved from his hiding place. The village despite the heated last few moments within the hall was still quiet and calm, as though it were a blanket covering the eyes of a child from slaughter. Eytes kept to the shadows and left the way he had come.

He passed the barbarian he had stabbed and killed on the journey across the camp and noticed he had been left exactly as he had laid him. A pool of blood was thick under the body.

The dead mans eyes stared at the youth, a look of horror and puzzlement engraved his features. A chill ran down his spine, was this guilt? Eytes had murdered before, but now with the death of Lexicus on his mind, the lifeless corpse did nothing but scar his soul further.

He arrived at the knoll shaking and sobbing, unable to keep back the despair from overwhelming his senses any longer. He dropped to his knees and placed his head in his hands, feeling the water cascading down his cheeks on his palms.

The wind was hard against him and the sky promised cold bitter rain. He mounted his horse and wiped his face to eliminate the tears from his cheeks. He took a firm grip on Lexicus’ white steed and kicked his horse’s flanks to start it moving.

“Hold right there!” A voice cried from the darkness. Eytes could hear and understand the barbarian dialect. Fearful of an arrow springing from out of the pitch, Eytes slowed his horse to a trot; perhaps he could try and talk his way out. He was thankful that he bore no markings of a Corinthian soldier upon him; only Lexicus’ horse would give that away.

Eytes noticed figures moving towards him. In the dark they looked as though they were phantoms or spirits of evil, he counted three, though he could not guess at how many more of them hid in the darkness.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” one called in a light-hearted voice. Eytes struggled to find an answer; his mind had almost shut down from the despair in his heart. He gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if need be.

He could see the three men clearly now as they stopped by his horse. All of them were short. Long filthy hair stuck to their faces, thick beards as black as the night held crumbs of food in place. In their hands and carried by broad shoulders and strong arms were spears simply crafted from wood, no bronze point flashed at their tops. At least they were poorly equipped.

One stepped forward and raised the point of his spear to Eytes chest. The man looked at the white steed.

“Nice animal, looks like a Corinthian race horse to me,” the man muttered and spat onto the ground.

“What you doing with that horse boy?” Another came closer, flashing an unfriendly grimace, his grip on the spear firm. “Looks like you’re a greedy lad; a boy ‘ain’t in need of two horses.” It was clear to Eytes that these men cared little about whose side he was on. They were thieves and murderers most likely, bored and frustrated looking for fun. Now they had found it.

“Let me be, I have no quarrel with you.” Eytes spoke bluntly, hoping the confidence in his voice would persuade the men to think twice about attacking him.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” the three laughed in short bursts. He noticed the third man had gone around to take a look at Lexicus’ horse. The animal was uneasy and paced backwards, away from the approaching barbarian.

The spear at Eytes chest prodded him roughly, he remained calm, trying to control the urge to break free and race away.

“Don’t be thinking about that,” the man said, indicating the sword at Eytes side. He would have to act and act fast.

Eytes grabbed the tip of the spear in an iron grip, much to the surprise of the barbarian and pulled it upwards, drawing his opponent towards him. The flash of steel and metal ring of sword being drawn from sheath followed. In one movement Eytes slashed the black haired man across the throat. Thick blood shot from the wound like a garden water feature. He gurgled and collapsed.

“Bjorn!” One of the dead mans companions cried; anger streaked his face as he lunged with the spear. Eytes kicked his horse and started it moving. The spear sank into its flanks. The horse reared upwards, flinging its rider to the ground before it fell.

Eytes could hear its cries of pain as it trashed on the ground, unable to comprehend its peril. The spear was stuck firmly in it and its owner desperately struggled with both hands to retrieve his weapon but achieved nothing but lack of breath and red puffing cheeks.

Eytes could feel numbness take his shoulder and right arm; it was possibly broken from the fall. He still had his sword gripped in hand and noticed the unarmed barbarian tugging furiously at his trapped spear.

Eytes ran towards him and sank his blade into the barbarian’s sternum. The crack of bone and puncture of flesh filled his ears. The foe screamed in agony. Eytes turned to face the last man but could see the foe had thrown courage to the wind and had decided to run. Eytes looked at the scene that surrounded him. Two men lay still on the grass, along with his horse. It looked up at him sadly before Etyes put it out of its misery.

Lexicus’ steed Facilis decensus Averno – ‘the road to Hell is easy’, named so because of its racing feats, stood emotionless on the path. Eytes would have to ride him home. He gripped the reins drawing the noble animal close to him. He stroked its head to dispel the fear that must have taken a grip on his heart.

He cleaned his sword as best he could on the grass and with a patch of torn cloth, brushed away the pieces of flesh and gore that clung to the blade.

Eytes looked at his arm now that he had the time to; he was pleased to find he could still move it up and down. The arm was not broken as he had first assumed, just bruised.

Rain poured then from the heavens and thunder rumbled in the skies, within minutes he would be soaked. Eytes settled himself upon the saddle.

He felt weak; all the anger that had boiled inside had been released. Sheathing his sword he rode towards Fort Paxtas, relieved that he could still pass on the news Lexicus had died to retrieve.



*


The morning sun came out from behind the mountains but its light was covered by clouds, the sky was dark and threatened yet more rain. The storm of the last night had taken its toll on the fort. The winds had been strong and full of determination; they simply had to break something with their natural power.

Repairs had been started and made to the walls, while men sat on rooftops, red tiles in their hands to replace those which had fallen and shattered during the evening storm.

Ariston stood at the centre of the parade ground overlooking the repairs, helping out where he could. This was what made the soldiers of the fort like their commander; he was a man unafraid of getting his hands dirtied by tasks he could easily leave to someone else.

Most men of his rank used their position to advance their own careers away from the military, using it to gain access to politics and the courtrooms. But this man, Ariston, a son of a great world renowned philosopher and politician, did not share those traits of greed for power as many did. He seemed to take pride in the legion he had been given.

This pride was Ariston’s love. These were his men; each and every life was his responsibility. He could not stand idly by while his men slaved away.

Ariston moved through the fort, stopping to address his men, not in the condescending tone of an officer but as a comrade, a friend. He would place his hand upon shoulder, greeting them by name or nickname.

He stopped before a man on a ladder, a short black haired soldier with sunken eyes rimmed with the darkness lack of sleep brings.

“Most of ‘em are cracked,” the man exclaimed, throwing broken pieces of tiles onto a larger pile on the ground.

“Almost makes you wonder why we bother Thraclydes!” Ariston joked. The tiles would always need replacing after a storm, but he had to keep the place in order and there was rarely a more dazzling site whenever the sun hit the
Corinthian tiles, it would remind Ariston of being back home.

Thraclydes rubbed the side of his crooked nose roughly and looked towards the pile of tiles he had stacked up besides the wall to replace the old damaged ones. Before he took two steps from the ladder Ariston had some in his hands. He passed them to Thraclydes who nodded his thanks.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ariston walked on. Lexicus and his squire had yet to return, nor the despatch rider who Ariston had later learned to be Valorous. This was bad news. Was the old man dead? What had happened to the despatch?

Was it mere coincidence or the work of the God’s that brought a worn out looking Valorous through the gates that very instant of contemplation?

His horse was exhausted; its sides frantically moved back and forth as it gasped for air, its head was lowered to the ground as though the beast had lost all strength to hold his head up.

Valorous leapt from his horse and watched it drop to the ground, flinging dust into the air. The horse collapsed at Valorous’ feet. He knelt beside the beast and stroked its neck softly. He had pushed it too far. Its eyes were wide with fear but they closed and it ceased its struggles.

Dirt covered Valorous’ face from the plains, his hair caked in dust thrown up from the ride. Ariston could see he was tired and confused.
“What does Tribune Lucus have to say?” Ariston asked, looking over the expired animal.

“I think its best I told you away from the men,” Valorous spoke; the usual arrogance of his voice had been replaced by one that sounded distant and detached. Ariston nodded.

He ordered the horse corpse removed from the fort; though he knew despite his order the men would most likely use it for food, cutting themselves the choicest pieces outside Fort Paxtas’ walls.

A group of soldiers tied its hind legs to a cart and drove its oxen forwards, towards the gates. The beasts moaned as they dragged their burden across the ground.

Ariston’s scarlet cloak fluttered in the wind behind him as he led Valorous to his chambers. Ariston offered him a drink, a glass of red wine he took from a plain bottle from his shelf. He poured himself a glass also, slowly and with practiced care.

Valorous took the wine and consumed the liquid quickly. Ariston simply sipped his wine, he swirled the liquid in his mouth before swallowing it.
“Fort Cyprus is deserted sir,” Valorous took out the letter he had been ordered to pass to the Tribune and handed it back to Ariston, it was still sealed.

“I rode to Fort Coriolanus as well, the place was empty. As far as I could tell it has been deserted for a few days at the very least.”

Ariston sat down and drank from his glass deeply, finishing it.

“I have heard nothing from Tribune’s Lucus and Alicabes, why would they leave their posts without informing me?” Ariston asked the question but expected no adequate answer from the man before him.

“This is grave news indeed. It mystifies me and I am at a loss. Lexicus has not returned either.” Valorous’ blank expression told him he knew nothing of Lexicus’ mission.

“He went to talk to the barbarians last night, to the Mokkuralfi village. If anything good came from the meeting, surely he would have returned. I fear the worst has happened.” Ariston related it briefly, his face a mask of seriousness.

Suddenly a knock came, hurried and urgent against the oak. The door flung open to reveal a shivering blood covered form. The figure staggered into the room regardless of an order to do so.

“Lexicus is dead!” The man cried. Ariston could see it was Lexicus’ squire Eytes. He was even dirtier than Valorous; dried blood covered his tunic and arms, splashes of it lined his face. Some of the blood had clearly been washed away by the rain, but even that could not wipe away the stains of death from his clothes.

Ariston sprang to his feet and helped Eytes onto the seat. He lowered him onto the cushion.

“They killed him!” Eytes looked enraged, even Valorous appeared shocked.

“Its war Ariston, war, but we do not battle against the barbarian alone, nay, but myriads of Asians, Pict’s and mercenaries as well!” Eytes did not relax on his seat. He carried on raving.

“We saw thousands of them along the shores and around the village. Barbarians of every kind, red haired Vanyir from the cold utter north, blond brown and black hairs united of the Kalami tribes. There is not stopping this tide from washing over is, and the Pict’s will hound us even more to the west. War Ariston!”

“Then it is clear why Fort’s Cyprus and Coriolanus are now empty, their men gone. They must have moved out but to where, back to Thracadonia?” Ariston placed a firm hand upon Eytes shoulder.

“You look tired; I can see you have had your share of trouble. I was told, from a rumour spreading like a market place gossip through my fort that you are now a free man. You shall be entitled to that which Lexicus gave you, I promise.

“Valorous, take care of Eytes, I want you to report back to me in twenty minutes, I have something for you do to, though it will mean more riding.” Valorous gave a salute and left the chamber, supporting Eytes as he went. Ariston looked at Eytes and could feel his heart tear asunder. Lexicus had done his duty, in doing so he had lost his life, a life that had in such a short time endured itself upon Ariston.

In all those hard days at the fort, Lexicus had been a constant source of marvel, from his military skills and experience through to his wit and intelligence, which made him appear more of a philosopher than a warrior.

The old centurions mind was keen and always wanted to express itself. The man could move about the camp and start a debate with anyone, including the servants and slaves of the camp.

Now he would never sit down with him again and discuss the qualities of man and the God’s and other such things. He knew his father would have liked him, imagining the many heated conversations they would have had if they had met.

A numbing sense overwhelmed him as though he could not quite assimilate and acknowledge the news of Lexicus’ death. He took out a plain piece of paper and composed a letter he would send to Thracadonia, scribbling neatly but quickly:


To the Legatus Supreme of Thracadonia, Xareos son of Maximus, Legatus Ariston sends his greetings.
It is with great urgency I send you this letter, my deepest fear has been realised and I am afraid we are all alone here in Kalami. Do you know already of the barbarian horde that masses here against us?
Fort Cyprus and Coriolanus have been abandoned and I would like to know the reason for this, and why I was not informed of this movement.
I seek orders, do you wish us to move or stand our ground? What are the courts wishes? How soon can we expect aid if our orders are to remain in Fort Paxtas? Time is of the essence, please reply as soon as possible.


Ariston signed the letter and allowed the ink to dry before he folded it in half and sealed it with wax. He would have to sit and wait until he had the response from Thracadonia. It was his duty and he would see it through despite the possible negative conclusion of this decision.

When Valorous returned his skin shined healthily, the dirt had been washed away from his face and hair. Valorous told Ariston of Eytes struggle to return to the fort, and of the men he had slain. The youth had committed and acted amazingly well.

Ariston sat at his desk and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. His gaze was on the three men before him, Valorous, Glavious and Derklydes. They stood at attention dressed in shining armour sparkling from a recent sheen. Derklydes had his giant horn bow with him and a quiver of its long arrows, the points of which were more than five inches long, enough to unnerve even the stoutest of men.

“Thracadonia is far, ride fast. Good luck gentlemen, May the God’s grant you safe passage and a speedy return.” The letter was passed once again into the hands of Valorous. Ariston knew if any man could deliver the letter with speed it was this man and the two who flanked him.

In them he had youthful energy and a long range threat with Derklydes and his bow, and Olympic champions famous throughout the lands for their achievements upon the sports fields in Valorous and Glavious. Two more men would accompany them at Valorous’ choice. He watched them leave and lowered his head. He was tired; the storm had kept him up and so did worry. He closed his eyes to rest but knew he shouldn’t.

He stood up quickly; he needed to start the collection of food and water to be brought into the fort from the crop-fields that surrounded Fort Paxtas and to prepare his men for the worst.

*

Ithalk planted the spade into the earth and hoisted it up, tossing the dirt upon a large pile besides him. The grave was deep enough now and he dropped the spade to the ground satisfied with his efforts.

His chest and back was damp with sweat and he wiped his forehead. At his feet was the headless body of his Corinthian friend Lexicus. He almost shivered at the site, not through fear, but from the whole absurdness of the situation.

Ithalk placed his large hands on the body and pulled with all his strength. He dragged and dropped the body into the freshly dug grave carefully, out of respect for his friend.

He looked over at the village, his village that had become the meeting point of the tribes. As far as the eye could see spread the myriads of campfires, more than he had ever seen in his life. By the shores were banked ships from Asia, there sails bright and colourful, flying in the morning wind.

There must have been well over sixty thousand men waiting to be unleashed upon the Empire around those campfires alone, most of which were now cooking breakfast. This was a force capable of beating back the invader, possibly all the way to the heart of the Empire itself.

For the first time in his fifty years Ithalk had seen his countrymen work together, perhaps times were indeed changing and the Kalami could finally live as one nation.

But then last night showed just how fragile the tribal alliance really was, if it had not been for Asian intervention blood would have been spilt, not Corinthian blood, but that of barbarian against barbarian. If that had happened all the last few years work would have been wasted.

His attention fell upon the swollen pale body of Lexicus. The spade was picked up and Ithalk began to cover it with dirt. Once he had finished he place a rock on the grave, a small blank stone and spoke the ancient words of his people to prepare the body for its next life.

Ithalk’s people’s concept of the afterlife differed from Lexicus’, the barbarian people believed that once the body had been placed in the grave it would take on a new form, animated with a strange life and power. The dead person would live a pseudo-life in the confines of his grave, not as a spirit or a ghost but as the undead.

The words he spoke would ease the transition and keep the undead away from the living. He did not know the old man’s burial customs so this would have to do.

“Rest now dead brother, let go your earthly passions and stay here where you lie, in honour and peace.” He turned down the hill.

Riders were approaching at a leisurely pace up the slope, riders dressed in bright purple silk, their wicker shields seemed huge in their hands. At the centre of the riders was the man responsible for keeping the barbarians from tearing each other apart when Lexicus had untimely arrived. He was a man who enjoyed the love of the Lord of Asia, a man with power.

The sun shone fiercely upon him; this man from Asia, but a giant white fan was held over him by a handsome tall servant dressed almost as lavishly as the rest of the group. Every now and again he would wave the fan to cool the lord down.

“Greetings Cyruss!” Ithalk called down to the Asian aristocrat. Cyruss smiled politely from behind the fan. His handsome features stood out for all to see, he stared with eyes as sharp as a hawk, and as clear as water. He was dressed as fancy as always. The costumes of the Asians amused the barbarian greatly and today Cyruss did not disappoint him.

He wore a light blue robe lined with pearls, the fabric shined like armour. Gold adorned his fingers, thick elegant rings of coiled snakes with eyes of red jewels and Asiatic patterns unknown to him each worth more than Ithalk possessed.

The party stopped next to the sweating barbarian. Cyruss rose from his seat on the palanquin he travelled upon, a beautifully crafted ornament of gold and silver. Elephants and tigers ran across its side, as well as warriors of Asia fighting past glories, immortalised forever on the walls of the carriage.

“Why did you bury that man? Don’t you hate the Corinthians” Cyruss had watched Ithalk work on the grave. Ithalk shook his head.

“Man’s nature is war; the people of Kalami aren’t saint’s man of Asia. TheCorinthian’s are a strong race, a people united for one purpose. I will see them out of Kalami not see them utterly destroyed, not every man among them are dogs but men of honour. This man was a man worthy of respect, though he was my enemy.” Cyruss appeared amused at the answer. His long curling moustache was stroked by his hands as he considered what was said.

“This army we gather is to destroy and enslave them isn’t it? That’s what I thought you have worked so hard for, all these years. I have interesting news my friend. The Pict’s have started a relentless assault in the west, the war there is at its most critical point. You know as well as I do the trouble the Empire faces from a further attack to the north.

“Their forces are spread as thin as paper. It will only take one action to pierce a gaping hole in their defences. The time is now Ithalk, your people are already moving out,” Cyruss gestured east, there were lines of men marching out as one army, almost Ithalk thought, as disciplined as the enemy ranks, however false that appearance was. It was like one giant serpent slithering along the land, picking up more men as it went.

“The siege shall start shortly, their will be plenty of eager men running to death this week. There has already been blood spilt last night. Two bodies were reported by a scout upon yonder hill.” Ithalk pointed out the hill where Eytes had fought for his life. The bodies of the men were reported immediately by the man who had fled and buried quickly and quietly. Ithalk and the tribal chieftains were the only ones who knew of the incident, it was kept like that to stop the fear of Corinthian justice already striking out at the barbarians before they launch their own attack. There must have been another rider with Lexicus.

If that was true the man should have returned to the Fort and alarmed them. Would they now be getting ready for a siege? It was too much to hope for that the man had seen their peril and simply deserted like the other fort garrisons that surrounded the last remaining enemy fort in the country.

“Then it truly begins.” Ithalk said almost as though he was regretful for the role he played in arranging the horde. Cyruss smiled.

“It began the day you sailed to Asia my friend.”

[Banehero]

Heres chapter four : )


CHAPTER FOUR


Crixus shivered violently as he pulled his cloak about him. He rubbed at his tired eyes, wiping giant flakes of sleeping dust from the corners right by his nose.

An eagle soared majestically in the sky. For a moment Crixus wished he could be that eagle, a king of the skies, how wonderful it must be to be a bird of prey, flying high with the wind beneath him, far from the troubles of mankind.

Crixus watched the eagle soar over the other side of the valley as he stood to take in the fresh gulps of air found in the mountains.

The eagle swooped in and landed on the opposite bluff. It had caught something, though Crixus could not make out the black writhing form held firmly in its talons. The eagle feasted.

He always enjoyed wandering the mountains in the morning; the early views were amazing before the regular mist descended on the summit. Sunlight caught the summit before Crixus, Anthena Peak; it was a vast expanse of smooth rock with an assortment of rocky pinnacles rising from it like the udder of an inverted cow.

Crixus could clearly see the fort and the valley that literally split the mountain range in two separate halves of equal splendour. He could see the shimmer of the sea in the distance to the northwest as he turned to face his companion who sat cross-legged besides the spit, roasting breakfast above the fire.

“How long till my bastard stomach gets its fill?” he asked bitterly, he was frustrated and cold, the clothes on his back were damp and he was hungry. Ageaous flicked back his long dark hair that had fallen close to the flames. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“It’s ready now.” Ageaous said with a smile. Crixus sat down besides his friend, the warmth of the fire washed over his cold form.

Ageaous took out a small knife from his pack and began cutting pieces from the prepared food. It was only a rabbit caught earlier that very morning. It was a scrawny meal not large enough to fill both their growling stomachs, but it was a meal never-the-less. What could be eaten was separated into equal shares. They ate as loudly as their stomachs had protested, chomping down the food with water from their skins.

Once they finished Ageaous stamped out the fire while Crixus covered the cave hole they had spent the night in with debris. How lucky they had been to reach the summit and the safe hole before the sky had unleashed its fury. They had been soaked lightly on the climb but had managed to find the cover they needed before the severe wind, rain and lightning had hit.

Today they would spy on the mountain tribes of Kuloc and Kamda, the ‘Bear-fighters’ of the north. Crixus could see smoke rising from their villages situated on the slopes and amongst the trees of the mountain forest that clung to the granite cliffs.

They made there way towards Kamda, the closer of the two tribes, carefully picking there way down the slope towards the valley. At times Ageaous would drop a rope to climb down, and left it there for the way back, when descent would be impossible otherwise.

The storm of the night had made the pass and trails tricky to cover, lots of hand and footholds simply could not be tackled due to the sludge the water had turned them too.

The journey was separated into climbing and descending, over one rock to the next and down another. They crossed narrow ridges where the winds blew dangerously, though the ridge had been blunted and trampled by the scores of men who had used this route in the past.

It was midday by the time they arrived at the great expanse before the village. Crixus stared down the hill in horror. Ageaous who had stumbled far behind the larger man arrived minutes later to find Crixus behind the cover of a large dislodged boulder that had fallen many years prior. Ageaous could see why.

Men clad in thick black and white bear pelts armed to the teeth with long spears, axes and swords swarmed about in large groups below. There were hundreds of them. There stood men in armour as splendid as that worn by the Corinthian’s, these were instructing groups of barbarians, moving them in close formations, almost like the Corinthian Phalanx.

To Ageaous’ horror they seemed to move with a discipline not unlike a professional army, though he knew this was not the case. The barbarians had no paid army; these men were just farmers mostly by trade, as such unskilled in the art of warfare. Now they marched in lines sixty spears across and five ranks deep. Who were these armoured men who trained them? Neither Crixus nor Agaeous could place the armour.

“Mercenaries,” whispered Crixus, spitting a load of phlegm onto the ground. Ageaous nodded. The armour was so mismatched those wearing it appeared almost like gladiators from the colosseum.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Ageaous pointed Crixus to a group trailing east; they were probably marching to the villages along the river Esturous. Others marched smartly towards them.

“The buggers are coming this way!” muttered Crixus. He looked about for more suitable cover. Ageaous put his hand on Crixus’ shoulder.

“We shouldn’t move they might see us.” Crixus gave a nod and remained crouched against the boulder. The front of the line of barbarians was no further than twenty yards from them now.

The two kept low in the rocks and shrubbery, hearts pounding anxiously. The enemy moved passed them without even casting a glance up the slope. Each man appeared focused on the march, eyes front, unwavering.

This was the first time Crixus had seen the ‘Bear-fighters’ so close. He had heard of their power and fighting prowess since he was a child. The stories of Orin the Hunter had filled his childish slave’s heart with dreams of adventure.

Now he was within a stone-throw from these famous warriors. There were bearded men with fierce eyes and young men barely into their teens as clean-shaven as the boys they were, moving in the line of marching feet.

At the front of the line was a large grey-haired barbarian giant almost as big as centurion Paxtas. In his right hand and carried like a walking stick was a weapon Crixus knew he would have great difficulty wielding with both hands. It was a demon of an axe that looked capable of delivering a crippling blow even to the peaks themselves.

They walked out of site but could still be heard marching as they disappeared round the bend that led to the valley.

“They are moving towards the pass, we better inform Lampolo.” Ageaous spoke quickly. They would have to back up the way they had come, stealthily. Ageaous crawled belly down on the ground to avoid being seen. Crixus just paced up the hill in a crouch. As they moved up each man cast a nervous glance back down to the village.

Crixus struggled for breath by the time he stumbled upon the third cohort, camped at the pass exit. The troops were mostly un-armoured and sat by their equipment, shields at rest on knees in pockets of small groups scattered across the pass. Men were laughing at some joke that had some rolling on their backs.

“There’s Lampolo.” Ageaous led Crixus sight to the centurion who led the cohort. From there position on the rocks they could see his giant transverse-crested officer’s helmet; the dyed horse-hair blew madly in the wind.

Lampolo was sitting amongst his troops, enjoying a little food and wine within a circle of friends.

“Ah Crixus, care for some Thracadonian wine and hot cakes?” shouted Lampolo as he looked up from his party to notice the pair pacing for him.

“Hot cakes?” Crixus mumbled to Ageaous as they rushed to meet the centurion. Ageaous smiled at the comment.

Lampolo was a beast of a man, broad of shoulder. His face was a picture of Corinthian good looks, he wore his black hair shoulder length to emphasise this. His pale blue eyes were calm and joyful as he looked over the sweating, panting forms facing him.

“Out for a morning run boys?” Lampolo’s voice was always loud and friendly. Today was no exception.

“You know how it is,” Crixus replied. A sweet aroma filled the air, it was the cakes.

“Don’t they look fancy,” Crixus implied as he stared at a cake handed to him by the centurion. He looked at it comically. “You lot would fit right in those fancy theatres back home with these.”

“Yes but not with these,” a bearded soldier drew his gladius with a wily smile.

“Or perhaps you should be up eating cakes and swinging that on stage Euripdes!” Crixus joked, the circle of men laughed.

“Got some news to report, the ‘Bear-fighters’ are on the move, there’s a few of the bastards too.” Ageaous turned the laughter to seriousness. He related to the group what he had seen outside the village and of the watch they had held over the moving barbarians as they travelled through the pass.

“Well it looks like there heading right for us!” Lampolo bellowed, looking north where dust clouds rose from behind the peaks. Lampolo stood to his full height, a clear head taller than every soldier under his command and peered about his troops.

Some had been watching the newcomers and had wandered over to hear what Ageaous had to say, most however had stared over to the clouds kicked up by the advancing enemy. Lampolo flashed his wide smile to reveal white clean teeth as he found the man he was looking for.

“Meneleus go tell our Legatus we might have some trouble, or fun, or whatever way you look at it I suppose.” He slapped the man on his shoulder for encouragement. Meneleus stripped away his armour and rushed off towards the fort.

Lampolo addressed the cohort, stomping up to a point of the slopes by the pass so all could see him. He drew his gladius and pointed it north, towards the barbarians.

“Kit up lads, I think we’ll be smashing heads by the end of this evening, who better to give these scum a kicking than us!” A cheer rose from the gathered warriors. His men snapped to attention and prepared the armour that some of them had already taken off this morning, to be ready for the foe.


*

The cart wheeled past Ariston noisily as he watched the men drive it back to Fort Paxtas. The crop fields had been emptied now, it had taken a very early start to accomplish the task, but it had been achieved, almost.

A line of carts moved, onwards by oxen and their drivers. Flanking the carts were armed soldiers. Racing from these were riders, keeping there eyes peeled for trouble, scanning the countryside thoroughly.

Trudging behind the carts were those farmers kept in Corinthian pay to produce the food the garrison would need every year. Now they abandoned their homes to seek shelter in the fort, taking whatever possessions they could carry and fit on the carts.

The churned up ground they left behind them would be of no use to the barbarians now. Ariston was convinced that if a siege was a possibility, then the fort had plenty to eat so would not be starved out so easily. Hopefully they could just sit and wait for reinforcements.

Ariston sat on his giant black steed Diomed, a present from his father before he had gone to Kalami, and glanced at the faces of his men as they passed. Some of them, the younger ones, looked incredibly worried.

Ariston knew that the order to retrieve all the food from the crop fields would tell the men what they expected to face in the coming weeks. He could understand why they would be afraid.

The older men were just as anxious he guessed, seeing as these men had probably fought before. These were the men who knew how to cover fear, yet still possessed it. They knew the horrors of bloody conflict and did not look forward to it at all. Ariston could count himself among those brave men who hid there fear with the courage and strength of heart.

Ariston missed the presence of Lexicus. He had said his goodbyes during the stormy evening, though the body was not there for burial, he went ahead with a ceremony anyway.

It had been a modest one, with only Ariston, Sarpedon and the legion doctor Arcagathus attending. A little wine was consumed; the rest of the evening was spent in contemplation, each man bringing up topics that Lexicus had enjoyed discussing.

It was early afternoon when they arrived at Fort Paxtas, tired and drenched with sweat. Ariston stopped besides the gates and looked over at the pass of Antir where he could see the 3rd cohort stationed, the sun shined off the men’s armour. A man was rushing from the cohort. What was wrong?

Ariston did not wait for Meneleus to reach him; instead he kicked the strong flanks of Diomed and moved to intercept the runner. Meneleus was a gifted athlete, his stamina unsurpassed by many. He had not even broken into a sweat from the run neither did he breath uncontrollably, it was as if the man was taking an afternoon leisurely stroll and had bumped into a friend on the journey. Ariston stopped Diomed and set his eyes upon the man Meneleus.

“Legatus Ariston,” he said with a customary salute. “Lampolo thinks there will be trouble in the pass, the barbarian tribes of Kuloc and Kamda are on the move and coming towards us.” Ariston nodded and leant forward on his saddle.

“How many men are there?” Meneleus answered quickly.

“Hundreds.” Ariston turned to watch the last cart roll into the fort.

“Inform Lampolo that his orders are to hold the pass, I will send the 5th cohort in support.” Meneleus briefly waited to see if his commander would add anything else but there was nothing. Meneleus nodded and rushed off again back to the 3rd cohort.

Ariston looked over at the warriors that milled about the mountain route. He had chosen the right time to collect the goods grown by the farmers, if he had waited longer it would have been too late to organise such a task what with the barbarians moving through the mountains.

His eyes scanned the Esturo plains that spanned east of the fort. Would the enemy be marching by the river as well? It was sooner than Ariston had expected. The barbarians and their allies must have pushed the invasion plans further ahead after the incident with Lexicus.

Ariston stroked Diomed’s muscled neck as he watched more of his men at work outside the walls. They were driving giant crude steaks into the ground, hammered firmly into the earth by heavy mallets.

He rode to the fort with haste, pushing Diomed to his fastest pace. How much he loved riding, he could feel the wind against his cheeks as he raced back to the fort.

As soon as he had dismounted and found an orderly to take Diomed back to the stables, Ariston turned to face the men of the 5th cohort whom he had ordered to stand ready for action and were not used on the work. They stood patiently waiting in full battle-dress; Ariston could see the sheen of sweat upon their brows.

Euridemas, the cohort’s lead centurion came to stand by his commander, walking over at a slow limping pace. He had his helmet tucked under his right arm. He had sprained his foot earlier he told Ariston when he noticed the quizzical look upon the legatus’ face.

“Just went over it I did, bloody ridiculous.” Euridemas added, his cheeks turned a deeper red.

“Can you fight?” Euridemas appeared offended by the question. He feigned injury dramatically, like he always did. Euridemas was a man who loved the theatre and had allowed its craft into his personal life, he had even performed his own plays, several for which he had received critical acclaim.

“Of course I can fight; I won’t be running away from the enemy.” Euridemas brushed back his long dark hair and placed the plumed helmet upon his head.

“Get your cohort to Antir Pass; I want your men to support Lampolo. Good luck Euridemas.” They exchanged nods.

“So they come,” Euridemas said sadly.

“They do my friend; remember we can send these bastards packing!” Euridemas broke into a smile and slapped Ariston on the back.

“Just the stuff I like to hear!” The stout centurion turned to face his men. He gave a shout and in one movement the whole cohort turned to the right. Euridemas proudly walked to the front, despite his foot. His men stood ready in a line.

“Flute boy play me a tune,” he called at the top of his low-pitched voice. A servant, a lad of no more than ten winters with thin straw like blond hair and covered in freckles jumped into the air when the centurion shouted. He withdrew his flute from a pocket in his torn tunic and began to play it, puffing his cheeks out like a hamster every time he played a note.

“Good, good.” Euridemas muttered to himself with a smile. The centurion gave the order to march and the courtyard rang to the sound of stamping feet. The sound of the 5th cohort faded into the distance, the flute was the last Ariston could hear of Euridemas and his men.

The fort was busy. Soldiers and servants had begun the long monotonous task of unloading the carts. Men rushed back and forth burdened with armloads of food sacks and other equipment the fort needed to sustain itself during a siege. Only the sentries stood at ease at there posts, overlooking the rolling plains and mountains that surrounded them.

A small dog barked and ran past Ariston, its feet spraying up the earth; its black thick coat was shaggy and white from running and rolling in the dust. It rushed to its owner who was managing a heavy sack when the dog started leaping at his knees joyfully, its giant tongue hanging from its mouth.

The man laughed and lightly brushed his small friend aside with his foot. The dog, named ‘Cinchook’, wagged its stubby tail happily as he followed his master to the store room.

Ariston turned to the doctor’s tent. The flaps had been tied back with cord so all could see within. Arcagathus stood at the entrance, arms folded as he looked over the busy men. His glance met Ariston’s. Arcagathus appeared troubled, his blue eyes and expression sour. He did not offer Ariston a smile.

Ariston arrived at the tent and greeted the old doctor. Arcagathus’ folded arms were scarred and his face pockmarked. A