“Stop with your savagery!” said Kassara. Florianus stared at her, stepped back and offered the child to the mother. Its cries ceased gradually as she put it against her breast and fed it.
“I will be merciful to your child,” Florianus said. “So stop your madness or I will change my mind. You may have him until the last moments before your death, if you behave. So, stop and listen.”
He turned back again, walked toward the mute boy. The boy stared defiantly while one of the guards pointed a sparkling lance at him. A patterned blanket lay on the floor, old and dusty. Florianus bowed and lifted them from the ground, revealing two small tomes upon the carriage floor.
“Ha! Who could tell these barbarians knew how to read.” Florianus lifted the book and opened it. There were things scribbled on the borders. It was all in the barbarian's language, and not Itruschian script.
“What is this? Attack plans?"
"Poetry!” said the tall man.
“We'll see about that,” Florianus said. “This will be useful.” He turned around and climbed down from the chariot. He went through the pages of the first. Most of them were empty. Then, he went for the next book, a small and thin tome of decaying pages. He opened it and felt his heart bump like a jumping rabbit. It was written in the ancient Hellenian script. He raised an eyebrow and kept scrolling through the pages. Through the text, he saw words that made him narrow his eyes and read attentively. Talk of giants, of a sword. One of the pages had the drawing of a sword in an exotic style. Extremely long, its cross head was wide, as if made for trapping enemy swords. Two jewels in it. Around it a magical circle, one he recognized. Around it, scribblings made in Itruschian alphabet, in somebody else's handwriting.
But one of them made him shudder. The Circle of the Protector, the very same symbol was drawn beneath a human figure. It was not as clear nor recognizable as the one in his book, but it was the same.
He turned around. “What is this? Where did you find that?" he asked, looking back at the carriage.
“It's not your business, you fool,” Kassara screamed from the cage.
“Shut it. Tell me or I'll eviscerate you.” He walked toward the boy, yelling at him through the bars. “Tell me, you disgusting lizard.”
“It's been inherited from our Elders,” the tall traitor said. “Nothing to do with battles. It's just an old book on mythology.”
“The sword of Ares? The bane of the Giants? I have heard of this! This is the conspiracy your people developed in order to overthrow us. We know about that . . .”
But something in the book puzzled him. What was that magical circle and why was it also on the ancient Parzian book that stood in his library?
He had no time to deal with those partisans.
“I'll take this,” he said, jumping and mounting his horse. “Now let's get going, people!” he yelled, and the march started again.
Chapter XXVIII - Northern Hordes
Ira's old friends were, by definition, bandits. Sturdy men who belonged to Suevian tribes and their relatives, but that had been cast out for being on opposing sides, for corruption and cattle theft.
Alana rode side by side with the tough Adachian soldiers. That boy, Elkas, deliberately rode next to her, eyeing her constantly. Even on horseback, with Ira guiding the horse, she could barely reach his shoulders. He was more handsome than the old Atila. His hair was slightly curly, and by then, without the constant presence of the centurion, it was a bit longer than how Itruschian soldiers usually wore it.
“So tell me more,” he said to her, with his square lips on a clean shaven face, his chin was strong, with a slight cleft, cheekbones high, eyes clear blue and wide.
Ira turned. “What?"
“Sorry, I was talking to Miss Alana.”
“Ah, no problem,” Ira muttered. “Maybe her husband wouldn't mind.”
“Husband?" Elkas blinked in surprise. “You’re joking, aren’t you?"
“I’m not,” Ira said. “She's happily married.”
Alana took a deep breath.
“Who did you marry?” Elkas asked. “It's been a convenient marriage, hasn't it? What happened, Alana?"
“It's Kassius, son of Mariusz,” Alana declared.
“The son of Mariusz? How come? I always thought he was just your best friend but . . .”
Alana blinked. She was surprised to know that Elkas knew about Kassius. She barely knew his name, but it seemed as though he knew everything about her.
“We needed to survive,” Alana said.
“So it wasn't even a convenience thing, was it?" Elkas asked. “Temporary circumstances pushed you to do it. It was just survival. So if what you're saying is true, there was no ceremony . . . No nothing.”
Alana took a deep breath. “Elkas, there was no ceremony, but still, we're married.”
“Not really,” he said. “No ceremony, no registry, it’s not valid.”
Alana narrowed her eyes. Was Elkas really that desperate? He knew boys would often lie, pretending they were sincerely interested in order to bed the girl of their choice. She had not expected that of Elkas.
“Boy, marriage is marriage, so stop pestering this girl and go back to your own business,” Ira muttered, fixing him with a freezing glance.
“Now is it, really?” Elkas glanced at them with a crooked smile. “You’ve been on the run for this long, without a ceremony, without the blessings of a traditional conjugal life. I could even bet that you are still a virgin.”
Alana felt blood rush toward her face. “What in the world?" Alana asked.
“Elkas, what kind of thing is that to say?" Ira asked. “Is it within decorum to ask a young lady about what she does with her husband?"
“What's wrong with that?"
“And let me tell you something, Alana and Kassius are husband and wife. Guess what that means. Yes, they were doing husband and wife things every day.”
“Ira . . .” Alana cleared her throat, she hid her face behind Ira’s back.
“Well, fine, I did not mean to offend her.” Elkas pretended to smile.
“And what did you do this time, Elkas? Were the Suevian ladies of the night enough to keep you satisfied? You won’t touch this girl, no, I’ll make sure you stay away from her.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” he said. “I was just asking.” He scratched the back of his ears, pressed tightly against the neck guard of his galea. “Boy, you're bitter—”
“I'm not bitter.” Ira furrowed her brow.
“Hey, it’s fine," Alana said. “Stop fighting! These things are not relevant now. We must think of how to deal with the Itruschians and the giants. Everything else is irrelevant. Understand? Not important. And I won't talk about it.”
“Hey,” Elkas said. “I was just—”
“Just stop, Elkas! And you too, Ira. I don’t like you talking about my personal life like that. What do you even know?"
She took a deep breath, and both the other two were silent.
“Is anyone hungry?" Ira asked.
“I am,” Alana muttered.
“Hey, Fritgern!” Ira clapped her hands. The company of riders stopped. “What?" the chief of the bandits pulled the reins to turn his horse around.
“We want to rest for a few minutes,” Alana announced.
“Now?" the chief growled, then tensed his teeth in frustration.
“These women and their whims . . .” muttered one of the bandits.
“Shut up!” Fritgern yelled.
“I say we keep going . . .” Askar said.
“Come on Askar, we’ve been riding far longer than you. Let us rest for a bit,” Ira said.
“What do you mean come on?” Askar said. “We're wasting time. Your troops will be waiting for you while we eat ham and sausage. One rest a day is enough.”
“He's right!” said one of the bandits. “Hey I don't complain, we've been marching and marching. Why not have a good time to rest?”
&n
bsp; “Besides,” Askar kept saying. “We can't remain here! We have to . . .”
A black figure flashed before their eyes, it clanked on Askar's helmet. Askar paused for an instant.
“What was—” Alana muttered. When she turned around, the bandits were already forming, circling around them, when the rain of black arrows poured down. Ira turned around, the soldiers were lucky enough to be carrying those huge Itruschian shields, but were soon covered in arrows.
“Damn! I should have brought a shield,” Ira said, as Alana pulled back and Ira reached for her bow. It was strung already, Alana crouched slightly, pressing her cheek against Ira's back, grasping tightly. She was wearing only light chain mail, beneath the cloak. She pulled down her hood.
Askar and Adna formed around them, covering them, raising their shields high.
“Who are they?" Alana asked, without looking up.
“Blast!” Ira shouted. “Your friend's best friends.” She lowered her voice again. “It's an Itruschian phalanx. There's a lot of them.”
“Elkas son of Hamher, Askar of Adachia, Adna of Adachia. Kitarus of Adachia, Yurlus of Kaiv, teaming up with mere bandits,” a deep voice echoed, in a deep Itruschian accent. “Yield yourselves now, or we’ll capture you and the high command will decide what to do.”
Elkas raised his head.
“Jovius,” he shouted in rage. “What the feck are you doing here?”
“What do you have to say, Elkas? Better say it. Meet your new Decurion.”
“You abandoned us!” Elkas said, slightly lowering his shield. “We wanted to warn you! We . . .”
“Your lies and conspiracies will cost you dearly. Now yield yourselves.”
“No, Jovius, you lower your arrows before you do something stupid. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”
Alana raised her face. There was no immediate danger in negotiations. Above her, on the small hills that surrounded the road, there were more than a dozen Itruschian soldiers. Six pointed bows at them, other six wielding javelins and large shields. Behind, she counted sixteen cavalry men. Too many. Alana knew that if they were to fight, they would be in disadvantage. Only the few soldiers there would be able to hold a shield formation, and were out of range with the horses. Victory was unlikely. Her eyes darted around, thinking of a possible solution.
“What do we do, Ira?”
Ira hushed her. “Listen.”
“Oh, so not yielding,” the decurion muttered. “Your choice. Thus, there will be no judgement, only execution.”
“Now, you listen to me!” Elkas raised his shield. “You, Yurkas, Karvatus, Umras, brothers of Adachia. Listen. Our families have been massacred. We received the news the Itruschians themselves massacred our people. We are now marching to regain our land.”
Alana lowered her head.
“Your lies have been proven once before,” Jovius snapped. “No one believes you, fool.”
But she knew. If those people were Gadalian, even though she hadn't yet seen them, her presence would help.
“Stop!” Alana raised her head and pulled the hood back. I am Alana of Adachia. Your neighbour.” She looked up again, and recognized some familiar faces. “It is me, and I came to warn these people!”
“So it is you!” the new decurion shouted. “Now, better for me. Gentlemen, these women must be taken alive. The blonde is a known agitator. She is the one who murdered the governor of Tharcia.”
Elkas turned around, raising an eyebrow. Alana nodded silently.
“I did,” Alana yelled. “Because he ordered the slaughter of our people. All your families, fathers and brothers were killed. You know me! You know I wouldn’t lie, and I call you, Jovius son of whoever it is, a traitor to your own people!”
“Lies!” Jovius cried.
A few of the soldiers lowered their weapons, unsure. She could see the confusion in their eyes, others stared at each other.
“Do not listen to her,” Jovius shouted. “She is a liar. Now, attack, attack to kill, it’s an order.”
She cleared her throat.
Elkas pulled the reins of his horse. He took out his bow and aimed up.
“I don't want to hurt you, brothers, please. Understand!” he shouted.
The bows were aimed at them.
Elkas spurred, his horse sprung forward, bow and arrow in hand, he aimed up at the decurion and let the arrow loose.
Alana watched attentively.
An arrow brushed past her side.
Another arrow whirled and hit Elkas' horse. It rose on two legs. The bandits rode up with their maces and axes, clashing against the shields and spears of the Legion.
“Ride on!” Elkas shouted.
Ira aimed and shot two of the soldiers, but the decurion had faded into the woods. She rode onward. The horse jumped quickly over the small cliff, and Ira quickly hung her bow to the strap attached to her back and drew her sword. Two cavalry men were waiting, their lances drawn. Ira's blade circled around their spears and reached one of their necks, piercing through, then, she turned around and swung her blade at another other soldier. He blocked with the shield.
Suddenly, Alana felt a pull in her lower back, like the sting of a bee. A six inch long bee.
She gasped, as pain surged on the lower left quarter of her back, an inch left of her spine.
She moaned, instinctively holding on to Ira, and started panting.
“Ira . . . They got me,” she gasped.
“Alana, hold on!”
Alana clenched her teeth as the pain became greater. Moving slightly intensified the feeling of something stuck in her back, and the pain inside her skin throbbed, pulling her flesh into the wound. She thought one of his internal organs might have been damaged. What would happen then? She kept breathing fast, fearing she would die. She wouldn't see the victory of her people. Could she even trust in the gods? What could she do to survive? Alana clenched her fists, pulling Ira's dress, and groaned.
Ira kept fighting. Around her, many of the soldiers had already dismounted and were
“Hold on, Alana.”
Her insides pained more with each second, and with every sudden movement of the horse, the arrow on her back wobbled and fractionated against her organs and flesh. Alana let out another groan.
“Take a deep breath, Alana. Where did they hit you?”
“The back,” she said.
“Keep breathing,” Ira said.
Alana rested her face against Ira, and tears started flowing down.
Then, another arrow buzzed near them.
And another. Tistirya lost its balance. Alana knew that sensation before, and she begged for it not to happen again.
But the horse started to lean to the side, Alana held on tightly, but Ira pushed her hands away and jumped out, rolling on the soil. The horse then tumbled down, and Alana fell on her side. She crawled out, with the Sword of Ares on her back, the dragonblade pressing against her leg. She gasped. Around her, the battle raged on, Ira was enraged, her pale face had turned red, she waved her blade around, and yet, some of the ones who had been fighting against them, had turned on their leaders, now attacking the troop. Alana was confused. They were all wearing the same armour and uniform. Most of them she could also recognize from the village. She turned her head, and then, from afar, she saw two dark eyes through the bushes.
She took a deep breath.
“Listen!” she screamed.
She forced her arms to push her body up, and with a groan, she untied the sword of Ares. Its green Emerald shone, casting its green light through the shadowy grove.
“Listen!” she said with a cough. But the battle still raged.
“Listen to her, you damn traitors!” Ira shouted with all her might.
The emerald sparkled, illumining the forest around them.
“You all have heard the legend of the Sword. The . . . The legends are real. This sword holds the Gem that battled the giants. The giants are re
al.”
Their attention centred on the sword. Alana lifted it high.
“You know me! I was the daughter of Alan, you knew him.” Alana groaned again. “He . . . He is dead. My father is dead. Your father is dead, I remember you. They're all dead. They're . . . They're all dead. I swear upon my father's life. But . . . the Sword is with us.”
“Hail Alana of Adachia!” Ira said, raising her blade, defiant and unafraid of the soldiers around her.
“Hail Alana of Adachia,” said Elkas.
“No, no!” A voice emerged from the woods. Alana turned, it was the decurion. He had his gladius drawn, reflecting the green emerald light. It was the Sword of Ares. “This woman is a deceiver.”
His sturdy legs advanced swiftly. He was running at her, his sword forward, which he pulled back, as if to slice her head. Alana fell to her side in an attempt to crawl out.
Then, the man stopped in mid air, he tripped and fell on one knee. An arrow had pierced through his segmented armour, right into his stomach. He stumbled back, opening his mouth wide and gasping.
“Hail Alana of Adachia!” said one of the soldiers.
The bandits exchanged glances and shrugged. Alana stumbled forward, and faded to black.
***
Alana opened her eyes and gasped. Sharp pain pulsated through her back, but the arrowhead had been removed. It was night, and a few stars filtered its light through the deep foliage. Chatter and the sound of burning wood blanketed her. The battle was over. Alana raised her torso, groaning at the pain. It was not yet gone. He saw the men who had fought to the death sharing meat and wine, laughing and telling stories. Some sharing their mourning, others weeping for their parents. But behind the living flames of the bonfire, she saw Ira and Elkas sitting together. Both laughed sincerely, as if one of them was saying the funniest joke in the world. She was holding long iron pincers, holding pieces of cheese over the fire, and winked an eye at Alana when she saw her.
Alana shook her head and passed her hand around the wound on her back.
Elkas muttered something in Ira’s ear and jumped to his feet. He had taken off his shirt. His body was shaped like a hellenian statue. His shoulders were broad, as round as balls of cast iron, and his stomach was as perfectly square as a cast cuirass armour of bronze. Seeing him laughing with Ira felt strange. On one hand, they both seemed happy, on the other, and she felt guilty for that. Elkas looked like a god.
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