Tiro took the bag and looked inside. He put his nose to it and breathed in deeply, before letting it out in a pleased breath. After a moment, he whistled. There was a smile on his face as he looked over.
“The good stuff.” Tiro handed the bag to Stiger. “You will want to claim this for yourself, sir.”
“What is it?” Stiger asked, peering in the bag. “Tobacco?”
“The good stuff,” Tiro affirmed again. “Eastern tobacco, nothing finer.”
“I don’t smoke,” Stiger said, wondering why Tiro was making such a big deal out of a bag of tobacco.
“Now, that is a crying shame,” Tiro said seriously, then grinned. “Sir, I promise you on this count. We will fix that oversight later. There is nothing better to help one relax and think over his day than a fine pipe.” The sergeant furrowed his brow and looked to the standard-bearer. “Say . . . Asus, did you find a pipe?”
“I did, sir,” Asus said and opened the trunk that held personal possessions. He took out a bone pipe and handed it over to Stiger.
Stiger examined the pipe. An elephant was carved into one side and a fearsome-looking boar on the other. He recognized an expensive piece when he saw it. The officer who had owned it, and this tent, had clearly been a man of some means.
“You will want to keep that too, sir,” Tiro said. “Trust me. It’s too fine for the men.”
Stiger set the pipe and bag down on the table. He gathered up the enemy’s map and folded it carefully, then did the same with his own and placed both in a pocket.
“Sergeant,” Stiger said, “see that the strongbox and purse make it onto the mule train. We will treat it as prize money.”
“Yes, sir,” Tiro said. “The men will like that very much, sir.”
Stiger nodded and glanced around the tent. A large portion of the money would go to the legion, a more modest percentage to Stiger, Tiro, and Varus. The rest would be dispersed to the men’s pensions and reserved for their retirement should they survive long enough to reach it. A small amount would be paid out in cash at the legion’s quarterly salary payment, which in turn would likely be spent as rapidly as possible on wine and women.
“See that the tobacco and pipe are set aside for me,” Stiger said to Asus.
“Yes, sir.”
“We have a mule reserved for your things, sir,” Tiro said. “It will be there later.”
“Good.” Stiger scanned the interior of the tent once more, nodded to himself with satisfaction, and then stepped back out into the night. The fire in the field had spread rapidly in the short time he had spent in the tent. With what he had just learned, Stiger cursed himself yet again. The burning wheat was lighting up much of the valley. He had inadvertently signaled his position, for the glow of the firelight surely reflected off the clouds above. Worse, he judged the blaze would soon spread throughout the rest of the valley.
He glanced over his newly acquired supply train. The legionaries were working frantically to load the twenty-plus mules they had captured.
There was a bright side, however. The fire meant that the ready-to-harvest wheat would be denied to the enemy. Stiger almost smiled at that comforting thought—almost.
Tiro emerged behind Stiger, looked over the fire, and then spat on the ground. “Wouldn’t you know it, to get back to the Third we need to go west and now the only way open to us is east.”
Stiger closed his eyes in frustration. The sergeant was right. They would have to move east, climb out of the valley, and then make their way south, skirting the valley, before turning northwest. It would take time . . . which Stiger felt he did not have.
“Nothing about this mission has gone right,” Stiger said with irritation. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his orders. With the garrison destroyed, and the man he had come to find likely dead, the orders were now moot. He walked over to the nearest fire and tossed them in. The paper caught, flaring brilliantly before folding in upon itself and blackening, edges curling back slowly.
“Don’t you know yet, sir?” Tiro said, coming up behind him. “Nothing ever goes right for the infantry.”
Stiger glanced over at the sergeant, his frustration warring with amusement.
“Sergeant,” Stiger said, “since I’ve joined Seventh Company, I don’t think much has gone right.”
“Oh,” Tiro said, “I’m not so sure about that, sir. Once you came along, plenty has gone right for the Seventh.”
“Let’s go see the prisoners,” Stiger said, feeling uncomfortable with Tiro’s praise. “I would look upon my enemy.”
They walked over to the prisoners, who were sitting under a heavy guard. Across the camp, bodies lay where they had fallen, requiring Stiger and Tiro to step around and over the dead. The ground was slick and muddy with drying blood. The company would be pulling out shortly and Stiger saw no need to care for the enemy’s fallen.
“How are our casualties coming?”
“I’ve ordered a litter rigged for Legionary Cavius,” Tiro said. “He should survive, if that leg wound of his doesn’t fester. Our other two are walking wounded with minor cuts only. Bren stitched them up. Shame we don’t have a doctor or surgeon’s mate to care for Cavius. I’d feel better about him if we did, sir.”
Stiger nodded as they made their way up to the prisoners, who looked a miserable bunch. They were being kept on the western side of the camp, the burning wheat field only yards away. To attempt to make a dash for it and flee in that direction was certain death. They looked up fearfully as Stiger and Tiro approached, then avoided Stiger’s gaze like he had the plague.
The guard detail straightened to attention. Stiger waved for them to relax.
“Are they giving you any trouble?” Stiger asked, wrinkling his nose against the stench of smoke, which was stronger on this side of the camp.
“No, sir,” Legionary Carata said. “This bunch don’t speak any Common, but they understand pointing and such. Meek as lambs, sir. All fight’s gone out of them.”
“I see,” Stiger said, glancing the prisoners over. He was confident that armed and armored they had appeared intimidating enough. As prisoners, they seemed a wretched bunch.
An agonized scream from the other side of the camp caused the prisoners to flinch.
“Varus is doing his questioning of the prisoner who spoke Common, sir,” Tiro said.
Stiger simply nodded, but noticed one of the prisoners’ eyes flick toward Tiro. Stiger quickly glanced away. Perhaps there was more than one prisoner who spoke Common. He thought on how he could best use this knowledge to his advantage as he looked over the growing fire just beyond the prisoners. It was spreading more rapidly than he had expected. Stiger understood it was nearly time to go, whether they had all of the supplies they needed or not.
“We will leave in ten minutes,” Stiger told Tiro. “I don’t think we can delay any further.”
The sergeant nodded his agreement. “What about the prisoners?”
“What about them?” Stiger asked, eyes roving over the captives before casually settling on the prisoner whom he suspected of speaking Common.
“We should kill ‘em,” Tiro said bluntly.
The prisoner flinched.
“Why not take them with us?” Stiger said. “We could turn them over to the garrison at Cora’Mal. There is money in that.”
“We’re going to Cora’Mal?” Tiro said, with no little amount of surprise.
“It is the nearest garrison,” Stiger said. Was it his imagination? Was the prisoner following their conversation? “We have to get word out about the Rivan operating in this area. Then we can return to the legion.”
“I see,” Tiro said with an unhappy air. “Taking this bunch along with us is dangerous, sir.”
“How so?”
“The best they can hope for is slavery in a mine, where life is measured in weeks. They would be looking for any opportunity to escape,” Tiro explained. “That could see one of our boys injured or worse. My recommendation would be to kill ‘em and do
it now.”
Stiger took a deep breath and looked over the prisoners again. He noticed the prisoner he suspected of speaking Common watching them covertly. When Stiger’s eyes touched his, the man quickly looked away. What Tiro said made sense. However, Stiger had other plans.
“There has been enough killing today. When we march,” Stiger said, turning to face Tiro, “free them.”
“What?” Tiro was clearly surprised.
“Sergeant, those are my orders,” Stiger said firmly, almost harshly. “Now, let’s examine the work detail and see if things can be moved along.”
Stiger resisted the urge to see if the prisoner looked relieved at the news he and the others were to be spared, freed even.
“Yes, sir.” Tiro’s tone was stiff and correct.
The sergeant followed Stiger over to the mule train, where the work was moving along at a frantic pace. Most of the mules were loaded and waiting.
“You realize they will spread word of us?” Tiro said.
“That is what I am counting on,” Stiger said, flashing a grin at the sergeant.
“So,” Tiro said, eyes narrowing, “we are not going to Cora’Mal?”
“No,” Stiger said. “We are going back to the Third. I am fairly certain one of the prisoners back there speaks Common.”
“A false trail then,” Tiro said, glancing back.
“With luck, a little misdirection, and this fire, we might be able to slip away.” Stiger paused a moment. “We will march out to the east, more to avoid the fire than anything else, then turn south, skirt the valley, and then dogleg it northwest and back to the Third. Thanks to the enemy, we now have a good map and sufficient supply.”
“No offense intended, sir,” Tiro said, chuckling, “but for a junior lieutenant you are one devious bastard.”
“None taken,” Stiger said, recognizing the sergeant’s words as high praise.
“Sir.” Varus came up at a run. The corporal looked pale as a ghost.
“What?” Stiger asked, fearing the response.
“The prisoner who spoke Common,” Varus said. “The one you had me question. He says there is an entire army, twenty thousand strong, just thirty miles up the road. The enemy has a great big bloody second army. This company was the vanguard, and they are coming this way, sir. He was very sure of that.”
“We’re just bad luck,” Tiro said, glancing at Stiger.
“That settles it.” Stiger felt his headache becoming worse. “The enemy is trying to flank the legions. We must report this as soon as possible.”
“Sir,” Tiro said, “the rest of the army is somewhere far to the northwest. Our legion is the only one near enough to respond, and when they do . . . the enemy will greatly outnumber what General Treim can put into the field.”
“I know,” Stiger said, blowing out a heavy breath. He glanced out at the fire again and then up at the darkened sky. The glow from the blaze against the low-hanging clouds would likely be seen for miles, and the enemy had cavalry. Stiger judged it only three or four hours ‘til dawn. “But it’s all we’ve got. Right, then, it’s time to go. We need to get out of this valley and into the forest as soon as possible.”
“What of the road to the south?” Tiro asked. “We would move faster on the road.”
“We have to avoid it,” Stiger said. “The enemy will clearly want to investigate this fire. They may even be on their way here now. Besides, we already know they have cavalry. We stand a better chance of slipping away in the forest.”
Tiro and Varus glanced nervously out into the darkness.
“Form up for march,” Stiger ordered curtly. “And free the prisoners.”
“What of the one I interrogated?” Varus asked. “I think he knows more than he is telling.”
“Bring him with us,” Stiger ordered. “I want to know everything he knows. Now, let’s move!”
Chapter Five
Stiger stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. His legs burned as he climbed with the company up the steep slope and out of the valley. Sweating from the effort, he rubbed at eyes, irritated not only from lack of sleep, but the choking smoke that seemed to be everywhere. With each step, his armor weighed upon him terribly, and the higher he climbed, the more effort it took just to place one foot in front of the other.
“Sergeant,” Stiger called as he reached the top of the ridge, seeing Tiro ahead speaking to a legionary who had collapsed. Stiger took a step over the lip and was surprised as the smoke dissipated, almost as if an invisible force held it back, trapping it within the valley. Ash, however, still fell like snow. Sucking in the clean air in great gulps, his breathing labored from the exertion, Stiger felt vast relief at completing the climb. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, working to catch his breath. “Sergeant Tiro.”
“Sir.” Tiro turned to look and saw Stiger. The old veteran stumped over to him.
“Once everyone’s up, let’s call a twenty-minute break.” Stiger’s throat was dry and irritated. He straightened and tried to cough out the residual smoke that stung his lungs. Tiro waited as Stiger glanced back through the trees and down the slope. His men, with mules interspersed amongst them, were struggling up the steep slope in a single-file line that disappeared into the early morning gloom made worse by the smoke that swirled amidst the trees. Stiger turned his gaze along the rim of the darkened ridge before returning to Tiro.
“A break you say, sir?”
“That was a fearsome climb,” Stiger said. “Twenty minutes’ rest.” Focused on the task at hand, he paused. “I think we will move farther into the trees and parallel the valley traveling south a bit before swinging west and then north. At least the ground will be somewhat flat, and it should be easier going.”
“Down yokes, rest easy,” Tiro called to the nearest men before leaning over the edge and shouting down at those still climbing the moderately steep slope. “Twenty minutes’ break once you reach the top.”
Those nearest who had already crested the ridge gratefully dropped their yokes and shields and settled to the ground with a chorus of groans.
“Sir, we will have to cross that north-south road,” Tiro said, turning back to Stiger.
Stiger looked through the trees back down into the eastern end of the valley. The sun would be up soon. The sky was already beginning to brighten, the first steaks of crimson lacing clouds high above. Since there was little wind, smoke from the fire hung heavily on the valley below like a burial shroud. Stiger could see an angry orange glow illuminating the smoke where the fire still burned.
A larger, brighter radiance farther out into the valley was likely the fort’s wooden barricade fully engulfed. A gentle gust of wind parted the smoke momentarily to the west. Long tongues of flame licked up high into the air before smoke closed back in. Stiger wondered if this meant that the trees near the valley’s base had begun to burn.
“What was that you said?” Stiger focused his attention back to the sergeant.
“Sir, that north-south road. We are going to need to cross it,” Tiro said.
“Yes,” Stiger said. He had a foul taste in his mouth. Unhooking his canteen from his harness, he unstopped it and took a swig of warm water. He stopped it and returned the canteen back to his harness in a smooth, practiced motion. “There is no avoiding it. The fire should keep the enemy out of the valley long enough for us to cross. We break for twenty minutes now, then push on. Once we are a few miles from the valley and deep into the forest farther to the west, we will take an extended stop.”
“I believe the boys will appreciate that,” Tiro said. His tone told Stiger the old sergeant disapproved. “Very thoughtful, sir.”
Stiger felt his brows knit together. The sergeant looked back innocently. Despite his weariness, Stiger became thoroughly amused with the wily old veteran. He barked out a laugh, which turned into a hacking cough. Heads turned toward them.
“You think we should rest now,” Stiger said when he had recovered, “I take it?”
“Aye,
that I do,” Tiro said. “You said it yourself. That fire down there is likely to burn for a few more hours. It will keep anyone out of the valley. Sir, the boys are worn. They need an hour, maybe more, a little bit of shut eye and some food before continuing on, sir.”
There was almost a pleading note to Tiro’s tone. Stiger glanced around. The men climbing the hill were clearly dragging. He could see it in their weary, ragged step. Those who reached the top stumbled forward a few paces and collapsed to the ground wherever there was room. He could even hear the first snores. Stiger rubbed at his jaw as he considered them, feeling the coarse layer of stubble threatening to become a beard.
“If we run into the enemy,” Tiro continued, “our boys may prove too blown to put up much of a fight.”
Stiger let out a long breath, not liking the idea of stopping for whatever reason. His sergeant’s reasoning, however, was sound. “Very well. We rest here. Do you think an hour and a half will be sufficient?”
Tiro gave a curt nod. “Might I kindly make another suggestion?”
“Do I have a choice?” Stiger asked, and it came out almost as a groan.
“You are in command, sir,” Tiro said with a straight face. “As an officer, you always have a choice. Remember, sir, you are in charge.”
Stiger grunted, but inclined his head for the old sergeant to continue.
“Get some rest yourself, sir,” Tiro said. “Sleep like a babe. I will see a watch is set.”
Stiger nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion threatening to overtake him. Until speaking to Tiro, he had not fully realized his own fatigue. Grit and determination were all that had kept him going. He glanced around, found a tree a few feet off that appeared suitable, and tromped over. Tortured and overstressed muscles protested vehemently as Stiger eased himself down amongst the brush and long grass. He placed his back comfortably against the trunk, letting out a soft sigh as the metal scraped slightly against the bark.
With a chuckle, Stiger recalled how unpleasant it had been when he had first started wearing his armor. Had that been only five to six months ago? The leather straps had chafed his skin raw, to the point where he bled. Now, just months later, the armor was like a second skin.
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