Varro returned the grin, trying not to laugh out loud.
“I hope you don’t use that language in front of your mother!”
The young man blushed furiously, grateful for the fact that his colour would not be visible in the darkness.
“No guards nearby, but they’ll be here soon enough now we’ve been seen.” He looked up at Varro. “What now?”
Varro set his jaw and rolled his shoulders.
“Now we ride like merry hell for the wood of Phaianis. They’ll not follow us in there.”He
Chapter Fourteen
The ride had been furious and unrelenting for almost three hours. Varro had refused to slacken the pace for even a moment, and even Catilina now wore a concerned look, fearing for her horse. The poor beasts had been slowing through necessity for the last hour and would likely drop from exhaustion at any moment. In the eerie quiet of the night, they could always hear, just on the edge of their range, the sounds of pursuit. They’d been lucky really. It had taken their pursuers a good ten minutes to organise and follow on, the few ready and mounted outriders having kept an eye on the three fugitives as they travelled.
It had occurred to Salonius that perhaps they could have somehow hidden and evaded their pursuers, but Varro had been adamant. These were not only professional soldiers, but the chances were if they went back to Cristus with talk of failure they’d now see another dawn. Besides, the few outriders Varro had seen wore the uniforms and gear of northern barbarian scouts. He’d used such scouts himself on duties and knew they could track a rabbit over twenty miles by smell alone, they were that good.
No. Their only chance was to reach some place of safety, and that, to Varro’s mind was the sacred wood of Phaianis. Salonius was sceptical, though only in a background, racial fashion. In fairness, he told himself, his own people had plenty of sacred places, including copses and pools. Phaianis was the Imperial Goddess of the hunt and her places were inviolable, but Salonius’ problem was with Imperial pragmatism. His own people would never violate a sacred space, but then none of them would dare choose to seek shelter there either. But his years spent among the Imperial army had led the young northerner to the conclusion that the people of the Empire didn’t really believe in their Gods. They just kept them around because it was important to have someone to thank or someone to blame. That Varro was willing to break religious law and violate the sacred space of Phaianis was reason enough to worry that their hunters would do the same.
But Varro’s mind was made up and another thing Salonius had learned, though relatively recently, was that Captain Varro’s mind was changed with difficulty.
His horse slowed again, enough that he actually felt the change of pace and the shifting of the beast’s gait. Slapping the reins and kicking the horse’s flanks, he urged what speed was left in her, but with no success. Varro was ahead, but Catilina seemed to be having similar trouble.
“There!”
Varro’s voice calling out from ahead was such a relief Salonius actually smiled. The low, dark bulk of the sacred wood loomed on the slope ahead of them. They had ridden for hours through open countryside and Salonius wasn’t entirely sure exactly where they were any more. He knew of several shrines to Phaianis that the army’s scouts visited to pay homage, but had never been to one himself. He knew the main road to Crow Hill was somewhere off to their right, probably about five miles away, but that was the limit of his geography.
They had just crested a ridge and ahead of them lay a long, grassy slope that descended into a wide valley with a river at the bottom, as evidenced by the ever increasing sound of rushing water. The scene was almost as clear as day, given the bright moonlight and only occasional light, scudding clouds. An owl flew overhead, and Salonius followed its path until his eyes came to rest once more on the woods ahead.
Perhaps half way down the slope, the sacred grove of Phaianis occupied perhaps seventy or eighty acres. It was tightly packed with undergrowth; no human would have trodden paths through the wood, and the only point of ingress would be animal trails. The young man sighed. They would have to leave their horses out in the open. In a way, they had swapped the defensible ruins of the villa for an open wood and no steed. He fervently hoped that Varro knew what he was doing. As they approached the eaves of the wood, Varro finally slowed his shattered horse to a walk and the other two caught up with him.
Off to their right, perhaps twenty yards away, was an altar, ornate and decorative. Salonius couldn’t make out the detail from here, but the shallow depression in the top would undoubtedly be stained with long-dried blood from various animal sacrifices to the Huntress. The front face of the stone would detail the soldier or wealthy civilian who had set up the altar, either as a gift of thanksgiving or a plea for future aid. Such altars would ring the wood.
Dismounting, Varro began to remove his kit from the horse. As Salonius and Catilina followed suit, the captain turned to the elegant young lady and stretched.
“We’ve got at least five or ten minutes before they get here.”
“Yes?”
Varro hesitated for a moment.
“I know you’re not going to like this, Catilina, but the plain truth is that it’s me they’re after. They’d hunt young Salonius here too now, but if you get out of here you’ll be safe. They’ll not do anything to the marshal’s daughter if you’re not with us. We’re going in, but you should saddle back up and head for Vengen again while they’re busy with us.”
“You idiot.”
Varro stared at her.
“You know damn well I’m not leaving the pair of you,” Catilina snapped. “I’m as much a witness to all this as you. You think I’ll be safe riding back into the darkness? How many more groups do you think Cristus has out there? He’ll be watching every road for my father coming. And I expect he’d think it a real shame if I just disappeared in the night and never reappeared. The safest place I can be right now is with you two. Besides, you think in straight military lines and Salonius can only wrap his mind around a problem if it involves building or dismantling something. You need some common sense. Now get going.”
Varro opened him mouth and then closed it again with a look of frustrated defeat. As he followed Catilina into the edge of the tree line, Salonius trod quietly behind him, a look of mixed confusion and disappointment on his face.
“You don’t think I’m like that do you?”
Varro laughed.
“Salonius, between you and her, the pair of your could outthink the Gods themselves.”
The young engineer glanced up to either side warily, regarding the trees of this hallowed space from the narrow deer trail, and imagined the face of the angered Huntress peering from every knot hole in every tree.
“Well that’ll be useful.”
Varro laughed again.
“If Phaianis has enough time on her hands to worry about three folk wandering among her trees then I’m sure there’s better things she could be doing. Besides, I’m almost out of her reach and your people don’t even believe in her.”
Salonius grumbled.
“She’s still there though. If I didn’t believe in air, would I stop breathing?”
“Besides,” the captain went on jovially, glancing over his shoulder, “we’ve got the Stag Lord on our side.”
Salonius glared at him but walked on silently.
After a few minutes they reached a small, overgrown clearing and Varro judged they had passed far enough into the woods and drew them to a halt.
“I think we’ll be safe now. I suggest we sit and wait.”
Catilina dropped her pack to the ground at the base of a tree and slumped against it, rubbing her sore hand and adjusting the splint before tightening the knot that had worked itself loose on the ride. Varro frowned and reached out to her wounded hand.
“I hadn’t noticed that before? What happened?”
Catilina shrugged. “Just a bit of bruising. Hurt my fingers on a man’s jaw.”
She sighed.
The captain grumbled.
“Next? Hell, I think we’re lucky to have got this far! I…”
Without warning the man suddenly collapsed as though his legs had been swept from under him, landing with a crash among thick tree roots. Salonius rushed over to him, bearing a look of extreme concern.
“What is it?” Catilina was suddenly next to his shoulder as he grasped Varro by the shoulders and tried to haul him into a seated position.
“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s not good.”
Salonius gently raised the captain’s face and a dark gobbet of blood blurted from the older man’s mouth and ran down his chin onto his chest, leaving a slick trail. His eyes flickered open and he looked around in confusion.
“I…” He choked on another gob of blood that ran down his chin, following the trail of the first. His look of confusion cleared and he frowned.
“I think I’m getting a little too close to Phaianis for comfort now. Argh!”
He suddenly clutched his side. Salonius pointed back at the captain’s bag and addressed the lady beside him.
“Get his medicines. He needs the small bag. The strong one.”
As Catilina nodded and spun away to the other packs, Salonius realised she was forcing herself to stay in control. He could see just how close to panic and despair she truly was and wondered just how long she’s been hiding that beneath a veneer of optimism. A marvellous woman.
Turning his attention back to Varro, he undid the belt around the man’s waist and hauled his tunic up to examine the wound that had begun all this. As the meagre light afforded by the moon shining between the leaves hit the man’s pale skin, Salonius recoiled in shock and almost dropped the captain. The wound was no longer a neat and tidy scar. Repeated reopenings had given it a torn, jagged look and the edges of the wound were clearly badly infected. That wasn’t what had struck Salonius though. He was aware that the captain had been pushing himself further than he should and that the wound would likely be a mess. What truly frightened him was the area of skin surrounding the wound. Most of the man’s side, almost up to the armpit and half way around the torso was a dark purple-green colour and the veins stood out as black lines wriggling among the sickness.
“Shit!”
“What?” Catilina looked up from where she rummaged in the bag for the medicine, hampered by the lack of clear light.
“Er… nothing. His wound’s a little infected.”
Salonius concentrated on pulling the tunic back down and fastening the belt, unwilling to look at the young lady in case she saw the concern in his face. He had no great knowledge of medicine, but nobody that looked like that was going to last long.
Varro grasped him by the tunic below his neck and drew the young man down to his face level.
“Say nothing to her,” he whispered. “Let her hope.”
Salonius nodded, suddenly aware that there was a tear in the corner of his own eye. Clearing his throat, he wiped it away and turned to Catilina.
“I think we need to give him a dose of each of the three.” He was acutely aware now of the warnings Scortius had given him about the administration of medicines. Under no circumstances was he to allow Varro to take the strong one close to the others. It was a judgement call that wasn’t his to make. He leaned over Varro and whispered.
“You know what that means?”
Varro nodded.
“How could it make me worse, eh? You and I both know I’ll be lucky to leave this wood now.” Varro’s voice tailed off from a whisper to nothing.
Catilina approached, undergrowth crunching underfoot.
“Here. I’ll return in a moment.”
“Where are you going?” Salonius asked with concern.
“Just look after him. I’ll be back in a moment. The Huntress might listen. It’s her wood after all, and I’m not about to make a sacrifice of him.”
Salonius stared at her as she walked across the clearing and began to push her way into the brush.
“Don’t go far. And don’t be long.”
“Yes father!” she called back to him, without a trace of humour.
The young man watched the silent dark trees for a long moment and then drew his eyes back to the captain slumped in his arms. Varro smiled weakly.
“She’s gone off to cry. You know Catilina. She won’t snap in front of us again.”
Salonius shrugged sadly.
“You never know. Perhaps Phaianis is listening after all.”
“I wouldn’t rely on that.” Varro tried unsuccessfully to pull himself upright. “Alright. The three medicines. You’re brighter than me, lad. We both know I’m dying and we both know that mixing these three is probably going to place the coins on my eyes for my final journey. The only question I have is how long can you keep me upright. I need to feel strong and healthy for a little longer yet.”
“I can’t guarantee anything” the young man frowned. “I just don’t know what it’ll do.”
“Shh!”
Varro waved his hand in front of his young companion’s face and point out back along the deer trail. As Salonius concentrated, he realised someone was shouting outside the woods. Varro grasped the medicines from him and began to ingest them as fast as his laboured breathing and strength would allow. Salonius stared.
“That’s more than a dose of each!”
Varro tried to shrug, but winced in pain.
“Who gives a shit now? Help me up and get me within earshot of that arse.”
Salonius gingerly lifted the captain to his feet, aware unhappily that the front of the man’s tunic was spattered with his own dark blood and noting also that fresh trickles of blood ran from the corner of his mouth occasionally as he spoke.
Very slowly and endlessly carefully, the two of them limped along the trail for minutes that seemed like days.
“Captain Varro!” the voice came once more from outside; still distant, but now clear.
Varro cleared his throat and wiped the blood from his mouth.
“I can hear you, you traitorous dick shit!”
There was a long pause and Varro grinned at Salonius; a grin that, with the rivulets of blood on his pale, moonlit skin, looked far more frightening than any war paint Salonius had ever seen.
“If you surrender now, I give you my word that the lady will go free. You and your companion are a different matter, but I’m sure you can see that’s a generous offer.”
Varro frowned.
“Huh.”
He took a deep breath and bellowed out of the woods “Very generous. But liars and traitors can afford to sound generous, can’t they. Who are you?”
Another pause.
“My name is captain Crino. I’m prefect Cristus’ adjutant. I am authorised to speak for him. I given you a promise that Catilina Sabianus will be escorted to safety. I pledge that by the flag fo the Fourth.”
“Piss off.” Varro sneered audibly. “I wouldn’t trust you to fasten your shoes right now.”
“Then we are at an impasse, captain” the soldier called. “I would prefer not to violate the sacred wood to come get you, but I don’t think I really need to. How much food and water do you have in your packs? Not a lot I would suspect. We can sit here for days.”
Salonius cleared his throat.
“The woods are full of rabbits captain. I expect we’ll eat heartily. And there’s a stream.”
Varro grinned at his young companion and Salonius smiled back.
The voice came once again. “I do have some unscrupulous barbarian scouts with me who don’t really believe in Phaianis. One of them already offered to burn the woods down for me. Obviously that would be irreligious and I could bring myself to give that order. But it’s possible that if I don’t keep them on a tight rein, they might do it anyway. They’re very eager to help, you see.”
Varro laughed.
“I think your biggest problem, s
oldier, is the fact that marshal Sabian isn’t far behind us and he’s really not going to be very happy with you when he gets here. In fact, I think you’d probably be advised to make a miraculous switch and offer your sword to him and give up your boss.”
“Very frightening. I don’t believe you, Varro. And even if he is, he’ll be on the main road. He won’t come to the woods.”
“I think you’ll find,” Varro countered, “that Sabian has more and better men than you. Our trail’s nice and easy to follow, and the mess you lot have left will make it all the easier. Now shall we stop this pointless banter and get down to business?”
There was a pause again and then Crino’s voice.
“You have only two options, Varro: surrender or hold out. If you surrender, we’ll make it nice and quick. If you hold out, we’ll burn you out.”
Varro grumbled and glanced at Salonius, who straightened and called out.
“Option three, captain: get prefect Cristus here in person and we’ll sort it all out.”
Varro stared at him.
“What?” he asked quietly.
Salonius shrugged.
“You’re running out of time. You want Cristus. Problem solved.”
The captain continued to stare for a moment, mumbling to himself.
“I guess it’s the best chance I’ll get. The only question is who gets here first: Sabian or Cristus. Both of them are about a half day away. You need to keep me alive and strong ‘til then.”
Ironroot (Tales of the Empire) Page 30
