by T. A. Uner
Perhaps I will be reunited with the spirit of my beloved mother.
He closed his eyes as sleep took hold of him.
When Norbanus awoke, it was still dark.
He tried to stand up, but lost his footing and fell to his knees. His plea for death had fallen on deaf ears.
Even the Gods refuse to show me mercy.
If his situation hadn't been so pathetic, he would have laughed. The darkness was thick and surrounded him like an eddy. He stood again and reached out with his arms to probe ahead. Slowly, he put one bare foot ahead of the other as the pebbled sod pressed against his heels. A few moments later he found the cold, hard surface of the Via Appia. The night sky was as dark as the area around him and with his limited night vision he saw no stars. A sharp, ringing noise cascaded through his ears and he heard laughter. Were his ears playing tricks on him? With his shit luck he didn’t doubt it. He continued his walk until he reached the other side of the Via Appia. The sound of laughter pealed through the air again. He walked into a dense shrub of foliage, which pricked his skin and again, and cursed his foul luck. Ahead, a speck of light glimmered and as he approached it, he saw the shadow of three figures circled around it, laughing and drinking. Were these robbers? Norbanus hadn’t the slightest clue. But if they were, he figured they couldn’t do him further harm; they could only take his life, and that wasn’t worth much anymore.
He felt a powerful arm wrap itself around his throat and Norbanus couldn’t breathe.
So this is how I am to die? What a sad end to one of the Forticus brood. I would’ve liked to have lain with another woman. Or two. Now my lifeless body shall lie atop these reeds until the carrion come to peck my eyes out.
He felt himself being turned around, like a plaything in the hands of a child, until he came face to face with a burly man with a thick beard and long mustache.
“What have we here?” the giant asked amusedly. “Not a robber, as you are too poorly dressed—or not even dressed, for that matter.”
“If you’re going to kill me, go ahead and do so. I do not need to be ridiculed further,” Norbanus said gruffly.
“Kill you?” the big man said surprisingly. “Thorax doesn’t kill unarmed men, even if they do look like vagrants.” He loosened his grip on Norbanus’ throat.
Norbanus heard some rustling in the bushes, another man, wearing a pockmarked helm and aged shirt of chain mail, stared at him and the giant. “What have you there, Thorax? ‘Nother robber whose head ye’ll twist off like a cork?” he laughed and as he did a series of coughs sputtered out of his mouth.
“Naw, Mirant, this here fellow seems harmless,” Thorax said, finally releasing his grip on Norbanus’s throat. He took a deep breath and felt the air return inside his lungs.
Too bad he didn’t kill me.
“Who are you?” Mirant asked.
“A former tribune who has fallen on hard times: robbed, beaten, cheated and left for dead.”
Thorax lifted a lantern from the ground. The sputtering, white flame cast light on Mirant’s face.
“Tribune, ehh? Rob’bid? Beat’in, Cheat’id? Leef’ fer’ ded?” Mirant looked Norbanus up and down. His curiosity satisfied, he grinned, revealing two missing teeth. “Stranger, best you come with us and meet the others. Kronus will probably be needin’ tah talk to ya.”
They led Norbanus out of the underbrush and came upon the campfire Norbanus had spotted earlier where three men were talking amongst themselves. They looked up at the newcomer and one of them stood up, an impressive greatsword dangling from his belt.
“And who in Silvanus’s name is this?” the man asked, eying Norbanus suspiciously.
“Sit down Sirath,” said a cogent, deep voice. It came from a broad-shouldered man warming his hands over the reddish-yellow flames of the fire, while the embers sparkled and sizzled underneath. He wore a brown tunic with a red shoulder patch sewn on his sleeve (Norbanus noticed a fiery platinum fist sigil sewn on the patch). “I’m sure Thorax and Mirant must have a perfectly good explanation for their new friend.”
“Aye, I found ‘im wandering in the underbrush, Kronus,” Thorax said. “Looks like a harmless fellow to me.”
“Claims he’s a lord of some kind,” Mirant added, “says he’s been robbed.”
Kronus sighed, stood up and meticulously eyed Norbanus. A bear of a man, he appeared to carry authority amongst these men and Norbanus figured him to be their leader.
A leader of killhires no doubt.
“What is your name, Stranger?” Kronus asked.
“Norbanus Forticus Blandus.”
“Forticus? That name sounds familiar.”
“It is a proud name,” Norbanus said, “a patrician name that once opened doors for me.” Kronus eyed him meticulously. I probably don’t look much like a patrician in his eyes.
“Wha’daa we do with’ im?” Mirant asked.
Kronus sighed again. “Feed him, he looks like he could die of starvation at any moment.”
Norbanus was lead toward a kettle where another man poured him some soup. It looked terrible but tasted good. Norbanus ate like a starved beast and mopped up the remaining sticky drops of soup with a heel of black bread.
“What brings you this way stranger?” Kronus asked as five sets of eyes peered at him above the brazier.
“I’m travelling to Rhegium. From there I hope to catch a vessel to Africa.”
“I see,” Kronus said. He produced an apple and sliced a piece off before tossing it to Norbanus who devoured it and licked his fingertips. “So you were robbed?”
“Yes,” Norbanus said, licking his chapped lips. “I tried to fight them off but there were four.” He didn’t wish to look enervated in front of these men. Best to tell the truth. For now at least. “They stole everything from me; only left me my underwear.”
“Hmmmmm.” Kronus said, rubbing the dark stubble on his chin. “No decency amongst robbers these days. Where did you say you served, Norbanus?”
“I was a tribune in the Praetorian Guard. At least I was until my dismissal.”
“Dismissal?” Kronus said, his eyes filled with mistrust.
“Our new Emperor Caligula, is quite fickle,” Norbanus mused, thinking how he had lost everything while so close to achieving his goal of purging his uncle Decrius’s name from infamy.
“What did you do to warrant dismissal, Norbanus?” Sirath asked.
“I failed to capture a man called The Leopard King,” Norbanus said. “Even my Prefect, a man named Naevius Sutorius Macro, could not escape punishment. Not long after I was dismissed from the Guard, he was executed by Caligula.”
“Did you say Macro?” Kronus said.
Norbanus nodded while Kronus passed him a skin of calda, a spiced wine.
“Like you, we also served Macro, but this was many years ago, as members in his trusted personal guard,” Kronus said as the embers beneath the fire crackled and sputtered in the cool night air. Thorax handed Norbanus a thick wool blanket and he wrapped it around his shoulders, reveling in its warmth.
“What happened?” Norbanus asked.
“We were betrayed. The old emperor, Tiberius, cursed by senility saw conspiracies everywhere. He misread our devotion to Macro as overly ambitious and saw it as a threat against his rule. We were arrested by the Praetorian Guard and scheduled to be executed, but escaped by bribing one of the prison guards. After that, we lived a meager existence, until we realized the Gods had given us an opportunity to be free of capricious Roman officers who plot for the sake of their own personal ambition.” Kronus stood up and the others followed. “We are known as the Five Fists.”
All five of the men clenched their fists and beat them against their chests once in synchronous motion. Like Kronus, they all wore the same red shoulder patch on their sleeves. Mirant pulled out a large shield and propped it above the campfire. The glow from the flames made the crest on the shield visible: the sigil of a fiery fist with the Roman Numeral Five inscribed beneath it.
&nbs
p; “So you became Killhires?” Norbanus asked as he sipped on calda, which warmed his sore throat.
“Of a sort,” Kronus replied. “But we long for the day to serve an honorable lord. One who is noble and generous and will lead us into battle against worthy opponents. We are in our prime, and tire of service to dishonorable lords.”
A tunic, leather boots and a thick fur coat were brought to Norbanus, who quickly dressed himself and almost felt human again, Norbanus knew the Gods had presented him with an opportunity. He was in need of allies, and these five could be useful.
“Kronus, I thank you and your four compatriots for your hospitality, and honorable treatment of a former tribune who has fallen on hard times—a victim of various disloyal men who claim to serve the empire’s needs. I know of your suffering; I have felt it. But know that not all who serve as Roman officers are dishonest and cold-hearted.”
“Your words sound sweet to the ear. Yet empty promises alone cannot sway us, Lord Norbanus,” Kronus explained. “Politicians use words to court the masses, yet after they are elected, and rise to great heights, they forget the needs of the people, and of the military that affords them their freedom.”
Norbanus rubbed his dry hands and warmed them against the fire. “I see you good men have served the wrong lords. But I make you this promise, my Five Fists, I am no such man to take advantage of kindness and repay it with indifference. My father is a powerful governor in Lusitania. Even though I’ve been dismissed from Caligula’s service, who knows what tomorrow holds? I could’ve been executed, but Caligula spared me. He knew that killing me would be a mistake, he knew that my family was still powerful enough to cause problems for him.”
The five men stared at him intently, digesting his story.
Norbanus smiled. Did I sway them to my cause? “What are your plans for the future?”
“We are heading to Rome, to see if we can find a worthy lord to serve,” Kronus said.
You’ll have to look hard. “I see. I plan on returning to Rome. When I do I’ll need allies. I shall remember your kindness and you shall be rewarded accordingly.”
The men grunted. “The Gods have gifted you a golden tongue, Norbanus. Many have spoken grandly to us and offered nothing in return, how can we trust your words?” Sirant asked.
“You cannot,” Norbanus replied wryly. “But men such as I do not remained defeated for long. I shall find you in Rome, and when I do, you will know what it means to be my friends.”
After a restful sleep, Norbanus awoke to a new day. His body was still sore from the rough treatment he had suffered at the hands of the robbers, but with warm, clean clothes on his back and food in his belly he felt nourished. Perhaps Fortuna had finally returned to bestow good fortune his way. He had endured humiliation, banishment, robbery, and defeat at the hands of the Leopard King, yet he was still alive. And these five men, while not the most sought-after allies one could ask for, were his charges now. The first to follow him since his fall from power.
They gave Norbanus one of their horses, an extra pair of clean clothes and provisions enough for three days, plus a new sword and shield.
“We shall wait for you in Rome, Norbanus Forticus Blandus,” Kronus said, “and we shall remember your promise.”
Norbanus shook Kronus’s hand. “I will not forget those who have delivered me from ruin.” He smiled. “It may take time but you will hear from me again.”
Norbanus waved to his five new friends before spurring his horse. He took off down the road while the Five Fists watched him disappear. Norbanus swallowed hard. Now, how am I supposed to fulfill my word to them?
{III}
Tullus opened his eyes and felt the sunshine warm his face as it filtered through the shutters at the foot of his bed. That nightmarish longing which threatened to consume his humanity had abated, and given way to placidity.
‘Mithras is a Jaguar, Tullus’. Those were Hradack’s first words to him. Tullus sat up from his bed, his arm still sore. His eyes fell to the floor and he saw Celestra curled up next to his bed. When he slid out of his bed her eyes opened and she let out a tired mewl. He tried to lean over and scratch the back of her head but the soreness in his arm plagued his movements. Gods be damned, he hated injuries.
“I would rest if I were you, Tullus.”
Tullus turned his head around and saw Hradack sitting in a whicker chair near the entrance of his room.
He wasn’t there a moment ago.
“It would seem so,” Tullus replied. “Again, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Hradack.”
Hradack nodded his head and smiled. “It’s not what happens to you that matters, it’s how you respond to it. I’d say you’ve done quite well.” Hradack stood up from the chair and slowly peeled back Tullus' bandage. The wound was healing. Instead of the red rash surrounding the pus-filled tooth marks it was a light purple color. The skin had begun to regenerate, but Tullus knew he would carry a scar. “How is the skin?”
“Still sore,” Tullus said. “I would like to go outside and get some fresh air.”
Hradack nodded. “I really think you should rest; but, if you feel it will help.”
Tullus slowly lifted himself from the bed and inched his way out of the room. Hradack covered him with a thick blanket as he eyed Tullus' movements. Tullus felt weakness in his legs, so he took slow steps. One after another, he wanted to explore his new surroundings, to get a feel for the place that had delivered him from evil.
“Easy, Tullus,” Hradack said while Celestra growled her assent behind him.
Tullus inched down a corridor before emerging at the end. He found himself in an anteroom with two draped windows flanking a bolted wooden door.
Seeing that Tullus was still intent on going outside, Hradack unbolted the door. When he did, Tullus shielded his eyes from the burst of sunlight that spilled through the open doorway. Outside, under a wooden portico, he felt the cold chill his heels. It felt good, his senses returning. He lowered himself into a chair and took in his surroundings. The land around him was peaceful. Hradack’s stead was situated in a gorge. Small buildings doted the area around the main house while to his right, an icy stream stood cradled within a frosty bank that skirted around the foot of a outstretched hill. Atop its peak misty layers of fog lingered.
“This is quite an impressive place.”
Hradack seated himself next to Tullus. “Why, thank you Tullus. I’ve always found it to be restful. And its location keeps it safe from predators.”
“I haven’t felt this peaceful since before Paullus passed on.”
Hradack’s eyes became sullen and Tullus wished he hadn’t opened the subject. “Once again, I am sorry I couldn’t attend the funeral, Paullus was–”
“It’s alright, I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“But I don’t feel right,” Hradack grumbled. “I’ve been carrying this curse with me for many years. A result of my service in the Serpent Crusades.”
“You fought in the Serpent Wars?”
“Aye, but to the Air Paladins they were known as the Serpent Crusades,” Hradack said as he stood up while gripping his staff. “If you’ve had enough fresh air, let us return inside to talk. We can discuss my past in warmer surroundings.”
Before they could go inside, Tullus spotted a rider approaching the stead. As it drew closer, Tullus saw a lean, young man atop a grey Luistano come into view. He had a mop of wavy, blonde hair, and wore a loose-fitting tunic underneath a thick cloak which hung from his shoulders. He rode up towards them and reined in his horse.
Hradack smiled. “How was your ride, Caltus?”
“Fine, grandfather.” The young man eyed Tullus. “These must be the guests you’ve been ecstatic about.”
“Yes, these are my friends Tullus and the Incantra Leopardess, Celestra.”
“Hello,” Caltus said to Tullus. The young man’s eyes grew wide as they descended upon Celestra. He climbed off of his horse and stared at Celestra intently. “Dear Gods! Another Incantra? I n
ever thought I’d meet one from outside Grandfather’s stead. May pet her?”
Tullus smiled. “She likes to be scratched between her ears.”
The boy stretched his arm out. Celestra eyed his fingers before allowing him to scratch the back of her head.
“Tullus is here to study Elemence,” Hradack said.
“You told me he was a soldier; can he teach me swordfighting?”
Tullus chuckled. “If you so wish.”
“Not now, Caltus. Tullus is still recovering from his wound, now run along and tend to your chores.”
Caltus looked crestfallen, “Yes grandfather,” he said dejectedly, before leading his horse away from the front of the house until he disappeared around the corner.
“Caltus is a fine boy,” Hradack said, “but he indulges too much in foolery and sometimes neglects his tasks.”
They entered the house and Hradack led Tullus to a large table. “There’s nothing wrong with a young man wanting to learn how to use a sword,” Tullus replied.
Hradack chuckled. “I once thought as you two did: adventure, fighting, chivalry. Things ended up differently than I expected.”
Tullus wrapped the blanket around him as Hradack lit a brazier with his finger. “What do you know about the Air Paladins, Tullus?”
“Only tales, really. My friend Decimus used to tell me about them when I was a young soldier. I once dreamed of seeing a live Combat Griffin. But that was before Decimus told me that there weren’t any more left alive.”
Hradack nodded, the sullen look returned to his face. Tullus studied the Leopard Master. The old man’s forehead was lined with years of experience above a square face covered with a snowy beard. Soft white hair peppered with grey rested upon his shoulders.
“Your friend is correct. No more Griffins exist, but once, they filled the sky like clouds. Their piercing cries could be heard across the Italian peninsula and beyond.” Hradack sighed. “Now, all that remains of them are tired, old stories.”
