by T. A. Uner
T.A. UNER’S
THE LEOPARD KING
THE LEOPARD VANGUARD
Tome One of the Leopard King Saga
Copyright ©2013-2014 by T.A. Uner
First Edition: August 2013
Second Edition: October 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or an other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.
Cover Art by Damonza.com
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
Revisions by editforyou.org
www.leopardkingsaga.com
Also by T.A. Uner
Kill Zombies
The Bloody Ripper
Stone Ram
Doctor Mars
The Leopard Stratagem: Tome Two of the Leopard King Saga
I, Mars (Coming Soon)
This Tome is dedicated to the souls of Yigit Bozkurt and Baskin Sokulluoglu
Centuries ago, during the time of The Roman Empire…
Frustrated by the Roman occupation of his homeland, a Numidian deserter named Tacfarinas started a rebellion in 17 AD against the forces of the Roman Empire. Tacfarinas, who once served as an auxiliary in the Roman army, utilized his extensive military training and implemented guerilla warfare against the Roman forces in North Africa. During one of his raids, Tacfarinas and his first officer led an attack against a Roman fort, located outside the Numidian city of Sitifis, which was commanded by an experienced Roman officer named Decrius. Decrius, humiliated by the disgraceful loss of his post and plagued by the desertion of his men, committed suicide by throwing down his weapons and hurling himself at Tacfarinas’ forces. After the battle, one of Tacfarinas’ lieutenants discovered a large fortune in gold hidden inside the fort and plotted to steal it—unaware that the gold possessed a dangerous secret. When the first officer discovered the plot, he banished the lieutenant into the desert. Right before his eventual defeat in 24 AD, Tacfarinas hastily entrusted the gold to his first officer–who fled with it to possess its secret. To this day the location of the first officer and the gold remains unknown…
Prologue: The Opportune Battle
{March 12th, 36 AD}
“Ad augusta per angusta.”
“To high places by narrow roads.” -Latin expression
One/Unus
At the edge of the world’s greatest Empire, two armies gathered on a battlefield.
Tullus Acilius Ulixes, Prime officer of the First Cohort, and senior Centurion of the 3rd Legion, watched the opposing army of Parthians gathering in the distance. Here he was, surveying another battleground: this one a grassland, dotted with short clover patches stretched out over an expanse, there he stood with soft earth under his feet.
“I hear the Parthians are quite an effective fighting force,” Tullus said. His friend and Optio, Decimus Axius, was preparing to leave for the final inspection. Around them men were preparing the siege engines for battle. Some of them would die here today.
“I hope this young Prince our leaders are backing is worth the blood and sweat of five thousand Roman soldiers,” Decimus said.
“Vitellius knows what he’s doing, Decimus. Besides, Emperor Tiberius wants the incumbent Artabanus II off the Parthian throne. He says this new figurehead Prince, Tridates, will bring stability along our eastern borders.”
“Sometimes you sound more like a bloody politician than a Roman officer, Tullus,” Decimus said. He trudged off to inspect the ranks.
Tullus grinned. He certainly didn’t feel like a politician: dressed in his steel helm with transverse red plume crest, ring mail shirt under a leather harness decorated with gold phalerae. Leather pteruges extended beneath his harness while a blue cloak and greaves completed his uniform. Tullus turned to admire the first line of his troops: dressed in their strip armor, iron helms and armed with shields and spears. Despite the tedious four day march from their base in Syria they were ready for battle–that’s what it meant to march under the Eagles of Rome.
The pale blue heavens stretched out above him, filled with soft clouds outlining the yellow sun. His attention centered on a jagged cloud resembling a Griffin’s head as it announced its regal presence across the sky. He had once seen a drawing of a Combat Griffin in a cave, when he was a boy. Its image forever etched into his memory. The majestic creatures had disappeared years ago, while their legendary riders, the Air Paladins, had faded into history. Tullus sighed and turned his attention back to his surroundings. The sun beat down on him mercilessly; it was warm for March, and it would get warmer once the battle commenced.
“Something on your mind, Tullus?” Decimus was back from his inspection.
Tullus eyed the jagged cloud again. “What I wouldn’t do for an Air Legion of Combat Griffins above us.”
“And who would ride them my friend?”
“Well it wouldn’t be me, Decimus. You know I don’t like heights.”
Decimus chuckled while a few of the men laughed heartily. Good to see them in high spirits, Tullus thought. Some would not be alive by the end of the day. “The men are ready, Tullus.” Decimus handed Tullus an elongated circular shield.
Governor Vitellius, dressed in the bronze-plated armor of a Roman Legatus with a flowing red cape and red-plumed helm. He rode toward Tullus and Decimus seated atop an impressive white stallion. Trailing the governor was Prince Tridates, and a retinue of decoratively armored military Tribunes, flanked by a host of armored cavalry. Tullus saw Norbanus Forticus Blandus: a young Tribune with a thin nose, intelligent eyes and a mane of oily black hair that curled under the side plates of his elaborate red-plumed helm. Tullus and Decimus saluted the Governor and his retinue. Tullus liked Governor Vitellius. He considered him a friend. Vitellius possessed excellent military and diplomatic tact and was respected throughout the Empire.
“One of these days I’m going to get you to ride a horse, Tullus,” Vitellius said.
“Not today governor,” Tullus said, “for this battle, my feet shall have to suffice.”
Vitellius laughed. “One day you must tell me the reason behind your reluctance to ride horses.” Tullus smiled, but silence guarded his tongue. That dear governor… is one of my state secrets.
“How many Parthians do you count, Tullus?” Vitellius asked. He pushed back his cape, revealing a sun-faced crest inlaid upon his breastplate. It was an ornate, jewel-encrusted scabbard housing an elaborate sword dangled from his waist.
Tullus looked across the plains filled with neat squares of Parthian infantry dressed in elaborate scaled mail and cone helms. In front of the infantry stood the Parthian lanced cavalry, the famed Cataphracts, riding their armored steeds decked in scaled armor; while bright lavender plumes streamed like chanticleer tails from the tops of their helms.
“Close to six thousand stand against our legion; may the Gods grant us a great victory today, governor.”
Vitellius eyed the Parthian troops in the distance. “I tried negotiating with Atrabanus but he wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“Then perhaps it is time to remind him of his mistake,” Tullus said, gripping the hilt of his short sword, Cutter.
Vitellius turned to face Norbanus. “Why don’t you accompany Tullus and his Optio in the Vanguard, Norbanus. It would give you good battle experience.”
The young Tribune nodded. To Tullus it looked as if the young man had never ridden into battle.
Moments later Tullus blew his whistle and the shrill noise alerted his cohort to prepare for battle. Decimus called out to the men in the Vanguard, reminding them of their cohort’s proud military record and the rays of glory they would bask in
after delivering another victory for the Empire.
Governor Vitellius gave the order to attack. The Cornicen blew his Cornu and the 3rd Legion marched toward the Parthians. Tullus marched alongside his standard bearer, Pappo, a sturdy man with robust shoulders who carried the bull standard of their legion. He was dressed in chain mail underneath a harness decorated with phalerae, and a brown bearskin pelt draped over his helm.
When the Cataphracts saw Tullus’ cohort advancing, they shrieked battle cries as they charged: the hooves of their chargers rumbling like thunder as they raced across the battlefield.
“Ready?” Tullus drew Cutter.
“I wish we had those Combat Griffins,” Decimus replied. He drew his sword.
The Cataphracts never got in the first strike as the Romans charged like bulls toward their opponents. Vitellius and his staff watched from a knoll behind the combatants, while Tullus, Decimus, Norbanus and the rest of the 3rd Legion clashed with the Parthians in close quarters.
Streaks of sweat lined Tullus’ face as he parried a blow from one of the Parthians. His helm insulated warmth on his scalp; his brain, a boulder sizzling inside his skull as the heat of his armor felt like he was roasting over a brazier. The Cataphracts were everywhere, death following them as they sought to slaughter Tullus’ men. The Parthian infantry followed, and Tullus found himself slashing a vicious cut across a Parthian soldier’s neck while blood and gristle stained his harness. Around Tullus the carnage intensified as mutilated bodies of both Parthians and his fellow Roman soldiers lay strewn across the battlefield. Tullus heard loud, fearful, squeals as the fire pigs, coated in tar and oil, had been released. The flaming creatures scurried toward the Parthians, causing confusion and disarray amongst the enemy ranks while they burned to death. Shortly afterwards the war dogs appeared, purposely starved to make them more vicious. They attacked the Cataphracts steeds with fervor as their maws ripped into the horses’ flesh with hungry teeth. Tullus hated the way these poor creatures were exploited in battle: enduring unspeakable suffering for the sake of victory.
He turned his attention back to the battle. The Ballistae commenced bombardments– their devastating arrow bolts splitting Parthian soldiers and steed apart, coating the once-green field with fresh blood.
After the rest of the 3rd Legion engaged the Parthians, Vitellius’ cavalry and its auxiliary support moved in to clean up any remnants of Parthian troops.
Tullus heard loud grunts and men screaming in pain amongst the cacophony of battle. Looking around the carnage of fighting men, he spotted wounded Decimus, blood dripping from a gash in his arm and valiantly fighting two lanced Cataphracts. Cutter in hand, Tullus dropped his legionary shield and charged the first Cataphract: launching his short sword at Decimus’ first attacker. Cutter penetrated the Parthian’s chest armor causing thick blood to ooze between the scales. The Parthian cried out in pain and dropped his lance. He eyed his wound and found Cutter sticking out of his midsection before falling from his horse. The other attacker, distracted by his friend’s demise, became fodder for Decimus’ sword.
“Thank you, Tullus.”
Tullus smiled, remembering how Decimus had saved his life when he was a boy. But now was not the time to reminisce. They had to get out of the line of fire, as the siege engines would begin bombarding the remaining Cataphracts with firepots and incendiary missiles. Tullus heard someone moaning. A horse lay dead on the battlefield–left flank ripped open, revealing ribs, and its hindquarters bloodstained. The crumpled figure of a man lay next to the horse’s corpse: Tribune Norbanus Forticus.
“Get the Tribune,” Tullus said. He and Decimus ran toward the wounded Norbanus, whose punctured right leg was covered in blood, his helm missing and red cape lay torn and twisted around his chain mail.
“He’ll survive,” Decimus said.
“Aye, but not if we don’t get him off the battlefield and into the Medicus’ tent.” The two men gently lifted their superior and carried him away from the dead horse. Above them waves of firepots and incendiary missiles soared through the air like streaking comets before smashing into the retreating packs of Parthians–sending men, horses and body parts flying through the air.
{II}
Artabanus II’s forces had been routed by the Romans. The battlefield littered with piles of human and creature corpses. A feast awaited the ravens that pecked on the bodies strewn across the blood-soaked Earth.
Inside the Medicus’ tent, Norbanus received medical treatment on a table while the Medicus used a surgical hook to arrange and fix the torn skin on his leg. After applying vinegar to disinfect the wound, the Medicus stitched it. Tullus and Decimus looked on while around them wounded soldiers waited for medical treatment. Tullus wiped the sweat from his forehead as the smell of blood, feces and vinegar hung beneath his nostrils. “He’ll live,” the Medicus said. “But I suggest he rest for a few days to prevent the wound from reopening–that way it will heal quicker.”
The Medicus then left them to tend to the other wounded; Norbanus slowly lifted himself from the operating table. Norbanus eyed Tullus and Decimus. “You men saved my life.”
Tullus and Decimus saluted the wounded Tribune. “It was an honor to do so Tribune,”
Tullus said. “We were fortunate to find you when we did—right before the final wave of Parthians were routed.” Norbanus nodded. “What are your names?”
“Tullus Acilius Ulixes, First file Centurion of the 3rd Legion.”
“Ahh, yes. The commander of the Bull Legion.”
“Decimus Axius, Optio to the first file Centurion. But, respectfully sir, it was the Centurion’s idea to rescue you…I only assisted.”
Norbanus’ eyes widened. “Is that so?” he said. “Gods be praised. Then I owe the Centurion a huge debt.”A moment of silence descended upon the three men before Norbanus spoke again. “Are you men happy serving in the 3rd Legion?”
“It is a position we both loyally serve, Tribune,” Tullus replied.
“Call me Norbanus, Centurion; we are not on duty now,” Norbanus said. “How would you men like to come to Rome with me?”
“Sir?” replied both Tullus and Decimus.
“My father has secured a lucrative post for me in Rome,” he said, “and I will be transferring to the Praetorian Guard after this campaign. I’ll need good men around me. Would positions in the Praetorian Guard interest either of you?”
Tullus remained silent for a few moments before Decimus prodded him in the ribcage with his elbow. Tullus knew the Praetorian Guard was the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to serve within the hallowed confines of the Emperor’s palace. The rewards for accepting such a position were vast: superb meals, impressive living quarters and better pension. This was a coveted post for any Roman soldier. Besides, Tullus always wanted to visit the ruins of the Paladus: the legendary home of the extinct Air Paladins. Still, a small part of him would miss serving on the frontlines alongside his men.
“Centurion, what say you?” Norbanus said.
Tullus swallowed hard. “I accept your gracious offer, sir.”
{III}
Outside the Medicus’ tent Decimus shot Tullus a dire look.
“What was that all about? Why did you pause, Tullus?”
“Last I checked I still outranked you, Decimus.”
“Pardon me, Centurion,” Decimus said. “But any man would’ve jumped at that offer. Instead, you hesitated like a castrated bull before accepting. Might I ask why?”
Tullus didn’t know why he had hesitated. The Tribune had offered him a better life and he had almost rebuked it. Was it fear of the unknown, or perhaps he secretly harbored the desire to find a wife and start a family. After twenty years of service, he had earned the right for a discharge.
“Decimus Axius,” Tullus said, “when I require you to question me I will ask for it.”
“It is my duty as your Optio to know your intentions and help you carry them out,” Decimus said, showing no hesitation in his tone. “You cannot li
e to me Tullus; I know when something is troubling you.”
Decimus was right. Trying to hide his feelings around him was as useless as asking a ram to refrain from charging. “The truth is Decimus, I have no desire to serve those like Norbanus: men who hide under military dress while acting out their political ambitions. We know nothing about him; and now, we have sworn loyalty to him. I feel like marching back into that tent and rescinding my oath.”
Decimus looked shocked but quickly collected his composure. “I have heard those who serve in the Praetorian Guard live in luxury. Assignments are lax and the majority of the day is spent guarding the Emperor’s palace. I for one am tired of war Tullus. Both of us have earned our rest. We’ve both given over twenty years to the Legions. My father always told me that opportunity strikes when you least expect it, and we may never get another chance to serve in the Guard. Besides, I hear the brothels in Rome are the best in the Empire.”
Tullus laughed. He couldn’t help but notice how happy Decimus became when mentioning Rome. His friend had raised him after his parents had been killed, and trained him so that he could become an officer; couldn’t he return this one favor for Decimus? Perhaps it was a sign from the Gods that a better life awaited them in Rome. Still, Tullus wanted to be free, to control his fate and not have men like Norbanus dictate his future. At least in the 3rd Legion his daily routine was predictable.
“So Centurion, are you still planning to rescind your oath to Tribune Norbanus?”
Tullus stared at his friend with a blank expression; his head felt heavy while his answer remained elusive.
