Clay Legionary (Clay Warrior Stories Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “War is small, he said. Swords and sticks are big. You don’t start big, you start small,” Ceyx stopped the tale. Taking pity on the Rebel, he walked over and removed the mule’s feed bag. After sniffing it, he coughed and swore, “Ah, that’s foul. You know Speckled Pheasant, if you hadn’t gone all gladiator on my fellow Lance Corporal, we could free your hands.”

  “I’m going to enjoy killing you Ceyx Eolus,” the Rebel stated. “And you, Alerio Sisera.”

  Ignoring the threats, Ceyx turned to Alerio and continued, “In order to fight and win big battles, explained the old warrior, you need to learn to fight small. He pointed to the biggest boy and ordered him to strike and strike hard. The boy brought the bamboo pole over his head and swung it down toward the old man’s head. As the pole came down, the old warrior reached up with the palm of his left hand. He touched the boy’s wrist. Seemly without any effort, the pole was guided out of its path and struck the ground. Totaling missing the old man.”

  “He ordered the boy to try again. This time, the old warrior reached up with his right hand, touched the boy’s wrist and the pole missed the old warrior but struck the boy on his own knee,” related Ceyx. “We begged him to teach us small warfare.”

  “He called it sticky hands. You make contact with your opponent’s hand or wrists. Every movement they make you mirror. When they punch, you redirect it. When they try to grab, you rotate around their hands to avoid their fingers,” Ceyx explained. “It’s as if your hands and theirs were stuck together.”

  “Show me this sticky hands,” begged Alerio.

  “What about the wound on your arm?” asked Ceyx.

  “It’s a scratch,” Alerio stated. “The fat pig isn’t much of a knifeman.”

  By the light of their camp fire, Alerio attempted to shove Ceyx. The energy was redirected harmlessly to the side. As Alerio brought his arms in, Ceyx’s hands stayed with them. For an hour, Alerio attempted to strike, hit, shove and even just touch Ceyx. Each move was gently counted by the sticky hands.

  In the morning as they broke camp, Ceyx had to suppress a laugh. After harnessing the mule, packing the cart with the night’s equipment, and boosting in Speckled Pheasant, Alerio began making small movements with his hands and arms. The sight of the big Legionary making small gestures as he walked beside the mule was too much. Ceyx broke and the laughter erupted from his belly.

  Alerio’s only response was to cast a smile over his shoulders while continuing the small moves. The cart bumped on the road as the sun appeared over the high desert planes.

  Chapter 63 - Rebels on the Trail

  Three days of slow traveling brought them no closer to their destination as far as Alerio could tell. The mountains still resembled jagged saw teeth and the high desert plain remained mostly level.

  They made camp at dusk and after dinner, Alerio and Ceyx stood pushing and shoving as they hand fought. Speckled Pheasant glanced quickly down the trail, smiled, and lay down. While the stupid Legionaries played a children’s game, his men were catching up. From his rear-facing seat in the cart, he had observed an occasional dust trail. Each hour, the signs of pursuit grew closer.

  Alerio took first watch. He waited for the Rebel Captain to begin snoring before walking away from camp. At the road, he backtracked their trail for a couple of hours before returning to wake Ceyx. The other Legionary would patrol ahead looking for any trouble they might encounter during the next day’s travel. By the time Speckled Pheasant woke, one of them would be on watch and tending the fire.

  They broke camp in the dim predawn light. All day Speckled Pheasant strained his eyes for signs of his men. Dust would rise before being blown away by the light breeze. Each time he wanted to yell out in triumph. Instead, he settled for chuckling to himself.

  The sun was still up when Ceyx called a halt for the day. After dinner, Speckled Pheasant watched as Alerio cleaned their pans and dishes. He failed to notice Ceyx sneaking up behind him. The gage looped over his head and was snugged down before he could cry out. His hands and feet were bound and he was laid on the ground.

  “Got work to do,” Ceyx whispered as he pulled a blanket over the Rebel. “Here, so you don’t catch a chill.”

  Chapter 64 - Ambush in the Night

  By the time Ceyx arrived at the cart, Alerio had finished strapping on his armor and the duel gladius rig.

  “How far back?” Alerio asked. “Could it be a caravan?”

  “About ten miles based on the dust,” Ceyx replied as he pulled out his chest pieces. “They’re closing too fast to be merchants.”

  “It’s going to be a long night,” proclaimed Alerio.

  “A Legionary doesn’t rest until the job is done,” exclaimed Ceyx as he finished strapping down the last piece. “Ready?”

  The standard run for a Legionary was twenty miles in less than five hours. Because they walked the road in the daylight and studied it as they traveled, they had a good idea where the holes and rocky obstacles lay. Armed with this knowledge, the Legionaries broke into a jog at the road.

  Two hours later, a candle sized light flickered in the distance. Twenty minutes later, the light formed into a small yet identifiable campfire. They eased to a walk and continued on the road. When voices reached them, the Legionaries left the road and began to circle around the Rebel camp.

  Ceyx reached out and tapped Alerio’s arm six times. Alerio responded by confirming the presence of six Rebels with six taps of his own. They were squatting behind the Rebel camp just out of the ring of light. One man stood by the fire obviously on guard duty. Luckily for the Legionaries, the sentry spent more time poking at the fire then looking out into the darkness for danger. Around the fire, another five men lay wrapped in blankets.

  Legionaries, Rebels, highwaymen, Barbarians, and Tribesmen hated fighting at night. You couldn’t tell friends from foes as gladii and knives stabbed blindly in the dark. Then again, this was six on two and it was to Ceyx’s and Alerio’s advantage to initiate a night attack.

  Ceyx traced a circle on Alerio’s arm then completed the message by running a finger down the center of the circle. It was the simplest of plans; you take half the camp and I’ll take the other.

  Fighters disliked night attacks for another reason. You couldn’t tell if your gladius striking a vital organ actually fell the enemy. Or, if shock caused them to fall only to rise again and stab you in the back. The Legion’s recruit instructors had an answer for this issue. Forget stabbing on the first round, the gladius was wide and heavy. It made a great club. You could always come back and dispatch the unconscious enemy at your leisure.

  Ceyx stepped over a sleeping form while his blade rapped the side of the sentry’s head. The blow should have driven the man to the side. It’s an odd thing about the human head; it weighs a lot.

  The sentry’s head rocked and bounced off the man’s shoulder. As it wobbled off the shoulder, the mass of the head turned the man and his body sprawled into the campfire. Suddenly, hot ashes and embers washed over the five sleeping men.

  “Precision gladius work,” Alerio teased. From the dark, he swung both gladii.

  Two of the men rose cursing and brushing off the glowing embers. They dropped from Alerio’s gladii. Another went down as he sat up. Feeling good, Alerio skipped to other side of the campsite and knocked out a fourth man.

  “Four down,” he announced. One reason for the report was to let Ceyx know he only needed to take down the final Rebel. The other reason was to let Ceyx know where he was standing. It prevented the Light Infantryman from throwing a knife into his face.

  “Done,” Ceyx stated as the sixth man crumpled to the ground.

  “Do you want to question any of them?” Alerio asked as he swung the blades over his shoulders and neatly sheathed both gladii.

  Ceyx’s back was turned to the Legionary as he searched a saddlebag. His hand touched a damp bundle of parchment.

  “Normally, I’d like some intelligence,” Ceyx said over his shoulder. “But seeing as
we already know their mission. And, we have one prisoner more than I prefer. No.”

  Both Legionaries pulled their knives and slit the throats of the six Rebels. When they finished the grisly task, Ceyx held out his hand.

  “Give me your knife and rebuild the fire,” he ordered.

  While Alerio collected stray pieces of wood and kicked the burning sticks and embers into a pile, Ceyx rested the knife blades over a hot spot. When the steel began to glow, he wiped them on the blouse of a dead Rebel.

  “What’s up?” Alerio inquired. He was watching with his hand out expecting the return of his knife.

  Ceyx turned his back again and chopped something. When he turned around, he held out Alerio’s knife. On the blade was a chunk of meat.

  Alerio sniffed and declared, “Fresh beef.”

  “Breakfast courtesy of Speckled Pheasant and these lads,” Ceyx said. Then he began to look around saying, “Vino. Not the watered stuff we have. Real vino, full strength and right out of the barrel. Here put my beef in the fire with yours. If they have beef, there’s bound to be vino.”

  Chapter 65 - Dangerous Travels

  As dawn drove back the night, Ceyx went to count Rebel ponies. Alerio busied himself with collecting weaponry. Most of the knives were cheaply made and the two swords weren’t of much better quality. Still, he found four bows and four quivers stuffed with arrows. Almost as an afterthought, he selected a Rebel with big feet and took the boots.

  “Seven ponies,” Ceyx stated as he led the animals to the camp. “I wonder which of these poor beasts was for Speckled Pheasant.”

  “Four of the Rebels were bowmen,” Alerio announced holding up a bow and a quiver. “If we hadn’t seen them, we’d have woken up to a breakfast of arrowheads.”

  “Not very appetizing,” replied Eolus. “From here on, we ride. And we lighten the cart by using the extra ponies as pack animals. Altogether, we’ll make better time.”

  The next day on the trail, Alerio rode one pony with three others on lines. Ceyx followed on another with a line to the mule.

  “Get them away from me,” shouted Speckled Pheasant.

  The final two ponies were sociable. From where they were tied, they could easily place their muzzles into the cart and sniff the Rebel Captain.

  “He doesn’t seem to like the company,” observed Alerio. “I guess he wasn’t lonely after all.”

  They traveled for four more uneventful days. With the weight distributed among the ponies, they made better time. The mountain tops grew and the vegetation on the lower slopes became identifiable as trees.

  On the morning of the day fifth, a cloud of dust rose in the distance. An hour later, the cloud formed an arrow pointing directly at the small caravan.

  “What’s that,” Alerio shouted back. He was on the lead pony and guiding the mule. “A caravan?”

  Ceyx stared off at the boiling dust for a long time. So long in fact, Alerio got a creak in his neck and faced forward.

  “Trouble,” Ceyx finally replied. “Big trouble.”

  “More Rebels?” asked Alerio.

  “No. Worse. A war party of Northern Plain’s Tribesmen,” Ceyx explained. “Pull the cart off the road and unharness the mule. Then circle the ponies around us and the cart.”

  “Form a defensive wall with living ponies?” asked Alerio. “Not much good if the wall can shy away with a single swat.”

  “Hopefully, they wouldn’t shoot the ponies,” Ceyx explained. “Maybe it’ll give us time to talk with them before they murder us.”

  “That easily?” inquired Alerio. He looked into the cart and Speckled Pheasant’s eyes were wide open and the fat man was sweating.

  “Not if we had two squads of Heavy Infantry with their big shields,” Ceyx stated. “You wouldn’t happen to have two squads in your kit?”

  “No of course not.”

  “In that case, yes, they can kill us that easily,” pronounced Ceyx as he began tying ponies together nose to tail.

  A few minutes later, they sat on the cart surrounded by confused ponies and one mule that didn’t seem to care about anything. They watched as the dust billowed to form a line of boiling, brown clouds. Soon a line of men and ponies appeared on the leading edge of the dust.

  “The Tribesmen are from the high plains far North of here,” Ceyx explained. “They migrate in hoards and send out foraging parties. Actually, more like war parties. Everyone who’s confronted them is dead. The caravans simply pay them to go away.”

  The riders went from a gallop to an ordered stop. None of the Tribesmen used a rein. Pressure from their knees guided the ponies so their hands were free to hold short, sturdy bows. One trotted forward, halted his pony, and crossed a leg across the pony’s neck. As he relaxed, the Tribesman observed the caravan.

  A ring of fine ponies and an ugly mule circled a two-wheeled cart. On the cart were two men in leather armor and a fat man in a woman’s vest. The War Leader laughed at the man.

  He raised an arm, pointed, turned his head and said something to the riders behind him. They laughed as well. Not seeing any of the three holding a bow, he nudged his pony closer to the strange formation.

  Despite his shortcomings with the weapon, Alerio reached down for a bow.

  “Don’t,” Ceyx ordered placing a hand on the young Legionary’s arm. “Let’s see if he’ll bargain.”

  The War Leader edged closer. From his pony’s back, he leered at the caravan as if it were no more dangerous than a herd of sheep.

  “Is that your man-woman?” he asked indicating Speckled Pheasant. “She’s nice and fat, but she is ugly. I bet she likes the big boy best.”

  Alerio’s spine straightened and he tensed up. The War Leader had no respect or caution in his voice. His insulting confidence stung the young Legionary.

  It took an elbow in the ribs from Ceyx to stop Alerio from drawing his gladii.

  “But your ponies are nice,” the War Leader added. “I’ll take them after you’re dead.”

  The threat was too much for Alerio. He jumped up on the cart and blurted out, “You want me dead. Fine, fight me.”

  Ceyx cringed and the War Leader laughed.

  “I’ll use a bow from the back of a flying pony,” he bragged. “Where are your weapons?”

  Alerio reached over his shoulders and drew both gladii.

  “These,” he said as he stepped down from the cart. After ducking under a pony’s neck, he strutted to within four paces of the Tribesman. “These are my weapons. You want me dead. I challenge you. My gladii against your bow and your pony.”

  The ten Plainsmen trotted up as Alerio moved. They all had arrows notched and aimed at the Legionary.

  Ceyx held his breath as the War Leader looked around at his warriors. Some shook their heads no. Others shrugged noncommittally. Most indicated their excitement by rapidly jabbing their bows and the Legionary.

  “I am Wolf Shout, a War Chief of the Wondering Family,” the War Leader stated. “It is our custom to know the names of the men we kill in single combat.”

  “Alerio Sisera, Lance Corporal of the Republic Legion,” Alerio replied. “We have no…”

  A wineskin slammed into his chest.

  “We also have a custom,” Ceyx announced. Then out of the side of his mouth whispered, “Take a drink and salute the War Leader.”

  “But I’m not thirsty,” Alerio complained as he placed a gladius under an arm and took the wineskin.

  “Just do it,” insisted Ceyx. He turned and offered up another wineskin to Wolf Shout, “Our custom is to drink with our enemies, before killing them in single combat.”

  The War Leader started chuckling before throwing his head back to allow a belly laugh to break over the assembled warriors.

  “Drinking and killing,” Wolf Shout explained. “Two of my favorite things.”

  Alerio pulled the stopper, lifted the wineskin above his head, and poured a stream into his mouth. Disappointingly, it was the weak watered vino they carried on the trail. At least,
he thought, Ceyx could have given him the strong red they’d liberated from the Rebels.

  He held out the wineskin in salute. Wolf Shout followed his example. As the vino streamed into the War Leader’s mouth, Alerio could tell it was the strong red wine.

  “Wolf Shout. To you, who is about to die,” Alerio announced taking a second drink. “I salute you.”

  “Alerio Sisera. To you, who is about to die,” the War Leader mimicked with a laugh and a drink. “I salute you.”

  “To the Consuls, Vaulted Leaders of the Republic,” Alerio said before pouring in a mouth filling stream. “I salute you.”

  “To the Father, esteemed by the Family, and feared by our enemies,” Wolf Shout said. He also drank with vigor and finished, “I salute you.”

  “To my comrades, living or dead,” Alerio said. Now he was struggling to find more ways to keep the salutes and the drinking going. “I salute you.”

  “You honor your dead?” challenged Wolf Shout.

  “I do,” replied Alerio. “To those who have laid down their shields and no longer fill our earthly ranks. I salute you.”

  He took a hardy drink. The smile on the War Leader’s face vanished and was replaced by a serious scowl. Alerio figured he had made a mistake. But what the Hades? If he truly was about to die, it couldn’t hurt to honor those he was about to join.

  Chapter 66 - Duel in the High Desert

  “We also honor our dead,” Wolf Shout stated as he pulled his leg from the pony’s neck. He straightened, held the wineskin out, and shouted, “To our forefathers.”

  As he took a drink, the ten Tribesmen behind him repeated the line.

  “To the ground that guards their ashes,” he said taking another drink.

  Again, as if a choir, the Tribesmen repeated the phrase.

  “To the sun and stars that guide our way,” he announced.