Clay Legionary (Clay Warrior Stories Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Chapter 79 - Daylight in the Valley

  When the meal ended, all ten of his breakfast companions filed by and touched his shoulder before leaving the room. As the last stepped through the doorway, his ten-year-old guide stepped into the room.

  “Please follow me,” he said with a grin.

  “Who’s soup did you pee in?” Alerio inquired as he stood and stretched.

  “Pardon? Soup?” the puzzled boy asked.

  “Who did you anger to draw the duty of guarding me?” the Legionary asked as he walked towards the boy. “Shouldn’t you be off training to be a Sweet Fist?”

  “Oh, after my time in the outside world, I’m going to be a Watcher,” the boy said with pride. “I like hunting and tracking. But mostly, I like fresh air.”

  For the first time, Alerio noticed how hot and stuffy it was in the tunnels. It’s why, as they walked, he knew when they approached an exit. A breeze of fresh, cool air caressed his face.

  They emerged high up on the side of the mountain. Spreading out to the far side of the valley were huts, work sheds, fields of crops surrounded by rings of flowers, and beehives. So many in fact, the beehives outnumbered the huts.

  Though, something was missing. In a sprawling village such as the Golden Valley, one would expect lingering smoke from morning cook fires. There was no layer of smoke hanging across the huts and fields.

  All along the black stone paths, people moved slowly. Some carried buckets, other hoes or rakes, and others toted baskets. The one thing they had in common was they were all traveling in a precise manner.

  “We will descend on the path,” his guide informed him. “At the bottom there will be bees. If one comes close, do not shoo it away. If one lands on you, do not swat it. Bees are our livelihood and are sacred. Move slowly and follow me.”

  “Does no one here breakfast?” Alerio asked. “There are no cooking fires.”

  “Fires and fast movements are allowed only after sundown,” the future Watcher replied. “In the Golden Valley, daylight is bee time and we do not disturb our benefactors as they go about the work of producing honey.”

  “A strange but understandable rule,” Alerio observed.

  They sneaked heal and toe along the paths, being extremely careful where they stepped. Three times during the odd stroll bees landed on Alerio. Each time, a handler would hold up a hand for them to stop. After minutes of waiting while the handler come to them, a feather fan was gently waved until the bee took flight.

  It took over an hour to cover what should have been a ten-minute walk.

  “Thank you, young Watcher,” Alerio said as he stepped through the gate.

  “Go in peace Ally of the Golden Valley,” the boy responded as he closed the gate door.

  Now free of the movement constraints, Alerio jogged down the trail, over the bridge, and into the craftsmen’s village.

  “Ceyx. Ceyx,” he called out. “Gear up. We’ve got to catch Speckled Pheasant.”

  Lance Corporal Eolus ducked through the door of the hut. He walked out a few steps before stopping, raising his good arm above his hand, and stretching.

  “Why?” he asked as he yawned. “The Rebel is gone.”

  “We have to catch up with him,” Alerio explained. “I’m going to kill him. Now hurry.”

  “There’s no rush,” Ceyx said which obviously agitated Alerio. “They put him in a two pony cart hours ago. We’d need to be mounted on ponies to catch him. But guess what? In all of these mountains, there’s not a pony to be had. Or bought. Or stolen. Or…”

  “I get the picture,” Alerio said in defeat. “Let’s gear up. I need Sergeant Horus’ sage council.”

  Chapter 80 - Down from the Mountains

  “I see you have a new tool,” observed Ceyx as the Legionaries marched beside the mule.

  They had decided to take the trail through the mountains. With their gear and the mule, it would have been impossible to backtrack along Brianus’ narrow and twisting short cut.

  “A gift from the Dulce Pugno for returning the Nocte Apibus,” Alerio replied.

  “When you left with Speckled Pheasant, I figured it was the last time I’d ever see you,” Ceyx admitted. “Now, here we are and you have a new dagger. What was the test? What was it like in the Golden Valley?”

  “I guess they liked my face,” Alerio said avoiding the question. “The knife was a reward for returning the Night Bees.”

  “I’ve never heard of a reward from the Dulce Pugno,” Ceyx said. “Unless you count them sparing your life as a reward.”

  “I do,” was all Alerio said as they hiked to the top of a steep grade.

  Two Watchers stood at the edge of the forest observing the Legionaries. One raised a hand and pounded it into his chest as a salute.

  Alerio and Ceyx returned the salute before stepping over the crest of the hill.

  “The Watchers and craftsmen are very cosmopolitan,” noted Ceyx. “Surprisingly so for mountain dwellers.”

  “Probably just knowledge picked up during the travels of the honey caravans,” Alerio replied.

  He didn’t inform Ceyx the residents of the Golden Valley had expatriates placed in major cities around the Republic. Or that the Dulce Pugno, could be reached by visiting any of the luxury trading houses.

  Six weeks later, the caravan town came into view. From high up, they could see the roofs and tents of the supply merchants. Further out, beyond the stock pens, lay the edge of the flat plains and the eastward road leading to the Legion Raider Post. But, they focused on one building, specifically, as they descended the mountain trail.

  It was late in the afternoon and the fire pit was glowing and the meat on the spit was dripping. Together they created aromatic smoke that seemed to climb the mountain trail directly to the Legionaries’ noses. Hunger put a bounce in their steps and they wanted to race downhill for the inn. But the stubborn mule, wouldn’t be rushed. He slowed and placed each foot carefully on the steep trail. As a result, they arrived well after dark.

  “Proprietor, meat and mead,” Ceyx called out as he tied mule’s lead to a post.

  The happy vision of a large slab of roasted venison caused Alerio to fumble with the feed bag as he rushed to strap it over the animal’s head. Although the spit and roasting meat were gone, the aroma lingered. His spirits sank at the reply.

  “Sorry gentlemen,” the owner reported. “We’re closed for the evening.”

  In the lantern light, Alerio observed Ceyx’s head drop in disappointment. Another dinner of corn mush and jerky was almost too much. Alerio attempted a different ploy.

  “Is young Brianus around?” the Legionary asked. “We’re clients of his.”

  There was a pause as the owner looked towards the back of the restaurant. From the shadows, the hunter emerged and studied the Legionaries.

  “Alerio and Ceyx,” Brianus said in surprise. “When the Captain came through, I assumed you were dead. Claimed by the mountains, his guards, or the defenders of the Golden Valley.”

  “When did Speckled Pheasant arrive?” inquired Alerio. “But more importantly, is he still here?”

  “Ignore my vengeful friend,” interrupted Ceyx. “Do you have any venison left. Scraps will do. By Hades, do you have any burnt skin left. That’ll do.”

  “We can do better than that,” Brianus announced. “We were just sitting down for supper. Come join us. Father, with your blessing?”

  “Of course,” the owner replied. “Please join us.”

  While Ceyx and Brianus talked with the hunter’s father, Alerio sulked after learning Speckled Pheasant had passed through only four days ago. Even with two ponies, the fat Rebel had only been four days ago ahead of them on the trail.

  In the morning, they guided the mule and cart through the stock pens and started the journey eastward.

  Chapter 81 - Legion NCOs Fix Stuff

  Sergeant Horus was waiting in the command tent when Alerio and Ceyx entered. Dirty and dusty from the trail, the two Legionaries looked a
s if they would fall over from exhaustion.

  “Well, you’re obviously not dead,” pronounced the Sergeant. “So I assume the stuff with the Dulce Pugno is settled?”

  “Not exactly,” Alerio explained. “No one is in danger from an attack by the assassins. But, I have a problem.”

  Alerio paused and chewed on his lip while gathering his thoughts before continuing.

  “Spit it out Lance Corporal,” Manfredus ordered. He was at his desk making entries in the Century’s log.

  “Give him a second to collect himself, Corporal,” Centurion Stylianus urged. “He looks troubled. Come on son, just say it.”

  The Centurion was totally healed and all the bruises had faded.

  “I am banished from the Eastern region,” the words burst from Alerio mouth and he hung his head. “I don’t know what to do. If I’m here in thirty days, I’m dead as well as anybody sleeping near me.”

  Corporal Manfredus dropped the quill on his desk and stared open mouthed at the Lance Corporal. Centurion Stylianus wasn’t as dramatic. He settled for stroking his chin thoughtfully. It was Sergeant who spoke first.

  “Sir, I believe we need to put in transfer papers for Lance Corporal Sisera,” Horus suggested. “Rush orders at that.”

  “I will sign the transfer. The General’s staff will pass it through,” Stylianus said. “But, we haven’t had a request from another Legion for any personnel. We can’t just ship him off to another unit unannounced.”

  “Perhaps, the Southern Legion,” Corporal Manfredus suggested.

  Ceyx and Horus groaned. Even Stylianus allowed a little discomfort to spill out in the form of an ouch.

  “Pardon me sir. But what’s wrong with the Southern Legion?” asked Alerio.

  “Nothing Lance Corporal,” Stylianus said. “It’s a fine posting.”

  “Except for the heat,” Manfredus added.

  “And the wild, crazy mountain tribesmen,” added Ceyx, “and the soldiers from Qart Hadasht crossing the strait.”

  “Or the rocks along the shore,” Horus said. “Oh and the Pirates.”

  “And the sea storms,” Manfredus said piling onto the benefits of the Legion posting. “Can’t forget the sea storms.”

  “In short, it’s the cūlus of the Republic,” Horus summed up. “and the Legion isn’t much better.”

  “Now hold on Sergeant,” scolded Stylianus. “As an Officer of the Legion, I simply can’t stand by while you besmirch the integrity of a Legion of the Republic.”

  “Sorry sir. I wasn’t aware you served in the Southern Legion,” admitted Horus.

  “I haven’t,” explained the Centurion. “And I must add if ordered there, I’d resign my commission. I have that option. You, Lance Corporal Sisera, do not.”

  “I understand, Centurion,” Alerio stated. “There is another favor I’d like to ask for.”

  “Speak up Legionary,” Stylianus ordered.

  Chapter 82 - The Harbor at Crotone

  A week after the return of Lance Corporal Ceyx Eolus and Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera and the meeting in the command tent, the harbor town rested in the early evening. As with all evenings, the town seemed to breathe a sigh of relief after the heat of the day. Good people were in their homes enjoying supper with their families. The few people out were either workmen grabbing a last minute beverage after a hard day’s work, or shopkeepers closing for the day.

  Evening watchmen on the anchored ships strolled the upper decks. From the merchant’s large transports, to the small sloops, to the two Navy warships tied to the pier, everyone watched for two things. People attempting to stow away, or fire. One was a bother and the other a life threatening disaster. None of the watchmen were prepared for the stomp pause stomp that preceded the arrival of a squad of Heavy Infantrymen.

  From the direction of the Legion Post, the squad of Heavy Infantrymen marched directly to the pier where the Navy warships were anchored. As they moved along the dock, Legionaries, in full armor with javelins and massive shields, fell out of line and assumed sentry positions.

  One of the Navy watchmen shouted down, “Lance Corporal. What’s happening?”

  “You sail on the morning tide?” the Infantry Squad Leader shouted back.

  “Aye, first thing, just before sunrise,” the sailor replied, “So why are you here?”

  “We’re here to keep the rats off your boat,” the Lance Corporal answered.

  While the Lance Corporal and the sailor exchanged words, two cloaked figures came from an alleyway. In the lantern light of the harbor boulevard, they appeared to be two workmen heading for a pub for the evening. When they turned and entered a pub, it was confirmed.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Sergeant Horus grumbled as he tossed back the hood on his cloak. “We’ll get to him later.”

  “As our Centurion explained, politically, the Legion can’t start a brawl in the business district with the Rebels just to extract revenge on one man,” Alerio explained. He stopped talking as the bar maid approached.

  She took orders for two ales from the men sitting in the darkest corner of the pub. Once she had waddled away to fetch the drinks, Alerio continued.

  “I’m sailing on the morning tide,” he said. “Even if the civilian authorities investigate, the only person to charge will be in a different region of the Republic.”

  “There’s little likelihood of them issuing a warrant for a brawl in a pub,” Horus admitted.

  Their ales arrived and the men sat in silence sipping from the clay mugs.

  On the pier, the Lance Corporal of Heavy Infantry stopped at each of his men, said a few words before moving on to the next Legionary. At the end of the dock, he stopped. Four men in workmen’s clothing strolled up to the Lance Corporal.

  “Pleasant night,” one of them said to the Squad Leader.

  “Good evening, Corporal Thornernus,” the Lance Corporal greeted his NCO.

  “When the package arrives,” Thornernus ordered. “Get it aboard the ship. Dead, bleeding out, or alive and kicking, the package must be on that ship when it sails. Understand?”

  “He’ll be on the ship,” the Squad Leader promised. “You can depend on us.”

  “I do Lance Corporal,” Thornernus assured him. Glancing down the boulevard, the Corporal saw seven men strolling toward the door to the pub. “Show time,” he announced.

  Alerio and Horus dropped their heads and studied their half empty mugs when the door opened and two men stepped in and scanned the pub’s interior. With just a few patrons in the pub and none seemly dangerous, one of the men stepped outside. A second later, Speckled Pheasant bristled through the doorway followed by five men.

  The Rebel Captain sat and two of the men selected seats facing him. While the Rebel leaders conferred, the four guards eyed the room. The talk stopped when unordered drinks arrived. Once the barmaid was clear, the three continued their conference.

  Four masked men burst through the door. Two of the guards were immediately downed by bludgeons. The other two pulled swords and faced off against the four strangers. Both dropped as flats of gladii blades slammed into their heads from behind.

  Speckled Pheasant and his Lieutenants shoved back their chairs and jumped to their feet. With all of their guards down, the Lieutenants attempted to shield their Captain.

  Nevertheless, five trained Legionaries against the two Rebels soon separated the Rebel leaders. The Lieutenants were pushed to the side and restrained. Speckled Pheasant stood alone in the center of the pub.

  “Hello Captain,” a voice called from the dark corner of the pub.

  “Alerio. I thought you died in the mountains,” sneered the Rebel leader. “Are these your Raider friends? I also have friends. Two kinds actually. One kind are magistrates and civic leaders. They’ll bring the law down on you and your unit. If they have a chance. See, I have other friends. The kind who will stab you in an alleyway or gut you on the street. You and your friends are dead men.”

  “Funny you should mention th
e Raiders,” Alerio replied. “I believe they are all standing a General inspection. This very night, they are dining with the General who is visiting the Raider Post. Imagine the embarrassment of a civilian court questioning the word of a Legion General.”

  “As for your thug friends,” Alerio continued as he stepped out of the shadows. “It seems I’m being transferred. So unless your friends care to track me across the Republic, I won’t be available.”

  Alerio reached over his shoulders and drew both gladii.

  “Strangers. Please remove the customers, the barmaid, the bartender and the guards,” ordered Alerio. “I have things to discuss with the Captain and his Lieutenants.”

  After everyone was herded or dragged out, the last masked strangers stopped and dropped the Lieutenants’ weapons on the floor at their feet.

  “Oh, this is rich,” crowed Speckled Pheasant as his Lieutenants bent and retrieved their swords. “I’ll not be bothering my friends. Because, boy, you’ll be dead.”

  After a speech with as much bravado as that, Alerio expected Speckled Pheasant to attack. But like all sadistic bullies, the Captain was a coward at heart. While he talked a good game, he wasn’t about to attack the young Legionary. Instead, the Rebel reached out and shoved one of his Lieutenants at Alerio.

  The man stumbled forward. Off balance, he swung high, probably hoping to drive back his foe and give him a chance to get himself steady.

  Alerio didn’t give him the opportunity. He dropped to a knee and drove the tip of his left gladius up through the soft tissue under the man’s chin. But the man didn’t stop coming. Speckled Pheasant was behind his dying Lieutenant, holding the body up, using it as a shield while stabbing over the man’s shoulder.

  The Legionary pivoted on the down knee away from the charging Captain. He engaged the advancing second Rebel Lieutenant. With blades clashing, Alerio rose and took a giant step to the side. Now the Lieutenant was between the Captain and the Legionary.

  The Lieutenant was an excellent swordsman. His legs were set properly for advancing or retreating. His shoulders rotated to provide the smallest target. And, his sword held up to parry or attack as the fight progressed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a fair fight.