Swords of Steel Omnibus

by Howie K Bentley et al.

Argus responded with his stare still fixed upon the Aiser. “I know nothing of a White Lion. I know this man by his Arcanian name of Tarsus.”

  Braxus almost choked on his drink in recognition of the name. “You mean Captain Tarsus? The undefeated gladiator of Xanthar?”

  Argus kept his eyes firmly placed upon the man. “Yes, Captain Tarsus of General Triverius’ Imperial Legion.”

  Tarrak cast a puzzled look towards Argus. “You know this man personally?”

  Argus leaned forward towards the center of their table and looked Tarrak in the eyes. “General Triverius was one of the greatest leaders Arcania has ever known. If not for him Arcania would not be the great and rich empire it is today. He led the Arcanian army from victory to victory expanding the kingdom for Domicus, the king of Arcania. It was General Triverius that reversed the outcome of the war against Skythia and caused Nimneth, the ruler of Skythia, to come to terms with Camoria and eventually agree to the peace treaty that is now in place. Tarsus was his adopted son. I know not the man personally but served in the Imperial Legion of General Triverius under the command of Captain Tarsus, so I have laid eyes upon him many a time. I am sure I have placed him well for the lion’s emblem on his leather is also familiar to me.”

  “You said he was the adopted son as if he is no longer claimed by this general?” asked Tarrak, who had become extremely interested in this topic.

  Braxus leaned back and sighed. “By the gods, you have opened the barrel now, Tarrak. Prepare for story time. You see, our friend Argus here loves to spin a good tale whenever given the opportunity. Go ahead, let words fly, brother.”

  “Yes, Argus,” said Tarrak. “Please, tell me of this gladiator captain.”

  Argus took a sip of wine and leaned back a bit. “It is said that Tarsus was but a small lad found on the battlefield during the Arcanian conquest to expand into the north lands of Aiseria. It was rumored that he had been raised by wolves until that time. General Triverius took him under his wing. One tale I have heard was that Triverius felt compelled to take him in because of the death of his wife and son during childbirth. Another tale is that he felt remorse for the many Aiser that lay dead in the north lands because of the frontier expansion, and out of pity he adopted the boy. No matter which, the boy was raised from that point on as an Arcanian, even though he was obviously an Aiser. Something that did not set well with some in the king’s court I am sure.

  “Triverius saw the boy educated in all ways. Art, languages, philosophy and most of all, the art of war. He grew big and strong and became very suited to the blade at an early age under the guidance of a truly great general. But the boy was headstrong and did not take well to domestic life in the capital of Xanthar. He trained with all manner of weapons and became fixated on entering the gladiatorial games in the arena at Xanthar.”

  “I thought only slaves fought in the arena?” interrupted Tarrak.

  “Calm your horses, boy!” Braxus interjected. “Let the man spin his tale. Believe me, he will not leave out a thing.” Braxus chuckled and lifted mug to mouth again.

  Argus took another sip of wine. “It is not only slaves that fight as gladiators. There are many that fight for fame and fortune. And much of both will be had if you win the hearts of the crowd in the arena.”

  Tarrak could not hold his tongue. “So you have been to the arena and witnessed these games?”

  Argus snickered slightly. “No! I have never even been to Xanthar, let alone witnessed the gladiator games. But I have heard the tales of Tarsus and his exploits in the arena. He was maybe the youngest to ever compete of free will. And he is one of few that earned all the accolades possible for a conquering gladiator. He was undefeated and well known for execution-like climaxes to most of his matches. After advancing himself as far as possible and earning every laurel attainable within the arena he then joined the Arcanian Legion under the command of his father General Triverius. It was about that time that Camoria and Arcania became allies. Domicus, king of Arcania, realized that if Camoria lost the war with Skythia that Arcania would then be next in the path of Nimneth’s army. So Domicus and Thalon, the king of Camoria, signed their pacts with each other and Domicus dispatched General Triverius and his Imperial Legion to the Camorian borders to help repel Nimneth’s Skythian horde. Tarsus was now a captain under his father and won many a great battle in the war at the Camorian-Skythian border. I had the honor of fighting under the same banners as that man and have watched him lay waste to soul after soul on the battlefield.

  “The tide of war was turned against Nimneth and he sent emissaries to King Thalon to speak of peace negotiations. General Triverius spoke outwardly against such a peace treaty, claiming it to be a ruse to gain time for another Skythian build-up of arms and men to once again surge into the lands of Camoria. He also advocated advancing on Nimneth’s army, driving them not only back into their lands but to expand the border of Camoria as punishment for invading in the first place. It appeared that General Triverius had the ear of King Thalon, for the negotiations were at a stalling point as we continued to push those painted Skythian bastards back into their dark lands.

  “Then came a dreadful and fateful night. Triverius was assassinated in his own tent while he slept. His throat cut from ear to ear, so I was told. No alarm was heard until the next morning when one of the general’s servants found him in a pool of his own blood. The news ran through the encampment very quickly and Tarsus was soon in his father’s tent surveying the situation. He had every guard that was on watch that night brought before him one by one. And one by one he slew each and every guard. But it was the captain of the guard that he took special time with. We heard his screams for hours as Tarsus slowly vivisected the man until his screams were silenced forever.”

  Braxus raised his mug and slapped Tarrak on the back. “I told you, did I not? He has the tongue for the telling of tales. Go on! Tell him the rest of it, man.”

  Argus looked at Braxus with a slight bit of disgust. “You should not forget that we are to rise early and guard a caravan tomorrow. It might be wise if you slow your intake of wine.”

  Tarrak was still eager to hear the rest of the story. “Tell me what happened after that. I must know why the fates have led this man to hide in a place such as this.”

  Argus cast another gaze back at the blonde warrior and continued his oratory. “Well, I think all of us in the Legion understood full and well why Tarsus did such a deed. It should have been impossible for anyone to murder Triverius without one of the guards knowing. The only answer possible in my mind is that the captain of the guard was bribed, maybe the rest of the guards as well. Tarsus was only exacting vengeance upon those responsible. King Thalon, though, was appalled by the brutality of his actions against the guards. When Domicus got word of the tragedy and how Tarsus retaliated against his own troops, the king demanded that Tarsus be arrested and brought back to Xanthar to face judgment himself. I think he assumed that because he was not truly of Arcanian blood that he would not be fairly treated, so when Domicus’ men came to arrest him, Tarsus slew them all and disappeared into the night. All of his father’s estates and lands were absorbed by Domicus. All of the accolades of the arena that Tarsus had earned were erased from memory by removing the statues of his image from the arena halls. He was proclaimed fugitive by King Domicus with a handsome reward placed upon his head if delivered to the king’s court either dead or alive. And it was soon after this that King Thalon, weary of the war and bloodshed of his people, agreed to the treaty with Skythia.”

  Braxus filled up his tankard, once again slurring his speech. “And now it appears that we have unraveled the mystery of where Captain Tarsus ran off to.”

  Argus stood up and grabbed the tankard from Braxus’ grasp. Braxus started for a moment. Argus looked sternly at Braxus and said, “You have had enough, my friend. Both of you, await my return.”

  Argus grabbed his tankard also and walked across the tavern to the blonde warrior’s table. He put one mug upon the table in
front of the man in leather and furs. Before he could even mutter a word the Aiser sprang like a panther. Argus dropped the mug as he was wrested to one knee. Holding him from behind with a vice-like grip, the Aiser drew from his boot a half-foot long dagger that swiftly came to rest at the throat of Argus. Braxus sprang from his seat to come to his comrade’s aid, but Argus quickly raised a hand gesturing to Braxus to stay back.

  “You would have your purse bulging with bloody coin, eh? How about I fill your purse with your own blood? What say you?” said the Aiser.

  Argus did not move a muscle. “I but wished to share a drink with a fellow Legionnaire and brother in arms,” he stated calmly. “I served under thy father in the Skythian war and only sought to toast a great general whom I hold in highest esteem. I do not seek vengeance or coin, and your deeds of past are most honorable in my eyes. I implore you to let me live, my lord. I meant no ill of thee.”

  Tarsus slowly released Argus from his grip and sheathed the dagger back in his boot. “I can’t be too careful in these times,” he said as he sat back down at his table.

  Argus took to his feet again. “Apologies. I did not mean to alarm thee, my lord Tarsus. I only meant to pay respects to thy father whom I hold to heart as a great man.”

  Tarsus slowly raised his head to gaze into the eyes of Argus. “He was a butcher like myself. Now begone before I change my mind and slit your throat.”

  Argus’ only response was to give Arcanian salute with fist upon his own chest. He then returned to the table where Braxus and Tarrak were showing relief that Argus was still among the living. “Let us call this a night and look to the task of the next day’s light.” Argus’ words were a bit shaky.

  As the other two rose from the table Braxus exclaimed, “Was that my mug or yours that spilled? And is that mine or yours still left in front of that barbarian?” Argus glared at Braxus, who smirked back. They made their way out of the tavern area and up the stairs to the sleeping quarters. “The next time you decide to commit suicide by pissing off an Aiser, let me know in advance, would you? Oh, and by the by, you have a small cut on your throat.” Braxus chuckled as Argus slapped him on the back of the head.

  “Mind yourself, my friend. That is a true legend who is torn between worlds. Can you not feel the pain that is smoldering in his soul?”

  Braxus chuckled again. “All I could see was the end of Argus until your sweet tongue saved your ass.” Tarrak could not hold back the laughter at that statement. Even Argus began to laugh slightly as they sought out their quarters.

  * * *

  The next morning came with Argus, Braxus, Tarrak, and the three Khotarian soldiers leaving Rho Thule with the camel and mule caravan. Several merchant traders were to be found among the travelers along with servants of both sexes and carts of ore, hides, and many jugs of wine. One cart held a special cargo chest of fine gems that would be polished and sold at extremely high cost once it made its way to Khotar. Such a treasure trove would be of great interest to the Khoshite bandits. They would have much to trade with other tribes and also the Tarranian pirates who roam the Sea of Baal if they could seize it.

  At the entrance of the Khijar Pass they rendezvoused with the Khotarian Guard that was left encamped there, which consisted of twenty-five foot soldiers and fifteen mounted cavalry. Another day passed and they broke camp and began the long journey on the caravan trail to the Oasis of Tijem, the halfway point to Khotar. For three more days the caravan traveled with the guard keeping watchful eye for raiding bandits, but none were to be found. The days had been brutally hot and windy and the nights very cool with the chill of the desert night air.

  This day the sun was unimpeded by clouds, causing the temperature to soar and the sweat to pour. The sun was beginning to decline in the west and the heat was taking its toll on one and all traveling with the caravan. Water was always under ration while traveling the caravan trail, for the only constantly flowing watershed to be found between Rho Thule and Khotar was the Oasis of Tijem. Braxus continually rode up and down the ranks of the caravan upon his white and black Paint, commanding the troops not to drag their feet and keep alert. This journey was proving more difficult than the trek to Rho Thule. The winds of the desert were becoming unforgiving and the dry heat was draining the energy from man and animal.

  Braxus rode to the front of the column, joining Argus, who rode a brilliant white Arcanian stallion. With his armor gleaming in the sun Argus was a majestic sight compared to the other soldiers within his command. Braxus reined in his steed and joined pace with Argus, mumbling complaints. “By Helos and his bed of bones! These men of the Khan’s are mere images of soldiers. They know nothing of forced march. Unfortunately I think we shall have to make camp soon before all drop from heat and exhaustion.”

  Argus turned in his saddle and looked back at the caravan column. “I suppose you are right, Braxus. I was hoping to make more distance this day, though. We are still maybe three days out from Tijem.”

  Suddenly Braxus nudged Argus with his forearm. “Argus, look! It is Tarrak. He seems to be in a mighty hurry.” Argus swung back around in his saddle to see Tarrak riding his brown steed at a dead run from further up the trail where he had scouted ahead. Argus raised his hand in gesture for the caravan to stop. Tarrak came speeding up to Braxus and Argus, reining in his frothing horse in a cloud of dust. Sweating and panting, Tarrak excitedly reported, “My lords, bandits are coming from the south up the trail as we speak.”

  Braxus grabbed the arm of the young Khoshite with his enormous hand, shaking him slightly. “Settle your nerves, boy, and tell us what you have seen.”

  Argus handed the lad his leather water pouch and Tarrak began to talk after taking a large drink. “I saw twenty, maybe thirty, well-armed bandits on horse heading this way. They wear the red sashes of Saris Borga’s tribe, the most ruthless bandit tribe in all of Khosh. I fear we are doomed.”

  Just as Tarrak said those words Braxus pointed up the trail to the southern horizon. From out of a rising cloud of dust the bandits could be seen riding toward them.

  Argus began barking orders. “Braxus, you know what to do. Form the carts into a circle of defense. Tarrak, see to it that the people are gathered within the circle. Tell the Khan’s soldiers to form ranks and prepare for engagement. Assemble the cavalry here to me.”

  Braxus had just turned his mount to the rear and spurred it on when out of the earth itself, on both sides of the caravan, sprang dark-skinned Khoshite bandits wielding knives and scimitars. The bandits rose from out of holes that had been dug in the ground. They had covered themselves and lay in wait for the appropriate moment to strike. Panic immediately struck most of the people of the caravan. Women screamed and ran to and fro as a dozen of Saris Borga’s men poured out of their holes, attacking any human that moved. They were all scantily-clad, with red sashes, loin cloths and sandals only. They pounced upon the Khotarian soldiers with the fury of wild animals, blades slashing through padded armor into flesh and bone.

  Argus watched with amazement as the bandits sprung from their hiding places. He drew steel while Braxus trampled one bandit under his horse’s hooves. The Bull caved in the head of another with his sword, blood and brains spewing from the wound.

  Argus wheeled his horse around and sped down the opposite side of the caravan from Braxus, chopping and cleaving the enemy as he rode. His intent was to assemble the cavalry to turn and intercept the oncoming horsemen from the trail to the south, but his troops were scattered the length of the caravan already and engaged in combat with the rogues that had caught them off guard. He continued to ride towards the rear of the column, hacking down bandits as he came upon them, but something caught his attention to the west. After sending an opponent to the ground with the kick of his boot he took a brief moment to look into the sinking sun. Looking directly into the sun made it difficult to focus but he soon realized another group of horsemen was approaching the caravan. They appeared to be a large contingent. Argus turned back just in time to see th
e man he had put to the ground rise again. Without hesitation Argus plunged the point of his gladius into the man’s face, ending his life instantly.

  Argus surveyed the situation quickly. It appeared that, even though faced with heavy losses, the Khan’s soldiers were faring well against the attackers and few of bandits were left on their feet. Braxus rounded the end of the caravan and sped his horse towards Argus, still hacking at the enemy as he yelled out, “There are more, Argus! We are flanked from the rear.”

  Argus yelled back at him, “And still more to the west… look.”

  Braxus looked to the west and saw the oncoming horsemen. “No time to circle the carts,” he said. “We must brace for the attack now.”

  “Tarrak!” screamed Argus. The young lad raised his head out from hiding in one of the carts. In a commanding voice Argus said, “Tell our horsemen to dismount and take positions on both flanks of the caravan to the north and south. And tell these foot soldiers to gather to me. Do it now, Tarrak!”

  Argus rode to half length of the caravan column, swinging his sword in the air and yelling out, “To me, men! To me! There is no way out of this but to kill or die!” Most likely none of the Khoshite guards even understood him. “Brace yourselves, lads, and make them pay for their arrogance with their blood.” Tarrak repeated commands in the native tongue from within the cart and many of the infantry soldiers came to Argus’ side, preparing to accept the onslaught of the horsemen headed directly for them.

  The sound of the horses’ hooves became audible to Argus as they approached even closer. Then the cries of agony and death resounded from the front of the caravan. Argus turned quickly to see that the horsemen from the south had just reached the front of the caravan. Braxus was there, fighting alongside some of the Khan’s cavalry against more than thirty bandits on horseback who were equipped with long spears and scimitars. But there was nothing Argus could do to help them, for the horsemen to the west were almost upon them as well. He only had enough time to yell out one last command. “Send them all to the underworld!” Then the oncoming horsemen collided with the line of the Khotarian soldiers. The sound of metal clashing on metal was deafening. Excruciating cries of pain and agony rang out from the wounded and the ground was rapidly becoming stained with a river of crimson up and down the span of the caravan.