Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  Easy laughter and a slight stagger signaled to the gang the farm boys’ state of drunkenness. As Alerio’s group leaned on the rough wooden bar, the gang emerged from the shadows.

  “See here, this is a fine establishment,” a man said in greeting. “There’s a fee for first time visitors and bad singing.” Behind the man, seven members of his crime syndicate spread out to trap the prey between their knives and the ale stained oak bar.

  “I don’t see a sign,” Alerio replied with a smile. “But I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Alerio’s vision was tunneling due to the quantity of ale and wine he’d consumed over two days of hard partying. The man was standing in the tunnel so he was in focus. His seven associates were not.

  “Ah, my friend,” the man said smiling and displaying chipped teeth. “The fee is two Republic Silvers, each, for me and my friends.”

  It took a few seconds for the words to develop in Alerio’s mind. Once the thoughts were formed, he scanned the men standing behind the talker. They all had knives cuffed in their palms. This wasn’t a brawl where everyone walked away with black eyes and bruising. This was a knife fight.

  “How many sweethearts have you brought to the dance?” Alerio said loudly. He continued so his friends could hear, “Let me count the darlings.”

  The man tilted his head out of confusion. What, he wondered was the big lad from the boondocks talking about?

  “I see you, you, and you there in the back. Hello,” Alerio was animated as he pointed out and waved a friendly greeting to each member of the gang. “And you there with the two big knives. Come closer, yes, let me buy you a drink.”

  While Alerio blathered as if he was a village idiot, two of his friends managed to slip away. The other two moved closer pretending to enjoy the show. In fact, they positioned themselves to guard Alerio’s left side.

  The rogue holding the two long knives began to push forward. Anyone who flaunted two weapons was either an experienced fighter or overcompensating. Alerio wasn’t thinking of that, he wasn’t thinking at all. He was on automatic.

  The gang’s mouth piece was the closer target. Alerio lifted a foot and powered it into the man’s knee cap. The leg snapped. As the man fell, Alerio caught him and flipped his body into the semicircle of thugs.

  Two knives tripped as the body rolled into his lower legs. He was forced to lean forward, his weapons still up in a guard position. Alerio plucked the knives from the unbalanced man’s hands and head butted him. The man fell away and disappeared in the tangle of men on the dirty floor.

  Two of the gang were still on their feet. They rushed forward. In their experience, most victims went on the defense when faced with two attackers. Alerio simultaneously drove his left knife through one’s neck while slashing open the other’s belly with his right knife. The thugs fell, one holding his guts in his hands, and the other gagging on his own blood.

  At this point, Alerio and his two remaining friends could have circled around the downed gang and left the seedy establishment. But, Alerio wasn’t thinking. He’d slipped into battle mode and the first rule was to never let the enemy counterattack.

  “You lads go now,” he ordered his friends. He was grinning and his eyes were sparkling. “I’ve got to have a conversation with these guys. Run along now.”

  They left as Alerio flipped one of the long knives into the air and caught it. Then he flipped the other. The knives were off balance, more ground down meat cleavers than proper cutlery. Nevertheless, they would do for this job.

  “Who wants to dance?” Alerio announced to the room. Everyone in the pub had stopped and was staring at the big youth standing at the bar flipping the knives.

  It started with a few but soon became a stream as the bar’s patrons rushed for the exit.

  Alerio ignored the fleeing customers. He scanned the gang members as he sang.

  “Can the Magistrate grant me an audience?

  Said the old woman, on the gallows’ door

  For the Judge, should relent

  My old man, never paid rent

  Our coin on drink he spent

  And that’s why, They’re dead on the floor…

  One of the thugs began to stand. Alerio stepped to the man and with an underhanded swing, split the man’s face from chin to forehead. Another pushed to his knees and Alerio reached out and caressed his neck with a knife. Blood spurted as the blade sliced the artery. Before the man had time to bleed to death, Alerio jumped at another member who was scrambling to his feet. He received a foot to the face, and a stab to the heart as he fell on his back.

  As a symbolic end, Alerio pulled the original owner of the two knives to his feet and drove both blades into the man’s stomach. Then, still holding the man upright, reached back and snatched a mug of ale from the bar.

  “I offered to buy you a drink,” Alerio said as he drizzled the liquid over the dying man’s face. “You and your friends should have accepted the offer.”

  The body dropped to the floor and Alerio took a long pull from the mug. Before he could set it back on the bar, four Legionnaires accompanied by a Decanus, and a Tesserarius, acting as Optio of the City Guard, flowed into the near empty pub.

  Chapter 10 - The Dangerous Pub

  They saw a blood splattered country boy leaning against the bar and singing out of tune.

  “And that’s why..., They’re dead on the floor…”

  On the rough plank flooring, eight bodies lay in a semicircle around the lad’s feet. The first thing that saved the boy’s life: he was unarmed.

  In a small trading town, the city guard was composed of Legion units on temporary assignment. A larger city would have a permanent city guard. They might be less prone to chopping down a criminal as he might be a neighbor or related to a wealthy family.

  The Legionnaires who entered the bar didn’t know the boy or particularly care whom he knew. They held no compunction about taking down a murderer and the boy was certainly guilty of it, many times over.

  The second thing that saved Alerio Sisera’s life was the acting Sergeant of the Guard. As a Corporal standing in for a senior NCO, he wanted to get everything done legally and proper. It’s why he’d accompanied the patrol when someone had called for help at the pub in this unsavory part of town.

  While the patrol with drawn gladii prepared to overwhelm the criminal, the Tesserarius put a hand on the arm of the Decanus.

  “Hold,” ordered the Lance Corporal in response to his Corporal’s signal. The four veterans stopped but held their gladii pointed at the boy.

  “Put the mug down lad or die,” the Tesserarius ordered. “I don’t really care which.”

  Alerio turned his head slowly and tried to bring the troopers into focus. Then he did the third thing that saved his life.

  He set the heavy clay mug on the bar, braced at attention as Optio Egidius had shown him, and announced, “Tesserarius, Lance Corporal, good morning.”

  The two NCOs exchanged glances at the recognition of their rank. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to know military ranks, but it was unusual for them to assume the position of attention.

  “What’s your name lad?” the Corporal asked.

  “Alerio. Tesserarius,” the country boy replied.

  Now the Corporal was really confused. His position in the Century was that of the unit’s treasurer. The boy’s military knowledge and fighting skills didn’t jive with his farmer’s clothing or his youth.

  “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” the Corporal ordered.

  As the Decanus secured a leather strap around his wrists, Alerio leaned forward and added a flood of vomit to the blood and guts on the pub’s flooring. He didn’t remember being led out of the establishment, through the streets, or being shoved into a holding cell.

  Chapter 11 - The Town’s Guard

  “His name’s Alerio and he single handedly took out eight members of the Cruor gang,” reported the Tesserarius.

  “Eight of the Spilled Bloods?” the Cit
y Guard’s Centurion asked. “What did he use a heavy infantry shield and a gladius?”

  “According to witnesses, he disarmed one and used the man’s knives to kill them. Looks like a case of self-defense to me,” the Corporal said. “Odd thing though, he knows military ranks. And he’s obviously had some weapon’s training.”

  “Well, the training won’t do him any good when the rest of the Cruor find him,” the Officer of the Guard stated. “Alerio you said. What’s his family name?”

  “I didn’t get that,” admitted the Tesserarius. “Between his vomiting and mumbling, I didn’t have the chance to question him.”

  “Go find out,” the Centurion ordered. “Oh, and move him to a private cell until we get this straightened out. I imagine the Cruor leadership has already put out a bounty on him. Better he died on the streets than in one of our cells.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Tesserarius said while saluting and backing towards the door.

  Alerio had picked himself up from the cold floor and stumbled to an open space on a stone bench. On either side of him, drunks, thieves, and brawlers sat hunched over waiting for morning court. They ignored the country boy in the blood soaked clothing. A commotion outside the cell drew their attention.

  Everyone, sober enough to notice, sat upright when the cell door swung open. Four armed Legionaries stepped in followed by a Corporal.

  “Him,” the Tesserarius directed.

  While two Legionaries moved forward to take the farm lad, the other two stood ready to put down any acts of rebellion from the prisoners. Alerio was dragged out. Before the door closed, a thin man was tossed into the holding cell. Then the two Legionaries on security duty backed out. Once they were gone, the thin man jumped to his feet.

  “The Cruor are looking for a farm lad,” he whispered looking around at the prisoners. “They’re offering five Republic golds, dead or alive.”

  “Your timing sucks little man,” a large brutish guy offered. “They just took him out.” He was hunched over alone on the end of the bench. After a long pause he added, “When they bring him back, the lad and the coin are mine. Any arguments?”

  No one disagreed that the big brute should have the bounty. Although a few did think, if the farm lad was returned, they might take a shot at the prize.

  Chapter 12 - The Officer of the Day

  “His full name is Alerio Sisera,” the Corporal reported. “His family has a small homestead a few days west of here.”

  “Sisera, a farm,” the Centurion repeated. “Did he happen to say anything about his father?”

  “He mumbled something about an Optio Sisera being upset with him,” the Tesserarius replied. “Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “Corporal, if Alerio is retired Optio Sisera’s son, we have a small issue,” the Centurion said while slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation. “If the Cruor kill, said the son of retired Optio Sisera, we have a huge problem.”

  “Why is that, sir?” the Tesserarius inquired.

  “Because, there are three Centuries of Legionaries two day’s march from here who owe their lives to Sergeant Sisera,” the troubled Centurion replied. “If his son is killed in our town, the Optio will march on this miserable piece of merda and burn it to the ground.”

  “A farmer and retired Legion NCO,” the Corporal stated. “How much damage could he do?”

  “Oh, it’s not him alone,” the Centurion said while gritting his teeth. “It’s the three Centuries of heavy infantry who’ll be more than happy to help former Optio Sisera level this fleapit.”

  “We could simply release the boy and send him home,” volunteered the Tesserarius.

  “Same problem. The Cruor hunt him down and the Optio comes seeking revenge,” the officer replied. “Right now, I wish I was on the other side of the Republic.”

  The NCO and the officer stared at each other for a few heartbeats before the Corporal cleared his throat.

  “Ah sir, suppose the lad was on the other side of the Republic?” he asked.

  “Explain, please,” urged the Centurion.

  “We have a courier chariot leaving at dawn. There’s room among the mail sacks for the driver and another body,” the NCO said. “If the lad was a Recruit, he could easily get passage from the Capitol to the Eastern Legion.”

  “Sober him up enough to sign his name to the enlistment papers,” the Centurion ordered. “I’ll send a letter to his father. Thank you, Tesserarius. Dismissed.”

  Act 2

  Chapter 13 - The Road to the Capital

  Alerio Sisera woke up when the Courier shoved a heal of bread and a lump of cheese into his hands.

  “Are we home yet?” the confused teen asked.

  “Recruit Sisera, by order of the Consuls, you are hereby commanded to report to the Eastern Legion for recruit training,” the Courier read from a scroll.

  “But I’m a farmer. My father depends on me,” Alerio pleaded. “He’s expecting me to come home.”

  “No, he isn’t. My Centurion sent a letter explaining the need to get you out of the western sector,” the Legionary explained. “Seems you have a five Republic gold bounty on your head - payable by the Cruor gang, dead or alive. So, you enlisted in the Legion.”

  “I enlisted?” Alerio asked.

  The Courier handed him a folded piece of parchment and said, “These are your travel papers. They’ll get you passage on a ship from the Capital to the Eastern Legion.”

  Alerio unfolded the parchment and read down to the end of the document. There he found his name scrawled unmistakably in his own handwriting.

  “Where are we?” Alerio asked.

  “You slept through the two way-stations. This is an inn so we’re fourteen miles from the trading town,” the Courier informed him pointing out the single-story building with an attached stable. “We’ll be here long enough to eat and change ponies. So, eat and do your business rapidly, the Legion’s messages can’t wait. We have another four pony changes before we sleep for a few hours.”

  “How many days to the Capital?” Alerio asked.

  He’d studied maps of the Republic and knew his father’s farm was over two hundred miles from the Republic’s seat of government and the Consuls’ and Senate’s Government building. Even deducting the distance traveled to the collection town and the courier’s progress, he figured they had about one hundred twenty miles to go.

  “We should arrive at the military post outside the Capital,” explained the Courier as he checked the harness on the two-pony rig. “Around mid-watch in two and a half days.”

  “How much sleep do we get each night?” Alerio asked realizing this wasn’t a leisure trip. His head hurt and his stomach was sour.

  “Sleep? As in stretch out, snuggle down in a feather bed with a fleece filled pillow? A warm blanket and letting the rooster's crow you awake sometime after daybreak?” the Courier asked. Alerio knew where this was going even if he hadn’t seen the sneer on the Legionary’s face. “We nap beside the chariot for an hour or so. A full night’s sleep? No Recruit, that’s not going to happen.”

  Chapter 14 - The Capital’s Wall

  Alerio saw the Capital for the first time two days later. The sun was low in the East and the morning light cast a halo over the hills of the city. The biggest of buildings, backlit by the rays, stood out as they glowed white.

  “First time seeing the Capital City?” asked the Courier.

  Alerio was standing beside the driver. His mouth hanging open while his eyes shifted rapidly in an attempt to take in every inch of the scene.

  “Is it that obvious?” he replied when the driver nudged him in the ribs.

  “Everyone acts the same when they see it for the first time,” the Courier said. “The Capital is an awe-inspiring site.”

  They crossed a bridge as torrents of water cascaded down the river below them. Once across, the chariot dropped to the valley floor and pulled into the next to last way station. Far across the flatland, the city walls appeared no hi
gher than three fingers’ width in height. The perspective would change over the last fourteen miles of the trip.

  Chapter 15 - The Legion Transfer Post

  Alerio handed his orders to a Tesserarius at the Legion Transfer Post. His eyes looked beyond the tall NCO. Brick walls thirty feet high surrounded the city. Behind the ramparts, the city loomed higher with tightly packed buildings crowding every inch. On the highest hills, he could see narrow streets twisting and turning between structures.

  “Eastern Legion,” the Corporal said as he glanced at the travel orders. “You’ll need to report in at the docks.”

  From the Western side, there didn’t seem to be any bodies of water deep enough for a pier. Alerio looked back towards the river some twelve miles away.

  “At the river?” he asked.

  “No Recruit. The docks are two day’s travel around the city,” he explained. “We have a shipment of slaves from the northern campaign leaving the day after tomorrow. You can be part of the security detail.”

  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.

  “It’s Tesserarius Gratian or Treasurer, only Officers and training NCOs are sir,” the Corporal replied. “Take your orders to the quartermaster’s office and they’ll get you armed and outfitted. Can’t have you dressed like a farmer in a Legion unit.”

  Chapter 16 - The Old Gear

  The armor was old and cracked from age. Deep slices attested to the battles where the armor had protected a Legionary. A lack of oil and cleaning made the leather stiff and covered its metal fittings in rust spots and tarnish. The delight in having been issued his first gladius was dampened by the layer of rust and the dull-notched blade.

  With the equipment slung over his shoulder, Alerio ate at the mess tent and went to find his rack for the night. Once he knew where he’d sleep, he went in search of supplies.