Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  They would provide security for half a day before returning to the Raider Post. The caravan would be on its own afterward.

  As Legionaries, Ceyx and Alerio could travel twenty miles in half a day. Then rest for a period and run another ten miles. At that rate, they could reach the mountains in a little over five days. The heavily loaded cart, unfortunately, moved much slower.

  Miles from the pass as the sunlight extended their shadows, Alerio and Ceyx began to seek a camp site for the evening. Although the land appeared flat, it was rutted and had mounds swelling above the terrain.

  “There, about fifty feet from the road,” Ceyx suggested while pointing to a low rise.

  “You call this a road?” Alerio asked while he nodded his head in approval of the camp site.

  “Caravan trail, well beaten path, or animal track,” replied Ceyx. “It’s straight, relatively level, and leads in the direction we’re traveling. By definition, it’s a road.”

  The wheels of the cart bumped over stones and down and up ruts. As they approached the rise, Ceyx marched ahead to survey the area. Alerio pulled the mule to a stop. From the edge of the cart, he lifted a feed bag and strapped it to the mule’s muzzle.

  The dissent was sitting and gazing at the back trail.

  “I’m going to clear rocks for the camp,” Alerio explained to the Captain as he walked to the back of the cart.

  The point of a dagger dug into the top of Alerio’s right arm. Private Sisera jerked the hand and his body back as the dagger stabbed for his face. Speckled Pheasant swiped sideways with the dagger and struggled to climb out of the cart.

  Alerio drew his gladius with the bleeding arm and passed it over to his left hand.

  “Stay back or I’ll gut you,” the rebel said as his feet touched the ground.

  For a second, Alerio was tempted to sever the man’s knife hand. Speckled Pheasant had misread the pause as a sign of victory. Guessing the injury to the Legionary’s right arm put him at a disadvantage, the Captain moved in close.

  “You’ll tell your boyfriend to stand down,” the renegade leader ordered as he stepped up. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  At first taken back by the swiftness of the fat man, Alerio tensed preparing to windmill his blade. The effect would be a handless Captain who probably would die on the plain and never reach the mountains. Before he could begin the maneuver, Ceyx’s hand clamped over the hilt of his pummel.

  “Step back,” ordered the Light Infantryman and Alerio rolled to the side and away from the dagger.

  They exchanged places so swiftly Speckled Pheasant was confused as to whom he was trying to intimidate. The blade shifted back and forth between the two Legionaries.

  Alerio was a step away when he realized Ceyx hadn’t drawn his gladius. He raised his blade and took a half step.

  “Stay,” Ceyx ordered.

  The voice gave Speckled Pheasant a focus and he drove his dagger forward. Ceyx’s wrist shot out and touched the wrist on Speckled Pheasant’s knife hand. The blade veered off course. As the renegade attempted to bring the blade back to the attack, Ceyx’s wrist stayed connected. When the agitator made a circle with his arm trying to dislodge the Legionary’s wrist, Ceyx rotated his hand until his palm was touching the rebel’s wrist.

  It was as if the wrists were tied together. The Legionary’s wrist, hand or palm redirected every move by the Captain. They remained in contact despite the rapid moves. Finally, Speckled Pheasant grabbed with his free hand.

  Ceyx countered. He attached his other hand to that wrist. Now, both men seemed to be hand dancing. From a frontal attack, the miniature battle had dissolved into Speckled Pheasant stepping back in an attempt to free his wrists from the Legionary’s hands.

  “Get off me,” Speckled Pheasant pleaded. He was rapidly shaking his hands as if to clean pony merda from them. Sometime during the moves, the dagger fell but Ceyx didn’t relent.

  The revolutionary shouted in frustration and clamped his hands behind his back. Ceyx drew back his head and smashed it into Speckled Pheasant’s nose. Blood spurted as the fat man sank to the ground holding his face in his hands.

  “What was that?” Alerio asked. He was awed by the movements of the other Legionary.

  “Disarming an armed opponent without hurting him,” Ceyx answered.

  “He doesn’t look uninjured,” Alerio pointed out as Speckled Pheasant sniffed and dabbed at his nose trying to stop the bleeding.

  “That is injured after being disarmed,” Ceyx explained. “There’s a difference.”

  Chapter 62 - Sticky Hands

  They cleared rocks from the hill and used them to build a ring of stone around the camp site. Any enemy could easily walk over the barrier but in the dark, they hopefully would trip over the loose stones first.

  Alerio started a fire and Ceyx cooked a corn meal mush. Once the corn had softened, he tossed in pieces of dried goat jerky.

  “Smells wonderful,” Alerio said as he took the clay bowl. Then glancing over towards Speckled Pheasant exclaimed. “Good Legion field cooking. Enjoy!”

  The rebel mumbled something in response. Alerio and Ceyx couldn’t understand as the sound was filtered by the mule’s feed bag. It hung from his neck forcing him to used his bound hands to press the bottom of the bag so the food lifted to his mouth.

  “What did he say?” Ceyx asked.

  “He was complimenting you on the fine cuisine,” Alerio explained between bites. “So, what were the hand movements you used to disarm Speckled Pheasant?”

  “When I was a lad, an old Hoplite lived in our village,” Ceyx replied. “One day, a bunch of us lads were playing war. We had chopped down bamboo poles.”

  “Bamboo?” asked Alerio.

  “A utilitarian reed that can grow thicker around than your arm muscle,” explained Ceyx.

  “I’d like to see that,” Alerio commented. “The reeds in the West grow in ponds and are only the size of your little finger, if that.”

  Speckled Pheasant began making muffled noises.

  “Smells bad, doesn’t it?” Alerio asked the dissent.

  “Tastes bad as well,” Ceyx commented. “As I was saying. The bamboo poles we cut were about as thick as a javelin. For a day, we chased and wacked each other until we ran by the old Hoplite’s hut. He liked to take the afternoon sun and usually ignored the children. This day for some reason, he called us over.”

  “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 pit fighter on my fellow Lance Corporal, we could free your hands.”

  “I’m going to enjoy killing you Ceyx Eolus,” the revolutionary leader 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 lad and ordered him to strike and strike hard. The lad brought the bamboo pole over his head and swung it down toward the old man’s head. As the pole came down, the old Hoplite reached up with the palm of his left hand. He touched the lad’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 lad to try again. This time, the old Hoplite reached up with his right hand, touched the lad’s wrist and the pole missed the old man but struck the lad 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 hands 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.

  Alerio attempted to strike, hit, shove and even just to touch Ceyx’s torso. Each move was gently countered 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 plains.

  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 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. After half a day, 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 gag 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 dissent. “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 dual 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 half a day. Because the two had 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.

  Later, a candle sized light flickered in the distance. Further along the road, the light formed into a small yet identifiable campfire. They eased to a walk and continued on the trail. When voices reached them, the Legionaries left the wagon path and began to circle around the renegade’s camp.

  Ceyx reached out and tapped Alerio’s arm six times. Alerio responded by confirming the presence of six dissents with six taps of his own. They were squatting behind the renegade’s 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, renegades, 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 struck a vital organ and actually fell the enemy. Or, if the jolt and surprise caused them to topple to the ground 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 back the other way, the mass of the head turned the man. 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 blades. Another went down as he sat up. Feeling good, Alerio skipped to the 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 informed Alerio. “But seeing as we know their mission. And already have one prisoner more than I prefer, the answer is 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 revolutionary.

  “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 exclaimed. 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 the ponies brought by the failed rescue team. 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 man with big feet and took his boots.

  �
�Seven ponies,” Ceyx reported as he led the animals to the camp. “I wonder which of these poor beasts was intended for Speckled Pheasant’s fat cūlus.”

  “Four of the renegades 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 with a nod towards the obese insurgent. “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 sixth day, a cloud of dust rose in the distance. A long time later, the cloud formed a vee-shape 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 Frentani. Probably, eastern plain’s tribesmen,” Ceyx explained. “Pull the cart off the road and unharness the mule. Then circle the ponies around us and the cart.”