Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  Alerio casually walked across the roof to the rear of the building as if out for an evening stroll. Near the edge, he dropped to his belly and crawled forward until his ear hung over the roof. From porches of the buildings on either side, the sounds of clay mugs clinging and loud voices talking carried into the night. On the porch below him, the voices were muted.

  Alerio had figured the porches were prime real estate and for one to be quiet meant it was reserved for a private party. Or cleared for a meeting of the Fireguard Brigade. From below, softly spoken words drifted up to Alerio.

  “Collections are up,” a man with a rough voice announced. “We have five blocks of clients under our protection.”

  “What about the Cloth Seller?” a cultured voice inquired. “From the limp, I can see you’ve had a small issue.”

  “Once we learn the name of his mercenary,” grumbled the rough voice. “We’ll take him out and double the old tailor’s fee.”

  “And who will kill the mercenary?” the cultured voice pondered. “It seems to me you had a chance and failed miserably.”

  “We’ll use the whole crew. We’ll ambush him,” the rough voice replied. “After, it’ll be back to business as usual.”

  “There is no business as usual in our business,” corrected the cultured voice. “I will not risk our entire team. So far, this mercenary has tangled with six of our men and we’ve come up woefully short. No, learn his name and I’ll contract with the Cruor for the killing.”

  A shiver ran down Alerio’s spine. The Cruor, Spilled Blood, had a price on his head of seven Republic gold. If the man below knew it, he could exchange the fee for killing him to a reward for finding him.

  Yet, the conversation did reveal something. A savvy businessman rather than a bloodthirsty thug led the Fireguard Brigade.

  “Ah boss, we can handle one man,” bemoaned the rough voice. “I want another stab at him.”

  “As my chief enforcer, I appreciate your dedication,” the cultured voice replied. “But, I can’t risk you suffering more than a broken foot. I need you on the streets collecting our coin, not in a sepulcher. A dead man can’t collect fees. No, we’ll hire professionals. It’ll be more cost effective.”

  “Vivianus, you always know best,” the rough voice said as a chair scraped and the sound of someone tapping with a cane faded.

  “Don’t we already pay the Cruor a cut for the territory?” asked a new deep voice. “Why pay them more for something I can do?”

  “We do and it’s a good working agreement,” the cultured voice replied. “You’re my bodyguard and I don’t want you mixed up in Brigade business. Now, how many more of these morons do I have to placate before I can get back to the villa?”

  “One more,” the deep voice growled. “He’s in charge of your gambling house in the district.”

  “Fine, fine, call him forward,” the cultured voice whined. A few seconds later his tone changed as he greeted the new man. “Ah, my favorite croupier. Please have good tidings for me.”

  “If you mean are we making coin? Then, yeah, our earnings from the gambling house are ahead of last year,” a silky voice replied.

  “Excellent my good man,” the cultured voice cooed. “What can I do for you?”

  “We had to rough up a few cheaters,” the silky voice replied. “Now the City Guard is snooping around. Can you bribe them or scare them off? Anything to keep them out of our business.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the cultured voice promised. “And let me also tell you how pleased I am by your dedication to our enterprise.”

  “Okay. That’s all I need,” the silky voice said brushing off the compliment. A chair scrapped marking his departure.

  The cultured voice was silent for a moment before stating, “I don’t care for the man’s attitude. I’ll have to look around for a replacement. My croupier is starting to think for himself.”

  “He could disappear,” offered the deep voice.

  “Not until I find someone else to run the gaming,” the cultured voice commented. “Now, I’ve had enough. Let’s go.”

  Alerio pushed back from the edge of the roof. He backtracked to the front of the building, moved to the gap, and jumped to building five. Descending swiftly by taking the stairs two at a time, the Legionary reached the lowest level. Once on the street, he rushed to the other side and disappeared in the shadows of an alleyway.

  Five men climbed down the stairs from the third floor of building four. At the bottom, four of them shifted into a star formation surrounding the man in the middle. With a guard ahead, one behind, and a man to either side, it wasn’t a far reach to identify the center man as being important. The mask over his face further confirmed his significance.

  Alerio focused on the faces of the four guards. One, he figured was the deep voiced guy. While he couldn’t verify the masked man as Vivianus, the leader of the gang, he was positive the personal bodyguard was one of the four.

  Using good security, they marched down the center of the street. At a random alleyway, the group shifted to two in front and two behind as they entered the narrow space.

  Alerio hung back but kept pace with the unit. When they turned into the alley, he started to dash ahead. Except, the alley wasn’t chosen by chance. A man on a crutch, with a heavily bandaged right foot, shifted to block the way. What were the chances a man lounging at the mouth of this passageway had a broken right foot?

  Slowing his pace, Alerio approached the entrance causally.

  “Use a different route,” warned the man blocking the alley.

  “Pardon?” Alerio inquired as if he were hard of hearing.

  To confirm the deafness, Alerio leaned from the waist and cupped his ear with his right hand. “What did you say?” he demanded.

  As many people do, when confronted by an unexpected situation, the man looked to the sky, as if to ask the gods, why me?

  Jupiter, the God of lightning and thunder, replied. A left uppercut to the man’s jaw delivered by Alerio was the answer to the man’s prayer. The punch lifted the thug off his crutch, bent backward, he stretched out. Falling, the crutch and the unconscious man hit the ground at the same time.

  Alerio sprinted into the alley. At the next street, he looked for the formation. There was no sign of the five men. This was a dead-end street with three alleyways connecting the thoroughfare to other parts of Fireguard District.

  One alley ran southwards towards the tradesmen compounds. The west alley headed to the section of the city with middleclass homes. On his right was an alleyway heading northwest. In that direction were the villas of the wealthy. Alerio raced to the right.

  Chapter 18 - Villas of the Influential

  Alerio didn’t locate the five men until he sprinted down six more alleyways. Emerging from the final alley at the edge of Fireguard, he spotted the men. Only four were crossing the dark road.

  One guard had dropped out of formation and stepped to the side of a building. But, he delayed in turning to watch the exit from the district as he stared at the men crossing the road. Maybe he was thinking he should be paid more and wanted to ask for a raise. Or maybe he wanted to go with the others to bask in the splendor of the neighborhoods with the large villas. The rear guard didn’t get a chance to explain his motivation.

  When he finally turned, he came face to face with a cloaked figure. Alerio’s fingers laced together behind the man’s head, and with force, pulled the head downward. As the rear guard’s face dropped from the pressure, Alerio raised his armored knee. The resulting collision wasn’t an even match. The thug’s face indented and his brain shutdown from shock and pain.

  Alerio let the limp body fall and started to cross the road. By now, the unit was down to three men. Somewhere ahead, another of the guards had dropped out. Lurking in the shadows, he waited to stab anyone attempting to follow the gang leader.

  The street was empty and dark except for pools of light from lanterns. The lights hung from the sides of craftsmen compounds at the sta
rt of the street. Further up the hill, as the walls grew higher to reflect the increasing size of the villas, the light from the lanterns left wider zones of darkness.

  Alerio dashed across the road leaving the Fireguard District behind and entering the edge of the city proper. He hugged the tradesmen building and moved to the intersecting street. After pulling off his cloak and tying it around his waist, he slid the mask down over his face. Just before stepping into the street, Alerio reached over his shoulders and drew both gladii.

  While the sentry was armed and ready to engage a tracker following his masked boss, he wasn’t ready for an armed Legionary. Stabbing with the point of his short sword only scratched the leather armor. Deflected away from the leather with the help of a gladius, the only damage was a short scratch. The damage to the sentry far exceeded a scuff. Two gladii slapped him on either side of his head. He fell to the clay brick pavers with blood streaming from both ears.

  Alerio sprinted to the next intersection. The three remaining men strolled down the middle of the road as if taking in the evening air. Alerio followed the trio as they faded and reappeared in spots of lantern light. Sheathed the gladii, he untied the cloak and tossed it over his shoulders to hide the rig.

  By staying close to villa walls, he followed them unseen. They continued sauntering causally northward. As near as Alerio could remember from his walking tour of the Capital, the City Guard’s headquarters were three blocks to the west with the Senate Building across a boulevard and two blocks beyond it. The three men reached another cross street and turned left.

  When Alerio arrived, he found the street crowded with people out for an evening stroll. Vendor carts sat in the center of the street selling grilled meats and vegetables, vino and beer. Alerio loitered at the corner.

  Just as the three men reached the next cross street, one stepped to the side of the road. As the last two turned right, the sentry stared down the block directly at the intersection where Alerio stood.

  Unable to follow without being seen, the Legionary stepped out from the wall, turned away from the sentry, and wandered over to a food cart.

  “Sausage?” offered the merchant holding up a delicious smelling piece of meat on a stick.

  Alerio ignored the vendor and walked behind the cart to join the flow of people heading westward. As he approached the other side of the street, he ducked out of the flow and jogged down the pavers. Soon he was running on the street parallel with the last two men.

  The next street lead to the City Guard compound before intersecting with the boulevard across from the Senate Building. He didn’t break stride but continued on to the end of the next block. There, he slowed as he made a left turn.

  Tall walls of huge villas loomed over the dark street. As he approached the next crossroad, Alerio stopped and peered around the corner. Two men were strolling towards him. He couldn’t tell if they were the men he’d followed from The Wine Trough. Not until the tall, broad shouldered one spoke.

  “Is there anything you need me to do tonight?” the man asked in a deep familiar voice.

  “No. I have some writing to do before I turn in,” the shorter and more slightly built man replied in a cultured voice. “Are you going out?”

  “Once I check the guard assignments for tonight,” the bodyguard answered.

  “Ah, to be young on a night like this,” the cultured voice said. “Thank you for your service tonight.”

  The two men reached the street where Alerio squatted next to the wall. They turned left. Alerio eased up once their backs were to him. Giving the pair several paces, he followed them westward. If they crossed the wide boulevard, his chase would end. There was no way to follow unnoticed in the open space.

  However, they didn’t cross the boulevard. At the end of the looming wall, the men turned left and approached the gate of the villa.

  “Good night, Senator Ventus,” the bodyguard said.

  “Good evening to you, Master Gabrielus,” stated Senator Ventus, also known as Vivianus, the leader of the Fireguard Brigade.

  Alerio backed away from the corner. When he felt safe, he spun and jogged down the street. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The sweat wasn’t from the night’s activity. It was from stumbling into the politics he had tried to avoid.

  Chapter 19 - Proprietor, Writer, and Gossip

  Thomasious Harricus was a lifelong resident of the Capital City. As a young man, his father and grandfather hired tutors from the east. While they served in the Republic’s Legions, they wanted to be sure Thomasious had an education and, options other than a career in the military. Based on the superb education, young Thomasious envisioned a future as a scholar and, maybe later, as a politician.

  His father also had a dream. After his final term of enlistment, the senior Harricus’ only desire was to open an inn in the Capital. He went as far as having a classical building designed. To go with the main inn, he added a compound populated with corrals, stables, out buildings, a cook shed, and a bathhouse.

  During his last year with the Legion, he led two Centuries on a quest to eradicate a tribe of northern barbarians. Except when they arrived, it wasn’t a single tribe standing in their way.

  Five years earlier, the Republic had pushed the tribes off their land and driven them deeper into the northern territory. The Consuls’ decree cited state security as the reason for advancing the Republic’s borders. While the government profited from the newly conquered land, one family, in particular, grew wealthy from harvesting lumber, mining iron ore, and taking barbarians as slaves from the lands. The source of their wealth was shut off when all the northern tribes banded together and pushed the Legion back across the original border. During one of the battles, Thomasious’ father was killed.

  Thomasious in his grief and anger went to see his grandfather. At the old man’s farm, he professed his hatred for the barbarians and informed the old Centurion of his intention to join the Legion. During a night of intense conversation, his grandfather begged the young scholar to wait six months. If, after that time, Thomasious still wanted it, the old man would buy him a position as a Tribune in the northern Legion.

  On Thomasious’ trip back through the city, he passed ten cavalry officers who were in the city as escorts for their Legion’s Colonel. At first, he envied the romance of their duties and assignment. Then, it began to rain. A cold, hard driving rain that lashed the young officers as they attempted to set up a ten-man Legion tent in the howling wind.

  In his warm and dry apartment, Thomasious started a fire with the kindling he kept in his room. As he shrugged off his cloak, his eyes locked onto his father’s plans for an inn in the city. Anger guided him. He marched to the plans, snatched them from the desk, and began wadding up the parchment. He intended to add it to the fire when a drop of cold rain fell from his wet hair onto his cheek. Then, he remembered the cavalrymen camping on a public square in the Capital city.

  Their senior staff officers would be wined, dined, and put up in villas of the influential. The escorts, the junior officers, and senior NCOs would be left to fend for themselves in the crowded metropolis. Thomasious stood staring into the fire with the crumpled plans in his hands.

  His damp hair dried before he realized he still held the plans. Gently, he laid the parchment on his desk and began smoothing out the wrinkles. Once it was mostly flat, he selected a pen and began to draw on the plans. By morning, the out buildings on the site plan remained untouched. The classical design of the inn, however, had been transformed. Most inns in the city fell into two categories. The ones for sailors, Legionaries, and workmen were located near the dock warehouses. These inns crowded bodies into group sleeping rooms with little privacy, less security, and no services. The other type of inn was closer to the Capital building and offered amenities equal to the coin a visiting dignitary was willing to spend. A fancy, high value inn with the classical columns was his father’s dream. Thomasious had a different idea.

  Three days later, he was back at his grandfather’s f
arm discussing a loan. Within a month, construction started on a piece of ground in the tradesmen area just south of the east gate. As the bricks were laid and the building rose, Thomasious named it the Chronicles Humanum Inn.

  There was a reason the scholar used the name. Not only would Thomasious run the inn, he would listen to his guest, the Legion officers and senior NCOs. They enjoyed talking after a day of escorting senior Tribunes and Colonels to high level meetings with Senators and senate secretaries. In the evenings, while they talked, he would ask innocent questions. From these conversations, he wrote sharp political commentaries in chain scrolls as the Clay Ear. The human chronicles seemed to be a fitting name.

  Sometime in the first year, a hungry boy showed up asking for a handout. Thomasious discovered from the beggar a tale about a shipping merchant’s wife who was enamored by a rogue with a gambling problem. He hand-copied the story on four scrolls and told the street urchin to find four friends who could sell the scrolls at the wealthiest villas. To his surprise, the boy returned at dusk with twelve Republic coppers and four additional street kids. Each had a story overheard while maids went about their tasks outside the villas. Thusly, the Clay Ear began to create and distribute the enormously profitable and very much in demand gossip scrolls.

  Chapter 20 – Thomasious Harricus’ Father

  Three years after opening the Chronicles Humanum Inn, a huge northern barbarian stomped into the great room.

  “Harricus?” asked the large man shaking a shaggy mane of blond hair.

  The innkeeper’s senses came to full alert. His father had been killed fighting one of these northern brutes and this one was asking for him by name.

  “Who wants to know?” challenged Thomasious.

  “Harricus. I will speak with Harricus,” growled the barbarian.

  “Why do you want to speak with Harricus?” demanded Thomasious.