Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  “No Epulone. I’m a Decanus of the Legion,” admitted Alerio as he placed a hand over the wound on his side. “You wouldn’t happen to have a piece of clean cloth?”

  Chapter 27 - Thirty-three City Blocks

  “We better got off the street,” Salvator suggested as he scrambled to his feet. “Usually the city guard doesn’t come into Fireguard. But four dead are enough bodies to get their attention.”

  “Lead the way Epulone Salvator,” Alerio said.

  “If you are a Legionary, why did you run from the city guard?” asked the Priest. Then, he paused and got very serious, “Or are you from the High Priest, sent to crush my sect of Stata Mater?”

  “I can assure you I am not an agent for the High Priest,” promised Alerio. “As far as the city guard, there’s no problem. I have a history with Corporal Daedalus and he is a problem. Thus, I ran with you.”

  “Now you’re bleeding all over the street,” observed Salvator. “Follow me.”

  Three alleyways from the scene of the fight, Salvator ducked into a narrow opening. Alerio followed. They moved bent over under the first floor of a building. At a ladder, they climbed.

  The smell of fresh ham greeted them at floor level. A candle lit table took up much of the room. Around the table, but standing in the shadows, were people.

  “Epulone Salvator,” a voice said with obvious pleasure. The lad was about twelve and he bravely stepped into the light. Both of his hands were wrapped in damp cloths. “You escaped,” he said with glee. “We didn’t know whether to eat or to wait for your blessings for the feast.”

  “What’s the difference between a meal and a feast?” asked Alerio.

  “Intention mostly,” replied Salvator. “If you’re hungry, a scrap of food can be a meal. If you say a blessing of thankfulness before eating, it’s considered a feast.”

  “Which is this?” Alerio asked while pointing at a table laden with the food stolen from the vendors. “A meal or a feast?”

  “Well, which is it?” Salvator inquired of the youth.

  “A feast Epulone,” the lad announced. “We waited for you and the blessing.”

  “Then, in fact, it is a feast,” replied the Priest. “But first we need to attend to our guest.”

  Alerio’s tunic was pulled off and a length of cloth wrapped around his ribs and hips. There was nothing to be done about the torn and blood splattered tunic. He ate sparsely and silently.

  Despite Salvator’s command of language, his followers were common workers with no education and no training in the art of conversation. Families descended from royalty and the very wealthy looked down on farmers and craftsmen. In turn, craftsmen looked down on merchants. Not to be outdone, merchants looked down on apprentices and day workers. And day workers looked down on slaves. The slaves, Alerio guessed, held animals in contempt.

  While the talk around the table was unintelligible, the food was delicious. The feast went on until the light faded and the followers of Stata Mater began leaving.

  As he finished, Alerio pushed off the wooden crate that served as a chair. The room spun and he almost toppled onto the few leftovers on the table.

  Salvator rushed to his side saying, “You should rest and gather your strength.”

  “I need to get to the docks,” Alerio stated as he shrugged off the Priest’s hands. “There are people near the docks, who can help me.”

  “The lad can lead you to the south end of Fireguard,” Salvator explained while pointing to one of his flock. “From there, if you stick to the alleyways, you can avoid the city guard until you reach the stockyards. There, you’ll deal with private security and they shouldn’t bother you. Unless you loiter.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” Alerio remarked. He hadn’t toured the west side of the city so he depended on the Priest’s directions.

  “Your biggest challenge is crossing the boulevard near the west gate,” advised Salvator. “The city guard patrols the area heavily watching for thieves robbing the warehouses or the stockyards, and trying to escape out the gate, or into the city.”

  “Thank you from the guidance, Epulone Salvator,” Alerio said weakly. He was sleepy and feeling sluggish. If he laid down here, he was afraid he’d be stuck in Firebreak for days until he recovered.

  “Guidance is what I do,” replied Salvator. “May Stata Mater watch over you and keep you in the dark.”

  The youth helped Alerio down the ladder. At the alleyway, the lad stuck his head out to see if the way was clear. Immediately, he jerked it back.

  “City guards,” he whispered. “Searching the alley.”

  “Is there another way out?” Alerio asked.

  “Wait here. When they leave, go right,” advised the youth. “Four streets and alleys over, turn left. Fireguard ends five blocks from there. Wait here.”

  The lad took three deep breaths before vaulting through the opening. Alerio heard him yell at the guardsmen. Footsteps pounded by the narrow opening then faded.

  Following the lad’s directions, Alerio crawled through the opening. By the time he reached the end of the alley, he was settled into a comfortable Legion jog. Except, the run wasn’t comfortable as his side sent waves of pain through his body with each footfall.

  Two, three and when he reached the fourth street, Alerio turned left while maintaining the pace. At a couple of intersections, he slowed for heavy pedestrian traffic. At the end of the fifth block, he dropped into a walk and staggered. Weaving off the street, he moved to a building to get his balance.

  The bandage was soaked through on his left side. Even at night, in the weak illumination of a lantern’s light, it was obvious to anyone looking, it was blood staining the tunic.

  Alerio shook his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. The straight roads and walls ahead of him stood in sharp contrast to the twisting and turning of Firebreak District behind. He felt as if he stood on the threshold between order and chaos. Between…

  He shook his head while trying to remember how long he stood leaning against the building. Alerio had twenty-eight more blocks to go. If unwounded, he could do it easily. In his current state, he worried about finishing the trip at all.

  Legionaries run. Hurt, missing an arm, bleeding or sick, Legionaries run. While Epulone Salvator recommended sneaking through alleyways, it didn’t fit with the Legion mindset. Alerio pushed off the boards of the building and marched out of Firebreak. After ten steady paces, he broke into a jog. Twenty choppy steps later, the pain became a numb throbbing in his side and he entered the paved streets of the civilized section of the Capital in full stride.

  Alerio’s pace had eaten a third of the city when his nose revealed the next area. The aroma from the stockyards of closely packed cows, sheep, goats, ponies, and horses assaulted his senses. For a farmer, it smelled like home. As his nose twitched at the recognizable aromas, his mouth became dry. A trough with stagnate water covered in slime rested just inside a pen.

  Using one hand to hold himself on the top rail, he used the other to brush away the slime. After dunking his head twice, he took in a mouthful of the putrid water, flushed it around, and spit it out.

  “You there,” shouted a man. “Get away from the pens.”

  Alerio eased away from the fence but his feet carried him back against the rail. As if drunk on cheap vino, he staggered along the railing of the fence.

  “I said to get away from the pens,” the same voice yelled.

  Alerio was trying to get away from the pens. Unfortunately, every time he stepped to his left, his right foot shot out to maintain his balance. The only thing keeping him from veering off to the right was the top rail of the pens. And his progress forward was from him pulling hand over hand along the rail.

  He finally left the crutch of the rail when the head of a club shoved him away from the fence.

  “Move along,” the male voice ordered. “Or the next time it’ll be the club. Not just a poke.”

  Ahead, the lanterns on the east-west boulevard seemed to sw
ay as if rocking in a storm. The night was calm with only a light breeze. It was Alerio’s unfocused eyes and the lurching of his body that created the illusion.

  His body wanted to close down and all he desired was to lie down for a short period and sleep. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard an echo from the past.

  “Quarter rations, half rations,” the Legion instructors had yelled. “Or full rations, it’s up to you. Finish what you start or go hungry. The enemy is out there. Are you hungrier than your enemy? If not, they will kill you. Now get up and finish the drill.”

  The brick pavers on the street felt cool on Alerio’s cheek. Not far away, the lights along the boulevard and the west gate glowed steadily in the night. He didn’t remember lying down on the road.

  Five city guardsmen marched down the avenue and Alerio watched the changing of the guard at the gate. If he had continued on, he would have stumbled into the patrol.

  After the guardsmen vanished around a building, Alerio crawled to his hands and knees. Blood rushed to his head and pain radiated from his side.

  “Are you hungrier than your enemy?” he whispered as he stumbled to his feet. “Are you hungrier than your enemy?”

  He realized it was a race against his body. Between shock and blood loss, Alerio had a narrow thread of control between consciousness and collapsing in the street. Angling away from the guard shack at the west gate, he crossed the avenue at the Temple of Portunus. By bouncing off of the trees on the temple grounds and acting as if he were in a life-sized children’s game, Alerio bounded from side to side always moving forward.

  At the southern edge of the temple grounds, he found the footing on the pavers preferable to the grassy lawns of the temple. He was familiar with this section of the city. His destination lay seven blocks ahead. Straight down the road, beyond the Legion Transfer Building, and a block and a half from the southern warehouses. All he needed to do was put one foot in front of the other.

  The villa was still a block away. However, the Legion Lance Corporal knew having traveled the entire length of the Capital city and bleeding with every step of the way, he would make it.

  “I am hungrier than my enemy,” Alerio mouthed between dried cracked lips.

  Chapter 28 - Blood of an Ally

  Alerio leaned against the solid wood of the gate and pounded. Resting his head against the gate to catch his breath, he pounded again before sinking to the ground. Just before the darkness closed in around him, he reached back and pulled the long dagger from the small of his back. It lay in his outstretched hand as his final thoughts snapped off.

  ***

  “Drink this,” a voice ordered as his body was raised to a sitting position.

  A salty and bitter beverage drizzled into his mouth and he swallowed. It burned all the way down. A pulling on his side at the site of his wound made him look down. Neat stitches of thread ran the length of the slice.

  “Thank you,” he said looking up at a lean man holding a clay mug.

  “Can you explain where you acquired this?” the man asked as he sat down the cup and picked up the dagger with the yellow strip on the black hilt.

  “From the Dulce Pugno,” Alerio explained. “I claim the rights of an Ally of the Golden Valley.”

  “It has been rendered,” replied the man as he set the dagger on the table and picked up the cup. “Drink it all.”

  Alerio gulped down the liquid.

  “What’s in this?” he asked.

  “Mostly honey,” the man replied.

  “But honey is sweet and this is,” Alerio faltered while seeking the proper words.

  “I said mostly honey,” the man replied. “The rest are bitter herbs and powders for healing. You’ll sleep for a few hours. Is there any other service you require Ally of the Golden Valley?”

  “Some information,” Alerio said as his eyes began to close.

  “When you awaken,” the man offered.

  But Alerio didn’t hear the reply, he’d gone out again.

  ***

  Alerio opened his eyes and glanced around the room. His tunic now cleaned and mended lay on the side table. He yawned and stretched. Surprisingly, there was little pulling against the tightness of the stitches. He could feel the injury but it was as pliable as if it were weeks into the healing process. Peeling the wrapping from over the wound, revealed a yellow paste spread on the skin and stitches. After rolling out of bed, he slipped the tunic over his head.

  Alerio opened the bedroom door and was met by a young man. Without a word, the youth guided him to an office.

  “I am called Favus,” a man sitting at a desk said in greeting. “And you are Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, an Ally of the Golden Valley.”

  “Thank you for the medical attention,” Alerio replied while pointing to his side as he walked into the office.

  The man at the desk was the same man who had given him the healing drink.

  “A man matching your description is wanted by the city guard, and the Cruor. Also, the Fireguard Brigade seeks an unknown mercenary,” Favus reported. “Please have a seat.”

  “I know about them,” admitted Alerio. “What do you know about Senator Ventus. And, his connection to the Fireguard Brigand as Vivianus?”

  “If you have put the connection together, I have no other information,” the man admitted in the sing song accent of his people. “Gabrielus, the Senator’s man, is training with the city guard.”

  “Nothing unusual there,” Alerio remarked. “Gabrielus and Corporal Daedalus were trained as youths by the same master sword instructor.”

  “Under instructions from the city guard, Gabrielus and thirty northern slaves and freemen are training Legion drills with shields and gladii,” Favus explained.

  “Why would the city guard be training three squads of barbarians?” asked Alerio. “What are their plans?”

  “I can provide information,” Favus informed him. “The conclusions are for you to decide.”

  “Thank you for the information,” Alerio commented then added. “And for the medical treatment.”

  “About the wound, cut and pull the stitches in two weeks,” Favus instructed. “Until then, rest and refrain from exercise and fighting.”

  A strange look came over Favus’ face as if a dilemma had presented itself. As rapidly as the strange look appeared, it faded and was replaced by a smile.

  “However, you are an Ally of the Golden Valley and a Lance Corporal of the Legion,” Favus listed as he reached into a box on his desk. “Take this. Before you fight, wrap the wound tightly.”

  Favus held out a long length of black silk. As he handed it to Alerio, his sleeve fell up displaying a long scar on the side of his forearm.

  “From experience, I can recommend the silk wrap,” Favus advised. “It’ll be light soon and we can’t have you leaving without taking a package. It is, after all, the purpose of your visit to our trading house.”

  “How long was I asleep?” inquired Alerio, “If it’s just dawn.”

  “You arrived the night before last,” Favus reported. “We woke you for liquids and medicine over the period. But, you were unable to take solid food. You may find yourself hungry.”

  “Again, thank you,” Alerio said.

  “Now you must go before daylight,” Favus ordered. “Or stay until dark if you are unable to travel.”

  Act 5

  Chapter 29 - Hunting the Clay Ear

  Alerio held the package of goods against his chest using both arms. Any other time, he would have balanced it on one shoulder. The wound in his side prevented carrying it high so it rested on his chest and he had to lean around the package to see the road.

  The awkward carry proved useful as he approached the Chronicles Humanum Inn. On the front porch, four city guardsmen stood in the lantern light talking with Thomasious.

  “If I see him,” the innkeeper assured the guardsmen. “I will certainly alert you. But, he hasn’t been around for a few days.”

  Alerio ducked his hea
d behind the package as the guardsmen turned.

  “Delivery, Master Harricus,” Alerio called out from the street.

  The city guard ignored the deliveryman as they descended the steps.

  “Take it around back,” ordered Thomasious with an edge to his voice. “How many times do I have to tell you, people? Deliveries are made around back.”

  One of the guardsmen laughed at the tone of the irate innkeeper. Alerio waited for the men to pass before heading for the side gate.

  “Well, well, well if it isn’t Lance Corporal Sisera,” Thomasious said as he met Alerio in the rear courtyard. “What have you there?”

  “It really is a delivery,” Alerio informed the innkeeper. “From the Golden Valley trading house, purveyors of rare and exotic goods.”

  Thomasious reached out and took the package.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Thomasious exclaimed as he carried the package into the inn.

  “I am sorry about that,” Alerio stated.

  “About what? The package?” asked Thomasious. “Anything from a trading house of their standing is always welcome.”

  “No, Master Harricus. I was referring to the guardsmen on your stoop at first light,” explained Alerio. “I’ll, of course, pack my things and leave the city.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Thomasious asked as he untied the package, reached in, and lifted out a bag of rare tea. “Excellent blend. What else have you brought me?”

  “The guardsmen. They’re hunting for me,” Alerio stated. “I heard you say, I haven’t been around for a few days. I’ll just pack and get out of your way.”

  “Ah, honey from the Golden Valley,” Thomasious exclaimed while holding up a small amphora. “They weren’t looking for you, Lance Corporal. They were seeking the elusive Clay Ear. It seems his story about a prominent citizen living a double life as a crime lord bothered some people. I believe the people were actually one person, Senator Ventus.”