Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Here’s your drink,” Alerio said as he reunited, at arm’s length, the smelly drunk and his vino.

  “Circle the block to your left. Go into the pottery shop,” Corporal Gratian whispered as he took a drink. Then, in a loud obnoxious voice said. “How about you give me a couple of coins seeing as how you bumped into me?”

  “Go about your business,” warned Alerio. “Or next time, I’ll boot you across the street.”

  He punctuated the words by shoving the drunk out of his way. From the building entrance behind him, he heard one of the guards laugh.

  The pottery shop was on the next street over from the Cruor collection house. Alerio couldn’t figure out how its location helped. But, Corporal Gratian had gone through the trouble of play-acting drunk, so Alerio followed directions. He pushed aside the door beads and entered the shop.

  A man working a potter’s wheel glanced up briefly but went immediately back to a ball of spinning clay. One hand cupped the outside of the mound while the other clinched in a fist pressed down on the lump. As the fist bore downward, the clay parted and the excess, held in place by the cupped hand, climbed the man’s arm. A vase formed. While the vase was emerging, the potter hooked a thumb under the lip and bent the upper rim outward. He ran his fingers under the newly formed flap of clay and spun the wheel faster and faster.

  Then, he pulled both hands back. The potter’s wheel and the vase wobbled from the centrifugal force. When it slowed, the vase at first seemed ruined. Who would want a clay vessel with a misshapen rim? But when it stopped spinning, Alerio could make out the head, body, and tail of a dragon. Once trimmed, fired and painted, the mystical design would exceed in value any vase with a perfect lip.

  The potter reached out, grabbed a crutch, and placed it under an arm. Next, he stood on his one remaining leg and held out a clay caked hand.

  “Senior Optio Drumstanus, formerly of the Central Legion,” the potter stated while gripping wrists with Alerio. “Corporal Gratian said to send you right up.”

  Alerio was shocked. A Legion’s senior infantry officer commanded all the Centuries of a Legion. To find a former Command Optio of Drumstanus’ status in Fireguard working at a potter’s wheel in a small shop was confusing.

  “Senior Optio Drumstanus. Pardon my ignorance but what is a former command NCO doing, well, here?” inquired Alerio. “If I’m not over stepping my place by asking?”

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, right? During the war to pacify the eastern tribes, we were humping the mountains east of the city. A spear took my knee and the rot took my leg,” Drumstanus said while raising the stump of his leg as if to confirm the amputation. “After my medical discharge, I took to gambling and hard drinking. Seems, I missed the rush of conflict and battle. With only one leg, I couldn’t exactly go into the arena.”

  “Therefore, you became a potter in Firebreak?” ventured Alerio. “It’s a strange choice for an artist’s shop and for a warrior.”

  “Not if you burned all your friendships, and wasted your savings, and made enemies of half the Capital city,” the former Optio explained. “There was this snot nosed Private who enjoyed wagering. He found me one night after some people beat me for missing a payment, or two, or three. I can’t remember. This Private picked me up, rented a room in Firebreak, and sat with me while I dried out.”

  “That sounds like something Corporal Gratian would do,” offered Alerio.

  “He wasn’t a Corporal than, but yes, it was Gratian,” admitted Drumstanus. “We sat in that room talking until I came to the realization that I’d never enjoy the power and thrill of engaging an enemy again. Somewhere in the middle of one of those long nights, I expressed my desire to work with clay. Well, I had made so many people angry and owed so many more people coins, I couldn’t simply walk into a pottery compound and offer to apprentice. However, the resourceful Private Gratian had a plan. He rented a carriage and drove me three days from the city. After dumping me in a strange village with a heartless, angry old potter, he disappeared for three months. When he came back, I had scars on my one leg from where the hanging buckets of wet clay or sand rubbed. See, I carried the buckets slung over my shoulder. All day I carried them to the nasty old man. And I had scars on my hands from crawling in the creek to fill the buckets. In those three months, all I’d done was haul different kinds of clay and sand for the old guy. Many times, he dumped my hard work, tossed the empty bucket at my leg and ordered me to fill it with the correct clay or sand. I was miserable, alone and no closer to becoming a potter.”

  “For a Senior Optio, it must have been rough to be treated like that,” Alerio sympathized. “I imagine Gratian brought you back to the city?”

  “Oh, no. The Private went to the old potter and asked how I was working out,” Drumstanus explained. “The evil old man went to the back of his shop, pulled a cloth off of a finely crafted vase, and picked up the valuable piece. I can tell you it was a masterpiece of clay work. Well, the old guy examines the expensive vase and then tosses it to me. Not toss as in a gentle underhanded pitch; he launched it overhead across the entire width of the shop. I pushed away my crutch, hopped once and lunged for it. I managed, just barely, to get my hands out in time to snag it out of the air. While protecting the vase, I crashed hard onto the brick pavers of the shop’s floor.”

  “What was Gratian doing while you played catch with the pottery?” inquired Alerio.

  “He’d propped himself up on a workbench and sat with a stupid grin while I lay on the pavers with the rescued vase,” Drumstanus reported. “Then the old potter asked me, as I lay bleeding from two scraped elbows, what type of clay and grade of sand were used to construct the exotic vase. I was angry and sick of his treatment. After a quick look, I told the old rascal, the exact type of clay, the grade of sand, how much water was used, and how long it needed to be baked in the kiln to create the thin but strong walls of the vase. I told him as spitefully as I could, with as much distain as I could muster, while lying on the dirty shop floor.”

  “I wouldn’t have a clue what went into making an amphora, let alone a fine vase,” admitted a surprised Alerio. “How did you know all the materials?”

  “That’s what Gratian asked before the old man said I was the best apprentice he’d ever trained. Except for being slow because I only had one leg. I’d learned because the old potter used terms to describe the clay types and grades of sand while dumping my buckets,” Drumstanus stated with a grin on his face. “That evening, the old man placed me at a spinning wheel and showed me how to cast clay. Four years later, I returned to the city. I was a new man, but the old me had left too many scars and ill feelings for me to start new. Gratian, a Lance Corporal by then, suggested I set up shop in Firebreak and use a front man to sell my artwork. This shop pays for my county villa and allows me to help a few wounded veterans. Now, enough reminiscing, Corporal Gratian wants us upstairs.”

  At the mention of stairs, Alerio was worried for Drumstanus. When they pushed aside the curtain separating the shop from the storage area in the back, the Lance Corporal panicked. The stairs were closer in appearance to a ladder than a gradual inclining staircase.

  “Let me go first so you don’t hold me up,” insisted the former Command Sergeant.

  From behind the stairs, he released a thick hemp rope. Grasping the line, Drumstanus hauled his body up hand over hand to the second floor. When he swung his leg onto the landing, Alerio gripped the stairs and followed him.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, welcome to Team Spilled Blood. That’s what we call ourselves,” Nereus said in greeting. “Corporal Gratian just calls us Fifth squad.”

  “I don’t understand,” Alerio pleaded. “Why are you here, Private?”

  “Praetor Kellerian sent word about your suicide mission. Gratian asked for volunteers and we decided to help,” explained Nereus. “What’s your plan? Drop in? Introduce yourself? Die a lonely and fruitless death?”

  “I just wanted to ask a Lieutenant of the Cruor syndicate for the nam
e of a Captain further up their chain of command,” Alerio said. “But Spurius Kanut isn’t here yet.”

  “You’re climbing up a frayed rope over jagged rocks,” Nereus warned. “If you’re going to shakedown the shakedown artists, you’ve got to have leverage.”

  “Leverage? What do you mean?” a confused Alerio asked. “I just want the name of someone high enough up to reason with.”

  “You don’t reason with criminals, especially the Cruor,” advised Nereus. “I know this because my uncles are members of the Sons of Mars. They’re pirates out of Messina and they know crime on a massive scale. On the local level, I’ve dealt with a few fences to sell goods that fell off the back of a wagon, or two. They all work the same. If you want something from the Cruor, you’ll need something to get their attention.”

  “I could take Kanut,” ventured Alerio. “And use him as leverage.”

  Nereus shook his head as one would at a student who failed to understand a mathematics question.

  “On the next block over they have a counting house full of ill-gotten coin,” Nereus suggested. “Take their money, hold it for ransom, and they’ll beg you for a meeting.”

  “Fine, I’ll march over there, kill everyone, and take their coin,” Alerio announced. Then he though more about it and added. “But that’s how I got the bounty on my head in the first place; the killing, not the taking of coin.”

  “Fifth Squad will do the killing and we’ll take the coin,” explained Nereus as he handed Alerio a wool scarf. “Mask up. As soon as Senior Optio Drumstanus gives us the signal, we’re going in.”

  Alerio glanced around but couldn’t locate Drumstanus. Other than the bed and dresser on the second floor, the other prominent feature was another ladder leading up and deeper into the building.

  Chapter 79 - Fortress Counting House

  A block away from the entrance to the Cruor counting house, Corporal Gratian squatted and embraced his wineskin. When three men strutted onto the street, he perked up.

  Spurius Kanut babbled at the two men flanking him. All three carried scars from street fights and displayed long daggers to warn off anyone not smart enough to recognize the reason for the scars.

  After years of surviving the alleyway battles of the Capital, the three friends had found success. Two of the thugs had been given positions as bodyguards. One had surpassed their early goals of just making it to another day and became a trusted Lieutenant of the Cruor crime syndicate. Spurius Kanut wasn’t the toughest or the fastest of the three, but he was good with numbers and at negotiating. As he fought his way out of the gutter and took on more responsibilities, he pulled his two trusted friends out with him.

  As the three men approached, the burley guards at the entrance straightened, smiled and acknowledged Spurius and his two bodyguards. Behind the smiles, they seethed with jealousy at the easy life of a Lieutenant and his companions.

  Gratian waited for a brief time before standing and stretching. As he arched his back, he held the wineskin over his head and made small circles with it. Then, he staggered around the corner of the building. Once out from under the eyes of the counting house guards, the Corporal broke into a sprint. All signs of intoxication gone, he ran for the edge of Firebreak District.

  Former Senior Optio Drumstanus couldn’t see the doorway to the counting house. From his third-floor perch, he barely had a view of the stoop where Corporal Gratian squatted in the dirty robe. When Gratian hoisted the wineskin, Drumstanus shoved back from the third-floor window. Using his hands, and one leg, he hopped down the ladder to the floor and grabbed his crutches.

  “Private Nereus. Your target has entered the kill zone,” Drumstanus called down to the second floor. “Gear up Legionaries, it’s time to earn your Republic pay. Let’s give the citizens their coins’ worth today.”

  “Yes, Senior Optio. We’re moving,” Nereus replied. Then to Alerio, he whispered. “The Sergeant misses bossing people around. But, overall, he’s a good guy. Ready?”

  Nereus set his helmet over the wool mask, walked to the ladder-stairs, and stepped off. With his back to the steps, he grabbed the rails behind his back and placed his feet on the rails. He slid to the first floor.

  “How did you do that?” asked Alerio as he turned around, backed up, and placed a foot on the first step.

  “My uncles are pirates. When I was younger, I spent a summer on one of their ships,” Nereus explained. “In a storm or emergency, sailors and pirates need to get from the upper deck to the rowing deck in a hurry. They don’t have time to back up and slowly walk down, so they slide on the handrails.”

  The sound of hobnailed boots pounding on the gravel and dirt street came and faded. Nereus and Alerio stepped out of the potter’s shop just in time to see the last Legionary of Fifth Squad disappear around the corner. Alerio took two quick steps before he was hauled back by Nereus.

  “Let the lads do their work,” he advised.

  By the time they rounded the building and arrived at the road with the Cruor counting house, Fifth Squad had dropped from the run and were marching. The unit reached a spot directly in front of the Cruor door.

  “Squad halt. Standby,” the squad leader ordered. The guards, after a short time, grew bored watching the Legionaries stand perfectly still. When the guards relaxed, the Decanus shouted. “Assignments. Break.”

  The two guards on either side of the door received the first hits. Four Legionaries, leading with their shields, slammed the armored guards against the rough wood of the building’s exterior.

  By the time the two watchers across the street realized the danger, two teams of Legionaries had sprinted to them. The watchers were driven to the ground and pummeled unconscious. Two more Legionaries came from the back of the building and scrambled the brains of the corner guards. With the six guards down, the squad leader gave a come-on signal to Alerio and Nereus.

  “You’ll have a four-man team at your back,” he announced as they ran up. “We’ll get the thugs off the street and secure the door. Good luck.”

  Alerio looked closely at the squad. All of them were hidden behind wool masks. It made sense. None of the Legionaries wanted to be targeted by the Cruor syndicate after the operation.

  Nereus pulled his gladius and Alerio reached up and drew both of his.

  “After you, Lance Corporal Sisera,” invited Nereus as he pointed at the doorway.

  Alerio ran through the portal and directly into a kill box with murder-holes and arrow-slits.

  Chapter 80 - Swift Luck and a Wizard

  The door to the front was thick oak and impassible. On either side, arrow-slits allowed for archers to rake assaulters. Above the hallway, murder-holes gave access for the dropping of heavy objects on intruders. Alerio skidded to a stop.

  Nereus was two steps behind Alerio. The squad leader watched Nereus charge into the building. He dropped an arm to being the four-man team forward. As the first Legionary touched the threshold, the man came flying back out. On his chest was Nereus. The two plowed into the other three and the five Legionaries rolled apart as they tumbled onto the street.

  The squad leader leaned his head in to see if Lance Corporal Sisera was still alive. Scrunched down was between arrow-slits on one side of the hall, Alerio held his gladii aimed the other wall. Abruptly, Alerio lunged across the kill box and stabbed through two arrow-slits.

  He spun, put his back against the wall between the two slits where the sword hilts quivered and looked towards the squad leader.

  “Throw me your gladius,” he hissed while pulling his hip gladius.

  Without questioning the motive, the squad leader unsheathed his blade and tossed the gladius to Alerio.

  As before, the Legionary crouched against the wall between slits watching and listening for movement behind the other wall.

  Alerio moved. This time only one blade pierced a slit. With the other blade, he jumped back across the hallway and jammed the blade through another of the arrow-slits.

  “Tortoise defense,
” the trapped Decanus shouted.

  Nereus charged into the kill box. Behind him, the four-man backup team rushed in holding their shields over their heads.

  “Sisera. That’s ugly. You stabbed him right through the eyeball,” Nereus proclaimed as he peeked into an arrow-slit.

  Alerio was studying the oak door. Not paying attention, he replied, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Sorry? About skewing a Cruor archer in the face?” asked Nereus.

  “No. About kicking you in the chest and forcing you back onto the street,” explained Alerio. Then he squatted and rapped his knuckles on the bottom of the door and tapped up one side. “Place your palms near the top of the door and press.”

  “Why? What am I, a wizard now? Going to make the door disappear?” quizzed Nereus. Despite his sarcastic remarks, he placed his hands where directed and pressed.

  Alerio reached to the small of his back and pulled the Golden Valley dagger. Placing the point of the dagger on the bottom seam, he kicked the pummel. The door inched up about a finger’s thickness. Alerio jammed his fingers into the crack.

  “We have an old-style barn door at my father’s farm,” he stated as he began to strain and lift with the power of his legs and back. “It’s so heavy, we only use pintle hinges.”

  “What’s a pintle hinge?” asked Nereus.

  “It’s a pin you rest the hinge on,” Alerio growled out between clinched teeth. “There are no top brackets to hold the hinges down. There’s no need with a heavy door.”

  The oak door rose, the gap at the bottom grew higher and Alerio grunted. Nereus hands rose as well, so the Legionary pressed harder. Between the two, when the top hinge came free of the pintle, the impenetrable oak door rocked back. With the tremendous weight supported only by the bottom pintle, the pin bent and the door cantilevered inward.

  “Shields,” Nereus shouted as he drove back with his legs. As he powered to the rear, he wrapped his hands around Alerio’s helmet and pulled. Two crossbow bolts flew over their arched chests before the Legion shields dropped into place.