“Come on, Senator. The beast is not far,” Larius said, bracing again and staring at the trunk of an oak with his single eye, examining it as if it held the clues for a successful hunt. He smiled faintly and lifted his head. “Forward!” He said, turning his horse around and spurring furiously.
“Coming,” Cladius said as he trotted by, passing through the tree. He noticed large claw marks piercing the hard bark.
Cladius sighed and kept riding, trying to remain close to the group. “Larius… How near is the beast?” he asked.
Larius looked back at him, annoyed, and forced a smile. “Very near, old friend. I have been tracking this mad deviless for days,” Larius looked up, his bronze hair reflected the autumn sun. “Now, I'll teach her. I'll teach her and all her seed.”
Cladius noticed anger flashing in Larius' only eye. A black patch covered his other; the one he had lost in battle. A fencing scar crossed through his cheek.
“I’ll teach her good,” Larius went on.
Cladius asked himself what the poor beast had done to deserve such hatred.
Larius galloped in front of him, down the forest path, as the trees grew thicker and their branches more twisted. Fallen red and yellow leaves still covered the ground.
They rode up toward a dark cave, its entrance covered with moss and lichens, as well as bushes of red leaves. Cladius noticed the tracks that guided the hunters.
Larius raised his gloved hand and the company halted.
The chatter of the hunters ceased. Larius remained with his hand raised, and the whole company waited in silence for any sign of movement.
At first, Cladius could not quite tell what he was hearing, for it was little more than a rustle, like leaves shifting underfoot. But it soon grew louder, a thudding of feet hitting the ground, like that of someone running in the woods. He swallowed back his fear and kept his eyes trained on the entrance to the dark cave.
Cladius had never seen a live bear before—the only reference he had was the rug that lay in his sitting room—and he had not realized that it would be so big. Fearlessly, the beast charged against Larius, undeterred by the flashy bows of the hunters, confident in its own knife-sharp teeth and enormous claws.
Larius’ horse turned, terrified, and its rider forced it to stay, bolting the reins calmly. The brown bear rose on two feet, its eyes black like coal but reflecting the light of the sun, its brown ears mutilated by scratch marks, perhaps from previous bear fights, its snout capable of tearing an arm in one bite. It towered over the Governor like a castle, and yet, as mighty as it seemed, the troop seemed like a cruel persecution against an innocent force of nature.
The bear roared furiously, and Cladius remained calm, holding the reins and ready to run away if things turned out for the worse.
The governor spurred hard, grasping the spear firmly and thrusting it into the bear’s neck.
Cladius felt a sense of dread engulf him and clenched his fists involuntarily.
An arrow from the company followed and struck the beast in the chest. Cladius shut his eyes. The bear stumbled back, as more arrows rained on her. Soon, it collapsed to the ground letting out roars of agony.
That was it. That was the hunt, he shook his head, staring at the blood that slowly flowed down from its wounds, dampening the brown fur and painting it red. Why had Cladius even agreed to go, he asked himself. Stepping into the beast’s territory and killing it mercilessly had been nothing short of barbaric.
Cladius noticed a shadow move behind the branches. Two small bear cubs hid, moaning like lost puppies.
“Come on, Cladius, the coup de grace, please,” Larius said, snapping his fingers.
Cladius felt his stomach sink.
“This is barbaric,” he said, trying to keep his nausea at bay. “Never talk to me about this wretched activity again.”
Larius laughed, climbing down his saddle, then arranging his hair. He walked toward the beast, put one sandal-bound foot on its body and pulled his spear out. Dark blood splattered around. The beast lie dead and its eyes lost their lustre.
“Pontus,” Larius talked to his fellow hunter, a Kaltanian man with long hair and a braided-beard. The hunter braced and his horse neighed as if in fear. “Kill the young ones.”
“Aye, sire,” the barbarian responded in a coarse accent. He shut one eye, put an arrow on his bow and shot at the hidden cubs. A dreadful moan was heard, and Cladius shook his head in disgust.
“The cubs too?” he stuttered and nervously ran his hand through his curly hair. No one answered why.
And all for a bear skin rug.
Or was there another reason for the hunt?
“You shall get used to it in time, old friend,” Larius said as he wiped the blood off the tip of his Gadalian spear. Cladius noticed the intricate design; on the tip, he saw a metal relief of the Gadalian Bear Goddess, the one they called the Brown One. Cruel irony, or an even crueller choice.
“You like Gadalian metalwork, do you not?” Larius asked.
“I do,” Cladius muttered. Why did he ask that question? Did he know of his ties with the artisan guild?
“Of course you do,” Larius chuckled. “What’s there not to like? They are good, those wretches.” He sighed, examining the tip of his shiny lance, as if frowning at the bloodstains that got stuck in the detailed reliefs. “Anyway. Now that we’re talking about it; I have news for you. Good ones for me. For you, you will have to get used to the changes.”
“What news? What changes?” Cladius raised an eyebrow.
“This morning, dear Senator Cladius, my greatest hunt will begin. This will culminate my life’s work.”
“Hunt? Governor, what are you talking about?”
“My friend. Trust me, it will be the greatest deed on my command. For the good of our own people.”
Another arrow flew from a Kaltanian bow. Another bear cub gone. Cladius looked away.
“Trust you with what?” he asked Larius, unable to hide the disgust from his face.
“Two hundred miles from here, at this time, a special legion has entered the largest Gadalian village in the province I govern, back in Tharcia. They will clean it. No men left. The next day we’ll pay a visit to the tribes beyond the river. The Gadalian menace will be no more.”
A sudden sense of dread filled Cladius’ heart.
“Larius, what are you talking about?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Good goldsmiths they are,” Larius said, rubbing the emblazoned tip of his spear, wiping the smallest trace of blood. “Great archers. But their hearts are not set on this Sacred Empire.” Larius suddenly fixed his eye on Cladius, his expression changed, his smile faded, as if he were evoking an ancient crime. “Remember the sacking of our great Capital? Remember how they burned our cities, how they raped our women, how they killed our children? I know for a fact they plan to do it again.”
“Larius, that was fifteen years ago! No… Larius, they are forging your swords, raising your cattle. Are you...?”
“Yes. No survivors. Today we will feast on their sacred bear and drink the wine of Zerunos. Their conspiracy will be thwarted before noon.”
“Larius, you cannot be serious. There is no conspiracy. I have contacts in the province, and I can tell you for a fact that…”
Larius spurred on and laughed, turning his back on Cladius as the Kaltanian men dismounted, their blonde braids shaking in the wind, and went to dismember the she-bear.
“You will thank me later.” The senator smiled, turning back his horse for an instant. His brown hair fluttered slightly, and his scar made him look more sinister, like the bloodthirsty god of the underworld. “They’re on their way, my friend. Now, if you may, come to my villa, and let’s have a drink.”
Chapter III - Fair of Death
Alana and Irema strode down the rocky path, passing next to the wide pastures, property of Imperial General Marius and his son, Kassius. The gate of the property was open, with its un
ique red roofed villa in the center, like an embassy from another world in the midst of the austere Gadalian houses. Kassius happened to be outside, sitting on a boulder under a naked tree, holding a carbon crayon and a piece of papyrus. A dozen goats pastured behind him, and the targets his father and him would use to practice archery stood in the distance. Arcturus, his Alanut dog rested, with his huge grey head buried between strong furry wrists. When Arcturus saw the girls, he lifted his head, his long tail wagged expectantly, but his master kept his attention fixed on his papyrus.
Alana shook her head, astonished at Kassius’ concentration on something so boring as paper and carbon. She lifted a blunt earthy stone from the road and threw it at him. It bounced next to his feet, and he lifted his smiling face, first looking around. Then, he saw them and smiled.
“Hello, queens of the steppe. What brings you to my realm?” Kassius stood up; his hemp tunic was open, revealing his bony chest and the folds of his ribs. His skin was deeply tanned, and his brown hair was unruly like a cuckoo’s nest.
“Hello, warlock supreme,” Alana said, kneeling down and calling the massive Alanut to her side. It approached with its ears forward and tongue out.
“What is that?” Irema said, jumping over the boulder, and taking a look at what Kassius was doing. Alana raised her head in curiosity.
“He does it all the time,” Alana said. “It’s magic.”
“Ah. It’s a sigil,” he said, proudly displaying the drawing to the bewildered girl. Alana caught a glimpse, it looked like a compass or a wheel, with a big sickle coming up from on top, and below, a small spiral. Hellenic letters filled the spaces in between.
“What is it for?” Irema asked.
“Eh… That, you shouldn’t ask,” he said, folding the scroll and putting the carbon pen inside his pocket.
“Come on. Is it a love spell?” Irema put her hands together, her round face took a playful expression.
Kassius’ face turned red.
“No! How could you think I would be wasting my time on something like that?” he said, hiding his deep green eyes.
“Then what is it, genius?” Alana asked, raising her head again, then turning again toward the dog. Arcturus licked her hand. “Who’s a good boy?” She said to Arcturus, dropping to her knees and petting its neck again.
“To protect my goats and sheep,” Kassius responded.
“Do you think a drawing will scare wolves away? I think you have enough with a dog like that,” Irema said, raising an eyebrow.
“The drawing? It’s a sigil. Of course it works!” Alana said.
“I mean.” Irema cleared her throat. “Wolves cannot read. Not even Alana and I can. Why would a piece of papyrus scare them?”
Kassius jumped down from the boulder and wiped his trousers.
“That’s the point of magic!” he said, lifting his chin. “Power and will charge images and geometric constructions.”
“If you say so,” Irema said, her eyebrows up. She cleared her throat.
“So…” Alana stood up and smiled at him. “We’re here for a reason, Kassius the Sage.”
“What reason, Alana the Brave.”
“A fair is coming to town. Now. Put on your boots and let’s go.”
“Fair?” Kassius scratched his messy hair and narrowed his eyes. “It’s almost winter. Bad timing. Are you sure it’s a fair?”
“Yes, people have seen them riding up from the provincial capital. I wonder what they will bring this year. And come on, it’s not even cold.”
“By Jupiter, everybody’s gonna be there then,” Kassius said, rubbing his chin, where a sparse beard was already forming.
“Yes. Are you coming with us?” Alana asked with her eyes open wide.
He looked around for an instant.
“Nay, I cannot. Father is still with his Legion up north, and the stable boy, Badratz, has his day off. You know, everybody’s free today. I guess I’m the man of the house and I’ve got to take care of the flock.”
“Ah. Nice excuse. Who would steal your cattle here? You’re too lazy to move that skinny butt of yours, as always.”
“Eh, not so fast, blondie. This is my duty here.”
“Come on. Better excuse next time.”
“Well, see you around. Thanks for passing by, anyway,” he said, climbing the boulder and taking out his carbon pen.
“Fine, see you whenever you deign yourself to spend time with the only people who can stand you. Bye, loner,” Alana said, giggling and turning her back on him.
“He’s a little strange,” Irema said when they were back on the road.
“Of course he is,” Alana said. “He is half Itruschian.”
And yet, he was her best friend.
The northern part of the village was stiller than ever. Groups of trees surrounded the round houses, most of them with small stables, at least to hold each family's horses, if they could afford them or if the ones they had brought from the steppe were still alive. As they approached the valley, they encountered more people walking in the same direction. Alana noticed the long-haired men, already wearing wool coats over their naked and tanned backs and belts with intricate buckles of gold and glittering collars of the same material. Many of them carried their little children over their shoulders, as their elder sons and daughters followed close.
The town square was lit by the sun above. A chill breeze passed through the round houses, coming from the nearby hills. The square was full, around five hundred people stood gathered at the center, young and old.
But something drew her attention more than anything else. The cadets, who would soon be legionaries. Tall, except for a few who compensated for it with their broad shoulders and backs as wide as chariots. One of them towered above the others,
“Alana, you're drooling,” Irema said, giggling.
“Cut it out,” she said. “By Ares. He’s amazing.”
Alana stared at Atila of Lak, who happily joked with his friends. How tall was he? Maybe six and a half feet. His shoulders were round, his arms wide as tree trunks, with bulging triceps. His veins stretched through his forearms. His eyes were wide and brown, matching with his short beard and short hair, and even though he was so impressive, his face and smile were tender, like those of a baby.
What a man.
As he jested with his comrades, he looked where Alana was standing. Maybe she was staring too hard. Their glances fixed for an instant. Alana felt blood rush violently to her cheeks. She smiled, shyly.
And his eyes remained fixed on hers.
It was happening.
He was looking at her.
His eyesight shifted very slowly.
Now, it was her time to dream. She felt as if she was drifting through the clouds above. What if… He really wanted to talk to her.
“Irema… Did you see that? He was looking at me. Staring.”
“No way!”
“He was! Irema… What if…!”
A thousand images rushed through her mind. She calculated the scene to the smallest detail. Atila would walk by her and ask for her opinion on the quality of Gadalian blades and how much better they were when compared to Kaltanian ones. Or, maybe they would bump into each other at the market, he would help her to her feet, and everything would flow from them. Up to their marriage, journey to the east, where she would forge the most amazing sword for him, with emblazoned gold spirals and animal designs, and maybe she would make a sword for herself. And they would ride toward the endless steppe, as the sun would cast its rays upon the great…
“Alana, are you okay? You’re drooling again.”
“Ah… Sorry.” She blinked, then Irema grasped her hand tightly and ran through the crowd, dragging her along.
“Let’s find a better spot,” Irema said. Alana tried to keep up with her pace.
“Excuse us,” Alana said, as she pushed through the people; old ladies from the Southern clan, the usual gossipers, some young boys who us
ed to fish and play war games close to Kassius’ farm; and people who she knew by looks and not by name.
“Hey! Uncle!” Alana caught a glimpse of Uncle Jovus. He was a bit younger than her father, and bred Alanut dogs, selling them to anyone except Itruschian citizens. Uncle Jovus did not hear her, and she soon lost track of him in the crowd.
Soon, Irema stopped, and Alana looked up and caught a glimpse of Atila towering over her and everyone else. Alana’s heart seemed to stop for a minute, and she felt her stomach turn. There stood Atila, his back wide as a table, a white fur vest over his shoulders, and no shirt underneath. He was wearing leather pants. His muscular legs arched a bit, common for the people who rode horses all day long.
A hero, like those of legend.
Irema elbowed Alana lightly. She blinked.
Now what?
No. Alana knew what Irema was thinking. Maybe she was planning on getting payback for the jump scare and the broken vessel.
She prepared, shaking her head, and looking at Irema in the eye.
Please don’t…
Irema pushed her, not too hard, not too lightly, and Alana lost her balance, bumping forward into Atila’s back.
Atila fell forward, trying to hold himself up and failing. He fell on one hand and a knee, and Alana fell on his back.
“Oh, my gods!” Irema shouted.
Alana wished to stay there for longer, but she slid down to the floor, ending up beside him, lying face down. Atila jumped back to his feet.
Alana’s gaze met the gray rocks of the paved road and people’s boots. She blinked, and under the blazing sun above, she saw a rugged hand extending toward her. Atila’s face emerged from the light, like a titan descending from heaven.
She did not make a sound.
The thoughts came back delayed, she reacted, grabbing his hand. His palm was rugged like leather, but its warmth made Alana’s stomach feel like it had been invaded by lightbugs. Atila sweetly helped her to her feet, and she instinctively moaned when their hands separated.
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