Last stand at Fort Paxtas

[Banehero]

CHAPTER ONE


The cry of a wolf could be heard over the persistent winds that blew down the slope. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly. Ariston could see the moon in all its full glory, casting an eerie light across the land.

He shivered and wrapped his woollen scarlet cloak about him more tightly, to keep back the chill of the wind. He coughed and muttered a curse as he almost slipped, saving himself a fall with an outstretched arm. He noticed his hand was bleeding as he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm. The wolf cried out again.

He was almost at the top of the steep hill now, for which Ariston was glad. He had lost his horse two days before after an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. He had put the beast out of its misery with the point of his sword and had to walk the rest of his journey.

He could see a small ruined building at the top of the hill and noticed the light that flickered within its stone confines. His man was there as promised. Ariston pushed further onwards, eager to get within the shelter of the ruined Temple of Poseidon.

The trail was slippery and he fell twice more before he reached the stone steps. A statue of the God Poseidon lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, its arm and head separated from the body. Damn the Kalami scum! How dare they desecrate a temple dedicated to the Gods!

He marched up the steps avoiding the rubble and was relieved when he could no longer feel the cold harsh wind upon his face. He could see the fire at the centre of the room, crackling away, spreading its warmth through the room.

A draft could be felt and he found it to be coming through a gap in the wall. This was where he must have seen the light from his ascent. He reached it and blocked it with some large stones found scattered in the room, rolling them into place.

He looked around the room and paced towards the fire, removing his scarlet-plumed helmet with ease. He placed it on the ground and proceeded to roll out his sleeping mat from the inside of his shield.
“Well, looks like I’ll be sleeping on the ground again.” He removed his cuirass and let it clatter to the ground. He was exhausted. He took off his bronze greaves and put them aside and sat besides the fire.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty taking off your armour warrior.” The voice startled Ariston, but it did not sound threatening.

“I have come as you asked. Who are you and why have you called for me?”

“My name is Eunerich and I have summoned you here for good reason.” Eunerich stepped from the shadows slowly, draped in a purple hoodless robe, a robe of a Priest of the Gods. His face was worn with age but the strength Ariston found in his gaze was startling.

“I have a message from the God’s.” Ariston rose to meet the man.

“Why did you not come to the fort? Your message could have been delivered quicker if you had come by horse, instead of sending the boy.” The old man seemed to smile, though Ariston was not sure if it was that or a sign of agitation.

“It is too dangerous for old men such as me to be off riding horses, I’ll leave that to the younger generation. But you are right, time is of the essence. The Tribes are massing.” Ariston’s eyes widened.

“What are their intentions?”

“To destroy your people.” He paused to note the reaction of the young man before him; he studied the blond haired youth admiringly. “The Kalami want their freedom.”

“How do you know all this?” Ariston felt stupid for asking the man the question; surely it must have been the Gods who had given him this information.

“I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it from the voice of Zeus in my dreams. You must be ready, or they will kick the Empire out and drive into your kingdom, slowly and surely. And you know what will happen then.” Ariston swallowed his mounting saliva.

“Every barbarian nation at our borders could flood into Corinthia at anytime, and those within who have fallen under Corinthian rule could take up arms against us also. We have beaten them back before, we shall do so again if necessary.” He spoke with confidence.

“You have beaten them back as individual nations young warrior, but the Kalami are finding allies and quickly, from across the sea. The nations of Asia and the Oceania are coming to their aid.”

“What do you suggest I do?” He asked puzzled.

“Keep your eyes on the Kalami knight, and send word to your cities that the Barbarians are coming to crush all of Corinthia.” With that the old man turned and faded into the shadows. Ariston stared into the flames of the fire and proceeded to kit himself up for another long journey home.



*



The peaks of Mount Geteus shone brilliantly in the morning sun. A weak breeze blew Ariston’s cape softly about him. His hands stroked the palisade as he leaned against the battlements. His thoughts were on that evening that seemed so long ago, back to the night he had met the Priest Eunerich in the Temple of Poseidon. It had been three years since that night and since then Ariston had seen little movement from the Kalami.

Fort Paxtas sat before the narrow valley of Mount Geteus and was the furthest outpost in the Corinthian Empire a hundred leagues north of Corinthia. And it was his. Admittedly he had been quite daunted at first. Being promoted at such a young age was practically unheard of before.
He was in command of a thousand men, most of which were his senior in years of living. This had caused great friction at first when he had arrived now not more than a year gone, but he had quickly gained his men’s respect through combat and his leadership. In his first month Fort Paxtas was attacked and he had stood at the forefront of battle all day, refusing to retire until the barbarians had been routed. Whatever reservations the men held towards him were vanquished that bloody day.

“Admiring the view sir?” Ariston turned his head and greeted his friend. It was Paxtas, a man who coincidently shared the same name as the fort he lived and served in. It had been a constant source of un-malicious ridicule from all who lived there; the jokes were something Paxtas seemed to enjoy.

“Good Morning Paxtas, come to give the battlements your eyes.” Paxtas smiled and looked out to the mountains. He was dressed in his scarlet undergarments; his armour had been left in his room. Paxtas was a beast of a man, standing at least a head taller than everyone else in the fort, his black beard was bushy, and it was obvious he had only just woken up.

“You know, every time I stand here I am still taken by the sites of these mountains. There really is nothing like this back home.” Paxtas was a Corinthian half-breed. His father was Corinthian, but his mother was a Mesinian, a girl who lived in a country that had long ago fallen to the might of the Empire. Mesinia was a country filled with rich farming land, a reason why it had become a target of the Empire. Its land was flat, with little hills and no mountains.

“They are beautiful friend, perhaps that’s why we like it here so much.”

“Aye, but I can’t wait to be relieved; we have been far from home for too long Ariston. I have been away from my wife for three years; I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the company of a woman again.” Ariston smiled sadly and turned to face the courtyard.

“You know it will be a few more months till that happens my friend. Till then look at your mountains. Who knows when we will see there like again once we have left?” Ariston clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned away to walk down the narrow platform.

He made his way to the lookout tower, greeting those sentries that stood fully armoured and erect at their posts, the sun shined off their polished armour, their shields gleamed like mirrors. The tallest point in Fort Paxtas was the lookout tower which he slowly made his approach towards, making his way up the winding staircase.

He gave a nod to the man who stood there spear in hand and took note of the long horn bow that lay against the wall.

“Morning sir.” The man was in actual fact no more than a child and went by the name of Derklydes. He stood to attention sweating in the morning sun under the labour of sixty pounds of full armour.

“You haven’t used that thing in a while,” Ariston pointed out the youths bow. Derklydes shook his head and touched the bow.

“Not since last month sir.”

“That was the bear was it not?” Derklydes beamed a triumphant smile. He was happy his commander remembered his fine shot that brought down the mountain bear. It had been a huge beast, terrifying to behold in all its anger and rage, but he had taken his shot despite the pressure. It had taken four arrows to fell the thing.

“Anything to report?” Ariston asked quietly, almost as though the daily routine was boring him. It was.

“I have seen some riders, galloping towards the village; the dust cloud that trailed them was pretty big. I would say there was a few of them too.” Ariston stared out towards the Kalami village to the east of Fort Paxtas and stroked his hair. What could they be up to he wondered. The Kalami village was called Fuxtar in his tongue, and was a small settlement compared to most of the barbarian villages further north, past the mountains, who could the riders be and why so many?

“Thank-you Derklydes.” With that he turned and made his journey back down the stairs deep in thought.

It was busy down on the parade ground and Ariston briefly remembered giving his second the order to form up his men in ranks for inspection. It was not absolutely necessary but it had been a while since he had checked his men thoroughly. They were now rushing from the barracks, save those on sentry duty, to fall in on the parade ground. The sound of heavily armoured troops rushing upon hard earth filled his ears, along with the shouts of his officers.

“Morning Ariston!” A gruff call from his left led his eyes towards Centurion Lexicus. Lexicus was the oldest officer in Fort Paxtas, indeed he even reminded Ariston of his own father. His thick grey beard and hair was whiting now, his skin was thick leather, no longer soft from youth.

At first the old man had been trouble, possibly because he had been waiting to take over the fort from the old commander. He had been a centurion for over thirty years and watching a younger man with little experience promoted over him take charge of the fort must have been hard. Ariston trusted no one more than Lexicus however; the man seemed wisest of all he had ever met.

“You look troubled.” Ariston nodded.

“I need a group of men to ride to Fuxtar immediately, only the best riders and those with good eyes. Five will do.” Lexicus stared over at the men forming in lines. He was pleased to see them looking so splendid. His light blue eyes sparkled with interest.

“Is there trouble?”

“I do not know. That’s what I want to find out, you lead them Lexicus.” Lexicus gave a salute, sharp and well rehearsed and stomped off. The old Centurion began calling out names above the din, and before long Ariston watched them ride off out of the east gate.

[Banehero]

whats wrong with everyone, its like ghost town when I post...

[Banehero]

sorry, just a little upset back then, was infuriated by a 'friend' at the same moment I went to post, I'm ok now : ) Heres the rest of the chapter, please tell me what you think. Thankyou for your time :surprise:


The plains of Esturo rolled out before the riders like a carpet. Behind him lay Fort Paxtas and to the left was the strong borders of the mountains that cast shadows across the plain.

How lovely the weather was Lexicus thought as he gulped down the revitalizing liquid from his canteen, looking up at the blue sky. Red wine dripped from his chin and he wiped it away quickly with the back of his free hand. It should be water in his canteen he knew, but what harm would it do if he had a sip? He had become accustomed to drinking wine on campaigns for years now.

Behind him trotting at a measured pace were his picked men, all chosen for their horsemanship and fighting skill, and of course, their eyesight. If they encountered problems on the way, these men knew how to confuse a larger enemy force. If one was unhorsed they were also the fastest men on foot, so with luck they could make there escape if the others could not help them.

The village of Fuxtar was still a few hours away, and they had been riding all morning. It was time to rest the horses. Lexicus stopped the group at the river Esturous, the largest river east of the fort, and one that supplied the village of Fuxtar and the fort with its water, it round its way on a meandering course through the plains. It was a deep river, more than thirty yards wide.

The horses stooped to refresh themselves while the men washed away the sweat of the mornings ride from their faces and bodies. The morning sun shone on the rivers surface casting Lexicus’ reflection back at him. He was tired, his bones ached, his joints would need massaging so he could move properly. It was always a problem, especially now he was past sixty. He shook his head and spoke softly to his ageing reflection.

“Haven’t even been riding for long, my arse is as raw as a fresh wound.”

“You have gone soft with age.” The melodic voice of the long blonde haired youth called Valorous filtered through Lexicus’ mind. He turned to face the young man before him.

What would he give to be young again? He studied Valorous, the man was strong and tall, his face handsome. His strong jaw gave him a noble appearance almost like the statues of the old Kings back in Corinthia. A scar ran down his left cheek, the only flaw visible on his face.

“I will be laughing from the heavens when I see you in the same position, ‘Blondie’.” Valorous cringed as he heard his nick-name. No one else used it but Lexicus. It was a name he would rather the old man stopped using.

“What do you think is happening in the village?” he asked instead, trying to ignore the old centurion’s smile and comment.

“Perhaps it is just Ariston’s anxiety mounting again; you heard the story of the night he went to the Temple of Poseidon. He is so set upon the barbarians rebelling. I think he barely thinks about anything else sometimes.”

“I have heard talk of dust clouds rising in the east, near Fuxtar.” Glavious joined the conversation, adding his thick Lacion accent to the mix. Lexicus pinned his ears back and tried to make sense of the dark-haired youths words. It was such a hard thing trying to decipher the guttural Lacion accent.

He was another man Lexicus was proud to have under him. Glavious was the quickest runner in all the land; he had won the armoured sprint races at Olympia two years running and was an excellent swordsman as well. His tanned muscled frame was envied by all but Valorous.

“And who told you such a thing?” asked Lexicus, washing the cold water from the river across his brow.

“Derklydes told me, he was up the lookout tower this morning. He said the dust cloud was large. Only one thing can cause that.” Silence ensued as each man was deep in thought. Only a large force could churn out a cloud of dust from miles away. If what the boy had said was true, Lexicus would find out soon enough.

“Kit up lads, we have a ride ahead of us.”

It took ten minutes to arm themselves again, and with the horses full from the drink and feast, they rode on towards the Kalami village of Fuxtar. They arrived less than two hours later. The sun was still burning violently in the sky and each man was covered with sweat from riding in the morning sun in armour.

Fuxtar was situated on a large hill, surrounded by a forest. The river Esturous ran at the bottom of the hill and already they could see women and children on its banks drawing water from it in large buckets. They were poorly dressed like most barbarians, but were clean in appearance despite the dirt on their clothes. The wooden wall that surrounded the village was twice as high as a man. Smoke rose from some of the hovels indicating food being prepared.

As they rode near the village the women and children noticed them and cast them mean glances. Some of the children even shot imaginary arrows at them, drawing back on their invisible bow strings before rushing off back up the hill.

“Can’t see anything strange from here.” Grumbled Ageaous, the quick-witted thief jumped from his horse and led it by its reins. He stooped to the ground, studying the many footfalls and hooves that left an imprint on the trail.

“Lots of footprints here Lexicus, from what I can tell it goes right towards the village, some of them go into the woods as well.” Ageaous indicated to some deep tracks. “It looks like some kind of wagon left this track, whatever was on it must have been heavy.” Lexicus nodded his agreement and turned to Valorous, his expression grim.

“Well, let’s ride into the village and see what we can find out. I want you to look around the woods and the other side of the village Valorous, take Ageaous with you and report back to me. I don’t like the look of this, remember, keep your eyes peeled, the Kalami aren’t too friendly.” Valorous nodded. “Be quick.” The centurion added, noticing the wind pick up and rustle the leaves. The darkness of the woods could conceal thousands of warriors, if there was a force of barbarians massing around here, it would be very dangerous to hang about.

Lexicus rode towards the village at a quickened pace. His head was pounding from worry and the heat; he was getting too old for this. It was about time he returned to Corinthia to retire in his pleasant abode and spend his last years philosophising and in study; perhaps he could try his hand at politics. It had been a long time since he had last returned to check the affairs of his house; would it still have been kept in fine condition, would the garden look as beautiful as he imagined? He dispelled the thoughts from his head as he rode between the open gates of Fuxtar.

The village was quiet. The women and children who had watched them as they rode down the trail had vanished into their homes, small wood and mud hovels that lay scattered about in no particular order.

He could hear a dog bark; it was a large shaggy grey animal, thin as a rake and tied to a post. The dog reminded him of those that were trained for the dog runs in the coliseum back home, though not as well kept of course. It barked at the riders as they entered the village, straining against the rope that tied it to the post. For a moment Lexicus thought he could see the post rocking in the ground as though it were about to be ripped from the earth.

Lexicus knew the village by heart. How many times had he come here in the last ten years of service for the Empire he did not know? He gingerly dismounted from his horse, hitting the earth with a quiet metal crash. His men did the same.

He led his horse to a horizontal strip of wood near the closest barbarian home and tied the reins to it loose enough so all that would be necessary if he were in trouble would be a tug and a leap and he could be away.
Lexicus looked over to his three companions. Glavious looked anxious and carried his shield and spear ready for trouble, staring at the huts as though he expected a horde of barbarians to emerge from the depths. His other man removed his helmet to wipe sweat from his forehead.

This was Crixus, a man born into slavery who had won his freedom in the Battle of Lindium sixteen years earlier against the savage Picts in the western edge of the Empire. His face was scared and pockmarked, when he took off his shirt scars ran down his back that indicated he had been whipped at some point in his life, probably when he was a young slave. He was a man Lexicus greatly admired for his abilities in combat and tracking despite his wild un-tamed spirit.

“Someone better shut that dog up.” Crixus cursed bitterly and scowled at the beast, who tried even more frantically to break free of its bounds. Crixus drew his sword and smiled; the dog yelped and was silent, it moved behind the cover of its post.

He looked over at the youngest member of his party, Eytes, he who was not a warrior of Corinthia but a man born from the Kalami after his mother had been ***** by a Corinthian centurion. The man served as a squire to Lexicus, and he was a slave who would most likely live out his days in servitude of the army regardless of his actions. Lexicus treated the man as a freeborn however, and needed him to speak to the Kalami. He watched the man pace over to a hovel, calling out in his native tongue. There was a sharp reply, a woman’s voice.

Lexicus wondered over to Eytes who simply shrugged.

“What’s wrong, what did she say?”

“She said she does not want to talk to us ‘bastard Corinthian’s’.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Tell her we must speak to her. I want to know why the village is so quiet. Where are all the men?” Eyte’s nodded his understanding and spoke out once more. He got the same reply. Lexicus cursed.

“Damn it, I think we should try elsewhere.” Suddenly there was a scream from behind; Crixus was dragging a young woman out of her home roughly. She screamed in rage and slapped him. Crixus replied with his fist, knocking the girl almost senseless, her struggles stopped.

“That will do Crixus.” Lexicus shouted angrily as he marched over to the pair. The centurion looked the girl up and down. She was young, not past twenty, and very pretty. Her cheek was red from where Crixus had punched her and she stared fiercely at him as though she were trying to kill him with her gaze. He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease. Crixus let her go and she stood before them, brushed back her hair and spat on the ground.

“Where are all the men?” Eyte’s asked her softly. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the stranger who spoke her language yet stood by her enemies. She replied with confidence, her voice strong and un-wavering. Eyte’s translated.

“She said they have gone away.” Lexicus shook his head and urged Eyte’s to continue.

“Ask her where they have gone and why.” Once again the girl spoke and shot a look of disgust towards Crixus.

“She won’t say sir. I don’t think any of them will talk.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Sir, you better take a look at this!” Lexicon turned to see Valorous at the gates, pointing towards the woods. He looked at the girl; she appeared terrified and rushed off towards her home. Crixus moved after her but Lexicon held out his hand.

“Let her go.” Lexicon paced towards his great white steed that stood patiently waiting for its master’s return. He pulled the reins from where he had them tied and mounted slowly, easing his tired joints that creaked with the exertion onto the saddle.

“What have you got Blondie?” he called out, already frustrated with the women’s refusal to speak. He did not want to return without anything solid to report.

“Lots of camp fires in the woods, all out obviously but it’s a sign of life at least. Lots of the forest has also been cut down, there are huge clearings.” Lexicon’s heart jumped, this was what he was looking for. Some sign of the strange absence of men from the village.

Valorous led the group down the hill and into the shade of the forest. A multitude of birds sang their delightful tunes to one another and any who would listen. It did not ease the centurion at all.

He could see a lot of plant-life crushed by nothing other than footfalls and wheels. Ageaous could be seen crouching low over something Lexicus could not make out until he arrived.

“This whole area was cleared sir, I’d say there were about twenty fires burning here recently, some of them pretty big ones at that, no more than a few days ago. I’d say the clearings here were made recently too, all these trees have only been cut down in the last few months.” He pointed out the stumps.

“They must have cut them down to make weapons, spears most likely.” Added Glavious, he shook his own eight-footer to emphasise the point.

“I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you, if there is something going on here the women at the village might warn someone of our arrival. We must get back quickly.” Lexicus gave the order to move out to Fort Paxtas, where he did not relish passing on the news to his commander.

[Banehero]

Sorry about that word you covered : ( I will try to keep the language to a more suitable level :thumbsup:

well anyway tell me what you think. I have a part of chapter two to put up as well.

This story is not Diablo 2 related, its just a bit of fantasy set in a world trapped between the Greeks and Romans periods.

[0xDEADCAFE]

:thumbsup:

I enjoyed it, my interest is piqued, and I am definitely looking forward to the next chapter. I particularly liked the pace of the story and the breadth of detail. You must have given a great deal thought to this world:
This was Crixus, a man born into slavery who had won his freedom in the Battle of Lindium sixteen years earlier ...
Lindium? Sixteen years ago? Sounds like you have quite an epic in mind here!



On the nit-picky side: in general the prose is lean, easy to read and nicely descriptive, but there is the occasional awkward phrase, a bit too many. Another proofread would probably help.

Another nit-pick: the way you attribute dialog, or rather the way you don't, is occasionally confusing. You often mix the dialog right into the narrative rather than denoting each line of dialogue with "so-and-so said", and I like that, usually it flows nicely, but I had to re-read the conversation between Ariston and Eunerich to figure out who was saying what, and there were maybe one or two other places where I had momentary dialogue confusion.




whats wrong with everyone, its like ghost town when I post...
I feel your pain. I didn't get a single comment for about a week after my first post, which was, how can I put it, agonizing. I've only been reading this forum for a couple weeks, but from what I've seen the pace of feedback here seems to be something less than frantic. :sleep: On the other hand the comments generally seem to be thoughful so hang in there - and keep writing!

[Banehero]

Thanks for the reply Ox :thumbsup: Thankyou for your thoughts, I will go through it again tonight and take a look at a few of the problems you mentioned, I'll clean up the dialogue confusion at the start and re-post.

[Banehero]

Thanks for the reply Ox :thumbsup: Thankyou for your thoughts, I will go through it again tonight and take a look at a few of the problems you mentioned, I'll clean up the dialogue confusion at the start and re-post.

I've noticed that Lexicus' name changes in it for a few times to Lexicon, that has to be corrected, sorry for the confusion. I'll post part of chapter 2 later : )

[Banehero]

Here is chapter One again with a few changes (not many though so just go to chapter two if you want) along with chapter two


CHAPTER ONE


The cry of a wolf could be heard over the persistent winds that blew down the slope. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly. Ariston could see the moon in all its full glory, casting an eerie light across the land.

He shivered and wrapped his woollen scarlet cloak about him more tightly, to keep back the chill of the wind. He coughed and muttered a curse as he almost slipped, saving himself a fall with an outstretched arm. He noticed his hand was bleeding as he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm. The wolf cried out again.

He was almost at the top of the steep hill now, for which Ariston was glad. He had lost his horse two days before after an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. He had put the beast out of its misery with the point of his sword and had to walk the rest of his journey.

He could see a small ruined building at the top of the hill and noticed the light that flickered within its stone confines. His man was there as promised. Ariston pushed further onwards, eager to get within the shelter of the ruined Temple of Poseidon.

The trail was slippery and he fell twice more before he reached the stone steps. A statue of the God Poseidon lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, its arm and head separated from the body. Damn the Kalami scum! How dare they desecrate a temple dedicated to the Gods!

He marched up the steps avoiding the rubble and was relieved when he could no longer feel the cold harsh wind upon his face. He could see the fire at the centre of the room, crackling away, spreading its warmth through the room.

A draft could be felt and he found it to be coming through a gap in the wall. This was where he must have seen the light from his ascent. He reached it and blocked it with some large stones found scattered in the room, rolling them into place.

He looked around the room and paced towards the fire, removing his scarlet-plumed helmet with ease. He placed it on the ground and proceeded to roll out his sleeping mat from the inside of his shield.

“Well, looks like I’ll be sleeping on the ground again.” He removed his cuirass and let it clatter to the ground. He was exhausted. He took off his bronze greaves and put them aside and sat besides the fire.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty taking off your armour warrior.” The voice startled Ariston, but it did not sound threatening.
“I have come as you asked. Who are you and why have you called for me?”

“My name is Eunerich and I have summoned you here for good reason.” Eunerich stepped from the shadows slowly, draped in a purple hoodless robe, a robe of a Priest of the Gods. His face was worn with age but the strength Ariston found in his gaze was startling.

“I have a message from the God’s.” The priest announced as though he were talking in front of an audience. Ariston rose to meet the man.

“Why did you not come to the fort? Your message could have been delivered quicker if you had come by horse, instead of sending the boy.” The old man seemed to smile, though Ariston was not sure if it was that or a sign of agitation.

“It is too dangerous for old men such as me to be off riding horses, I’ll leave that to the younger generation. But you are right, time is of the essence. The Tribes are massing.” Ariston’s eyes widened.

“What are their intentions?”

“To destroy your people.” Eunerich paused to note the reaction of the young man before him; he studied the blond haired youth admiringly. “The Kalami want their freedom.” The old priest added, his eyes fixed on Ariston, his watch unwavering.

“How do you know all this?” Ariston felt stupid for asking the man the question; surely it must have been the Gods who had given him this information.

“I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it from the voice of Zeus in my dreams. You must be ready, or they will kick the Empire out and drive into your kingdom, slowly and surely. And you know what will happen then.” Ariston swallowed his mounting saliva.

“Every barbarian nation at our borders could flood into Corinthia at anytime, and those within who have fallen under Corinthian rule could take up arms against us also. We have beaten them back before, we shall do so again if necessary.” Ariston spoke with confidence.

“You have beaten them back as individual nations young warrior, but the Kalami are finding allies and quickly, from across the sea. The nations of Asia and the Oceania are coming to their aid.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Ariston asked puzzled.

“Keep your eyes on the Kalami knight, and send word to your cities that the Barbarians are coming to crush all of Corinthia.”

“Why are you telling me all this, surely you could have gone to somebody else, I am only a centurion?” The old man smiled and looked up dramatically, as though he were performing a role on a stage in the amphitheatre raising his right hand towards the ceiling.

“Only the gods can tell you, but ask me that question the next time we meet.” With that the old man turned and faded into the shadows. Ariston called after him, demanding what he had meant.

There was no reply.

Ariston stared into the flames of the furious fire and proceeded to kit himself up for a long journey home.



*



The peaks of Mount Geteus shone brilliantly in the morning sun. A weak breeze blew Ariston’s cape softly about him. His hands stroked the palisade as he leaned against the battlements. His thoughts were on that evening that seemed so long ago, back to the night he had met the Priest Eunerich in the Temple of Poseidon. It had been three years since that night and since then Ariston had seen little movement from the Kalami.

Fort Paxtas sat before the narrow valley of Mount Geteus and was the furthest outpost in the Corinthian Empire a hundred leagues north of Corinthia. And it was his. Admittedly he had been quite daunted at first. Being promoted to Legatus at such a young age was practically unheard of before.

He was in command of a full legion, ten cohorts, almost six thousand men, most of which were older than he. This had caused great friction at first when he had arrived now not more than a year gone, but he had quickly gained his men’s respect through combat and his leadership. In his first month when Fort Paxtas had been attacked by some troublesome Kalami, he had stood at the forefront of battle, refusing to retire until the barbarians had been routed. Whatever reservations the men held against him were vanquished that bloody day.

“Admiring the view sir?” Ariston turned his head and greeted his friend. It was Paxtas, a man who coincidently shared the same name as the fort he lived and served in. It had been a constant source of un-malicious ridicule from all who lived there; the jokes were something Paxtas seemed to enjoy.

“Good Morning Paxtas, come to give the battlements your eyes.” Paxtas smiled and looked out to the mountains. He was dressed in his scarlet undergarments; his armour had been left in his room. Paxtas was a beast of a man, standing at least a head taller than everyone else in the fort, his black beard was bushy, and it was obvious he had only just woken up.

“You know, every time I stand here I am still taken by the sites of these mountains. There really is nothing like this back home.” Paxtas was a Corinthian half-breed. His father was Corinthian, but his mother was a Mesinian, a girl who lived in a country that had long ago fallen to the might of the Empire. Mesinia was a country filled with rich farming land, a reason why it had become a target of the Empire. Its land was flat, with little hills and no mountains.

“They are beautiful friend, perhaps that’s why we like it here so much.”

“Aye, but I can’t wait to be relieved; we have been far from home for too long Ariston. I have been away from my wife for three years; I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the company of a woman again.” Ariston smiled sadly and turned to face the courtyard.

“You know it will be a few more months till that happens my friend. Till then look at your mountains. Who knows when we will see there like again once we have left?” Ariston clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned away to walk down the narrow platform.

He made his way to the lookout tower, greeting those sentries that stood fully armoured and erect at their posts, the sun shined off their polished armour, their shields gleamed like mirrors.

He gave a nod to the man who stood there spear in hand and took note of the long horn bow that lay against the wall.

“Morning sir.” The man was in actual fact no more than a child and went by the name of Derklydes. He stood to attention sweating in the morning sun under the labour of sixty pounds of full armour.

“You haven’t used that thing in a while,” Ariston pointed out the youths bow. Derklydes shook his head and touched the bow.

“Not since last month sir.”

“That was the bear was it not?” Derklydes beamed a triumphant smile. He was happy his commander remembered his fine shot that brought down the mountain bear. It had been a huge beast, terrifying to behold in all its anger and rage, but he had taken his shot despite the pressure. It had taken four arrows to fell the thing.

“Anything to report?” Ariston asked quietly, almost as though the daily routine was boring him. It was.

“I have seen some riders, galloping towards the village; the dust cloud that trailed them was pretty big. I would say there was a few of them too.” Ariston stared out towards the Kalami village to the east of Fort Paxtas and stroked his hair. What could they be up to he wondered. The Kalami village was called Fuxtar in his tongue, and was a small settlement compared to most of the barbarian villages further north, past the mountains, who could the riders be and why so many?

“Thank-you Derklydes.” With that he turned and made his journey back down the stairs deep in thought.

It was busy down on the parade ground and Ariston briefly remembered giving his second the order to form up his men in ranks for inspection. It was not absolutely necessary but it had been a while since he had checked his men thoroughly. They were now rushing from the barracks, save those on sentry duty, to fall in on the parade ground. The sound of heavily armoured troops rushing upon hard earth filled his ears, along with the shouts of his officers.

“Morning Ariston!” A gruff call from his left led his eyes towards Centurion Lexicus. Lexicus was the oldest officer in Fort Paxtas, indeed he even reminded Ariston of his own father. His thick grey beard and hair was whiting now, his skin was thick leather, no longer soft from youth.

At first the old man had been trouble, possibly because he had been waiting to take over the fort from the old commander. He had been a centurion for over thirty years and watching a younger man with little experience promoted over him take charge of the fort must have been hard. Ariston trusted no one more than Lexicus however; the man seemed wisest of all he had ever met.

“You look troubled; I can always tell these things from the blank lost expression written across your face.” Ariston nodded.

“I need a group of men to ride to Fuxtar immediately, only the best riders and those with good eyes. Five will do.” Lexicus stared over at the men forming in lines. He was pleased to see them looking so splendid. His light blue eyes sparkled with interest.

“Is there trouble?”

“I do not know. That’s what I want to find out, you lead them Lexicus.” Lexicus gave a salute, sharp and well rehearsed and stomped off. The old Centurion began calling out names above the din, and before long Ariston watched them ride off out of the east gate.



The plains of Esturo rolled out before the riders like a carpet. Behind him lay Fort Paxtas and to the left was the strong borders of the mountains that cast shadows across the plain.

How lovely the weather was Lexicus thought as he gulped down the revitalizing liquid from his canteen, looking up at the blue sky. Red wine dripped from his chin and he wiped it away quickly with the back of his free hand. It should be water in his canteen he knew, but what harm would it do if he had a sip? He had become accustomed to drinking wine on campaigns for years now.

Behind him trotting at a measured pace were his picked men, all chosen for their horsemanship and fighting skill, and of course, their eyesight. If they encountered problems on the way, these men knew how to confuse a larger enemy force. If one was unhorsed they were also the fastest men on foot, so with luck they could make there escape if the others could not help them.

The village of Fuxtar was still a few hours away, and they had been riding all morning. It was time to rest the horses. Lexicus stopped the group at the river Esturous, the largest river east of the fort, and one that supplied the village of Fuxtar and the fort with its water, it round its way on a meandering course through the plains. It was a deep river, more than thirty yards wide.

The horses stooped to refresh themselves while the men washed away the sweat of the mornings ride from their faces and bodies. The morning sun shone on the rivers surface casting Lexicus’ reflection back at him. He was tired, his bones ached, his joints would need massaging so he could move properly. It was always a problem, especially now he was past sixty. He shook his head and spoke softly to his ageing reflection.

“Haven’t even been riding for long, my arse is as raw as a fresh wound.”

“You have gone soft with age.” The melodic voice of the long blonde haired youth called Valorous filtered through Lexicus’ mind. He turned to face the young man before him.

What would he give to be young again? He studied Valorous, the man was strong and tall, his face handsome. His strong jaw gave him a noble appearance almost like the statues of the old Kings back in Corinthia. A scar ran down his left cheek, the only flaw visible on his face.

“I will be laughing from the heavens when I see you in the same position, ‘Blondie’.” Valorous cringed as he heard his nick-name. No one else used it but Lexicus. It was a name he would rather the old man stopped using.

“What do you think is happening in the village?” he asked instead, trying to ignore the old centurion’s smile and comment.

“Perhaps it is just Ariston’s anxiety mounting again; you heard the story of the night he went to the Temple of Poseidon. He is so set upon the barbarians rebelling. I think he barely thinks about anything else sometimes.”

“I have heard talk of dust clouds rising in the east, near Fuxtar.” Glavious joined the conversation, adding his thick Lacion accent to the mix. Lexicus pinned his ears back and tried to make sense of the dark-haired youths words. It was such a hard thing trying to decipher the guttural Lacion accent.

He was another man Lexicus was proud to have under him. Glavious was the quickest runner in all the land; he had won the armoured sprint races at Olympia two years running and was an excellent swordsman as well. His tanned muscled frame was envied by all but Valorous.

“And who told you such a thing?” asked Lexicus, washing the cold water from the river across his brow.

“Derklydes told me, he was up the lookout tower this morning. He said the dust cloud was large. Only one thing can cause that.” Silence ensued as each man was deep in thought. Only a large force could churn out a cloud of dust from miles away. If what the boy had said was true, Lexicus would find out soon enough.

“Kit up lads, we have a ride ahead of us.”

It took ten minutes to arm themselves again, and with the horses full from the drink and feast, they rode on towards the Kalami village of Fuxtar. They arrived less than two hours later. The sun was still burning violently in the sky and each man was covered with sweat from riding in the morning sun in armour.

Fuxtar was situated on a large hill, surrounded by a forest. The river
Esturous ran at the bottom of the hill and already they could see women and children on its banks drawing water from it in large buckets. They were poorly dressed like most barbarians, but were clean in appearance despite the dirt on their clothes. The wooden wall that surrounded the village was twice as high as a man. Smoke rose from some of the hovels indicating food being prepared.

As they rode near the village the women and children noticed them and cast them mean glances. Some of the children even shot imaginary arrows at them, drawing back on their invisible bow strings before rushing off back up the hill.

“Can’t see anything strange from here.” Grumbled Ageaous, the quick-witted thief jumped from his horse and led it by its reins. He stooped to the ground, studying the many footfalls and hooves that left an imprint on the trail.

“Lots of footprints here Lexicus, from what I can tell it goes right towards the village, some of them go into the woods as well.” Ageaous indicated to some deep tracks. “It looks like some kind of wagon left this track, whatever was on it must have been heavy.” Lexicus nodded his agreement and turned to Valorous, his expression grim.

“Well, let’s ride into the village and see what we can find out. I want you to look around the woods and the other side of the village Valorous, take Ageaous with you and report back to me. I don’t like the look of this, remember, keep your eyes peeled, the Kalami aren’t too friendly.” Valorous nodded. “Be quick.” The centurion added, noticing the wind pick up and rustle the leaves. The darkness of the woods could conceal thousands of warriors, if there was a force of barbarians massing around here, it would be very dangerous to hang about.

Lexicus rode towards the village at a quickened pace. His head was pounding from worry and the heat; he was getting too old for this. It was about time he returned to Corinthia to retire in his pleasant abode and spend his last years philosophising and in study; perhaps he could try his hand at politics. It had been a long time since he had last returned to check the affairs of his house; would it still have been kept in fine condition, would the garden look as beautiful as he imagined? He dispelled the thoughts from his head as he rode between the open gates of Fuxtar.

The village was quiet. The women and children who had watched them as they rode down the trail had vanished into their homes, small wood and mud hovels that lay scattered about in no particular order.

He could hear a dog bark; it was a large shaggy grey animal, thin as a rake and tied to a post. The dog reminded him of those that were trained for the dog runs in the coliseum back home, though not as well kept of course. It barked at the riders as they entered the village, straining against the rope that tied it to the post. For a moment Lexicus thought he could see the post rocking in the ground as though it were about to be ripped from the earth.

Lexicus knew the village by heart. How many times had he come here in the last ten years of service for the Empire he did not know? He gingerly dismounted from his horse, hitting the earth with a quiet metal crash. His men did the same.

He led his horse to a horizontal strip of wood near the closest barbarian home and tied the reins to it loose enough so all that would be necessary if he were in trouble would be a tug and a leap and he could be away.

Lexicus looked over to his three companions. Glavious looked anxious and carried his shield and spear ready for trouble, staring at the huts as though he expected a horde of barbarians to emerge from the depths. His other man removed his helmet to wipe sweat from his forehead.

This was Crixus, a man born into slavery who had won his freedom in the Battle of Lindium sixteen years earlier against the savage Picts in the western edge of the Empire. His face was scarred and pockmarked; when he took off his shirt jagged scars ran down his back that indicated he had been whipped at some point in his life, probably when he was a young slave. He was a man Lexicus greatly admired for his abilities in combat and tracking despite his wild un-tamed spirit.

“Someone better shut that dog up.” Crixus cursed bitterly and scowled at the beast, who tried even more frantically to break free of its bounds. Crixus drew his sword and smiled; the dog yelped and was silent, it moved behind the cover of its post.

He looked over at the youngest member of his party, Eytes, he who was not a warrior of Corinthia but a man born from the Kalami after his mother had been shamed by a Corinthian centurion. The man served as a squire to Lexicus, and he was a slave who would most likely live out his days in servitude of the army regardless of his actions. Lexicus treated the man as a freeborn however, and needed him to speak to the Kalami. He watched the man pace over to a hovel, calling out in his native tongue. There was a sharp reply, a woman’s voice.

Lexicus wondered over to Eytes who simply shrugged.

“What’s wrong, what did she say?”

“She said she does not want to talk to us ‘bastard Corinthian’s’.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Tell her we must speak to her. I want to know why the village is so quiet. Where are all the men?” Eyte’s nodded his understanding and spoke out once more. He got the same reply. Lexicus cursed.

“Damn it, I think we should try elsewhere.” Suddenly there was a scream from behind; Crixus was dragging a young woman out of her home roughly. She screamed in rage and slapped him. Crixus replied with his fist, knocking the girl almost senseless, her struggles stopped.

“That will do Crixus.” Lexicus shouted angrily as he marched over to the pair. The centurion looked the girl up and down. She was young, not past twenty, and very pretty. Her cheek was red from where Crixus had punched her and she stared fiercely at him as though she were trying to kill him with her gaze. He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease. Crixus let her go and she stood before them, brushed back her hair and spat on the ground.

“Where are all the men?” Eyte’s asked her softly. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the stranger who spoke her language yet stood by her enemies. She replied with confidence, her voice strong and un-wavering. Eyte’s translated.

“She said they have gone away.” Lexicus shook his head and urged Eyte’s to continue.

“Ask her where they have gone and why.” Once again the girl spoke and shot a look of disgust towards Crixus.

“She won’t say sir. I don’t think any of them will talk.” Lexicus shook his head.

“Sir, you better take a look at this!” Lexicus turned to see Valorous at the gates, pointing towards the woods. He looked at the girl; she appeared terrified and rushed off towards her home. Crixus moved after her but Lexicus held out his hand.

“Let her go.” Lexicus paced towards his great white steed that stood patiently waiting for its master’s return. He pulled the reins from where he had them tied and mounted slowly, easing his tired joints that creaked with the exertion onto the saddle.

“What have you got Blondie?” he called out, already frustrated with the women’s refusal to speak. He did not want to return without anything solid to report.

“Lots of camp fires in the woods, all out obviously but it’s a sign of life at least. Lots of the forest has also been cut down, there are huge clearings.” Lexicus’ heart jumped, this was what he was looking for. Some sign of the strange absence of men from the village.

Valorous led the group down the hill and into the shade of the forest. A multitude of birds sang their delightful tunes to one another and any who would listen. It did not ease the centurion at all.

He could see a lot of plant-life crushed by nothing other than footfalls and wheels. Ageaous could be seen crouching low over something Lexicus could not make out until he arrived.

“This whole area was cleared sir, I’d say there were about twenty fires burning here recently, some of them pretty big ones at that, no more than a few days ago. I’d say the clearings here were made recently too, all these trees have only been cut down in the last few months.” He pointed out the stumps.

“They must have cut them down to make weapons, spears most likely.” Added Glavious, he shook his own eight-footer to emphasise the point.
“I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you, if there is something going on here the women at the village might warn someone of our arrival. We must get back quickly.” Lexicus gave the order to move out to Fort Paxtas, where he did not relish passing on the news to his commander.

[Banehero]

CHAPTER TWO



Ariston sat on the cushioned seat, his head in his hands. He had noticed recently he had been falling into a depression, one that would leave him at times simply staring at things without any clue of what they were. He could look at a wall but it was not a wall.

He missed his wife Anetea. It had been more than a year since he had last held her in his arms, since he had last made love. He thought of her smile that radiated beauty, her eyes that sparkled with wisdom and love. He could still picture her before him walking up the garden path of his stately home, her figure draped in fine blue cloth; her raven coloured long hair blowing in the wind, laughing; that laughter that was more of a giggle than anything else.

In a few months he would be back home if only for a few weeks before being re-posted to another far away place. He would hear her laughter soon. Ariston looked at the small table that lay before him and the last letter he had received from Anetea.

His son Ajax was growing strong. He had missed his first steps which had been taken in the kitchen of his home. How much more had he missed? Had his son began to talk? He had left the child only weeks after he had been born. The night before he departed north he had held his son in his arms, cradling him with care and fear. He wished to see his face again, to feel his son’s small hands grip tightly around his finger. But that would have to wait.

The candle on his desk flickered and caught his attention. His thoughts now moved towards what the boy Derklydes had told him up on the watch tower and he remembered the words of the priest Eunerich spoken now so long ago.

Were the tribes united now? The thought made his blood run cold. The only reason why they had been defeated in the first place was because they had stood divided, quarrelling and warring with each other even when the Empire invaded.

If they inspired all the other nations under Corinthian rule to rebel, the army of the Empire would surely break to pieces. Many of its soldiers were from those conquered countries. If that happened would his people die, or become enslaved themselves?

Why had the council of ephors at the court of Corinthia dismissed his claims that the barbarians were massing? Despite no hard evidence surely they could see the threat as well as he could, had not the Gods themselves imparted this knowledge to Eunerich, to the Corinthian priests themselves?

He had asked for more forts built further north, to support those few that stood there now, but the same replies came to silence him each time.

“We have our armies too thinly spread out across the Empire to garrison more forts in the north.” One would say.

“The war in the west is taking up all our forces and resources, nothing can be spared.” Another would reveal, not able to look at Ariston directly when he spoke.

If the barbarians did come they could drive deep into the northlands, into Thracadonia and Germaous and then into the heart of the Empire itself. Would they listen to him then, when it would be almost irrefutably late to save most of the great Empire?

He had tried to convince his father to talk to someone with authority on these matters, someone who had some control over the ephors. His father’s influence and reputation across Corinthia had been responsible for Ariston’s promotion and attachment to Fort Paxtas and so he had hoped he could use it once again.

His father was ignored and Ariston marched north, unable to press the matter further in person, only urging them in despatched letters. He had not received a reply other than that of the date to expect the relief force.

A hard knock came at his door. He raised himself from the seat and opened the stout oak door, which creaked loudly on its hinges. Lexicus stood before him; his face told Ariston he bore urgent news.

“Come in Lexicus, I take it what you have to say will not bring relief to my heart.” Lexicus looked at him gravely and shook his head.

“Come, sit yourself down you look tired.” Ariston pulled out the seat he had occupied and offered it to his friend, and rounding the table he pulled out the chair opposite the centurion and sat down himself.

He placed his elbows on the table and stared into the old man’s eyes, waiting for him to proceed. Lexicus spoke clearly so that his words would be understood in an instant.

“Not good news I’m afraid. When we arrived at Fuxtar we found tracks, most of them faded on the trail but still visible to a keen tracker. There were deep lines in the grass and mud, indicating several carts had moved through this way, perhaps bearing heavy loads. We moved into the village and found it to be strangely quiet.” Ariston stopped him there.

“What do you mean quiet. Was the village deserted?”

“Well, on my previous trips to Fuxtar I had always seen the place bustling with activity. It may be a small village but there would always be noise. It was not deserted, as we made our way towards the gates we saw women and children by the river and smoke rose from above its walls. They were there, just not all of them. I did not see one man of fighting age within its wooden walls.” Ariston’s heart raced, was this it, had it begun?

“When we questioned some of the villagers they refused to answer our questions, until a girl mentioned that all the men had gone away. Further inquiry revealed nothing; the girl refused to say anything more.

“It was then that Valorous called to me from the gates, I had sent him scouting around the village and the woods. He had found something that I believe tells us that they are preparing some kind of attack.

“A short distance into the woods we located many abandoned burnt out campfires that suggests many men have been living in the forest. Also, lots of the trees have been cut down. We did not find anything more because I thought it would be best to return here and tell you this. I feared the village women would warn the men that we were snooping about the place.” Ariston was silent; he stared at the table briefly.

“You did the right thing, good work Lexicus. Go get some rest, in an hour I will call a meeting of all officers on and off duty, I will expect you then.”

“Do you think they will attack us?” Lexicus asked, already aware of the answer.

“Lets hope there just preparing a festival that needs lots of wood.” Ariston replied, in no way relieved by his joke.


*


Ariston studied the expressions on his officers’ faces as Lexicus told them what he had discovered at Fuxtar. They listened well; he could see the worry on some of their faces and could understand their concern. Some of these men had been here for years, waiting to be relieved and sent home to their families. Now within months of seeing their homes the barbarians had stirred, which could mean only one thing, trouble.

“How can we be sure they aren’t just chopping the forest down for firewood, and are bringing it back in the carts?” The question was put forth by Claudius, the centurion who led the 7th cohort. He was in his early thirties and had been in Fort Paxtas for a little over a year. From what Ariston knew of him the man had been a farmer before enlisting to fight for the glory of the Empire.

“The barbarians do not trust us at all. I think they hid there forces in the forest, which would explain the campfires.” All eyes turned on the new speaker. It was Sarpedon, another senior officer in his forties. Sarpedon’s rank was well respected; being the prafectus castrorum he was responsible for the organisation and training of the legion. The grey in his beard and the scars that littered his once fetching appearance portrayed his years of experience of combat and hard living; one could tell he had tried his hand at no other career than that of the army. A nod of agreement met his calm words from the gathered officers.

“We can’t ignore what was seen; now we must decide on the action to take.” Ariston spoke plainly. The room was silent, no one offered a suggestion each man troubled by his dark thoughts.

“I will send a despatch to Fort Cyprus, to tell them there what we have seen and to make sure they are ready for an attack. An emissary should be sent to the barbarians to discuss peace if possible, and to truly find out what they are planning.” No one countered Ariston’s words.

“I will go talk to the barbarians of Mokkuralfi, I know the Chieftain of that tribe, his name is Ithalk and he is a good man, one who will perhaps listen to what we have to say and talk the rest of the barbarians out of going to war. My squire should accompany me and that’s all.” He nodded as if what he had suggested was final. Ariston stared at him and nodded.

“If they aren’t prepared to listen they will most likely kill you.” He spoke with unreserved sincerity.

“I know. That’s why I should be the one to go. If they kill me my loss won’t be greatly felt, my sword-arm and stamina aren’t what they used to be and if they attack...” Ariston looked at the old man and could see the determination on his face. Lexicus would not be dissuaded.

“Very well,” Ariston paused and let out a small sigh, “Lexicus shall talk to the barbarians. In the mean time I want scouts in the mountains and also along the Esturous. A rider must be sent forth with haste; I must get in contact with Tribune Lucus at Fort Cyprus!” Ariston had already written most of the letter during the time it had taken to arrange and gather his officers. He went about adding the final details from the discussion before dismissing his men, handing the piece of paper to his Primus Pilus, his first centurion Lexicus.

“Find someone good old man,” he whispered touching the centurion on his shoulder as though he were saying goodbye. He watched Lexicus handle the message in his old veined hands.

“Don’t worry lad, everything will be fine.” Lexicus gave a smile and Ariston once again felt like he was in the presence of the wisest grandfather to walk the earth. Lexicus turned and followed the rest of the officers out of the room.

Lexicus left the room with his heart heavy. His palms were sweating and he felt the bitter cold night even more harshly. He walked to the barracks and was greeted along the way by a figure hidden in darkness.

“Evening!” the figure called.

“Valorous?” Lexicus asked the shadow.

“Yes sir,” Valorous stepped into some light cast from the moon and Lexicus could see who he was talking to. Just the man I’m after!

“Valorous, I need you to ride out to Fort Cyprus and pass this message to the Tribune.” He passed the youth the folded paper and gave a nod, “be careful.” Valorous nodded and departed. He was gone as soon as he found his horse.

Lexicus watched the warrior ride off into the night. Once Valorous had vanished from site he walked to the stables, where he found his horse was already set up for a ride. Eyte’s was sitting in the saddle of his own animal.

“Thought you would be the one going to talk to the tribes,” he spoke sadly; fully aware of the danger his master and mentor was riding towards.
“You’re a good lad,” Lexicus said, grunting as he heaved himself up onto the saddle. He turned to look at his squire with fondness but his smile was quickly replaced by a frown. He took out a paper from his pack that hung at his side and opened it. Eyte’s stared at him, was he just opening a private despatch!

Lexicus cleared his throat and made ready to announce what was on the paper. It was as if a town crier had wandered into the fort, so clear and ear-piercing was his voice.

“You are no longer in my service young squire, you are a free man!” Eyte’s eyes widened. What was the old fool doing, had he just set him free? He stared at the centurion dumbfounded unable to find the words to express his gratitude.

“You know as well as I do Eyte’s that this could well be a suicide mission, but duty must be done, I just hope I can talk some sense into Ithalk!”

“I will ride with you ‘white-beard’.” He said sternly. One look could tell he would not take no for an answer.

“Is that the name you have been calling me behind my back all these years?”

“There are many others, but I won’t say them out loud,” Eyte’s laughed followed by Lexicus’ hearty rumble. Then they rode from the safety of the fort and their comrades, into the dangers of the night and isolation.


*

Valorous spurred his horse forwards, keeping low on his saddle as though he were racing. He could feel the rush of wind against his face; it was always cold at night. Through the Esturo plains he galloped, a trail of dust the only sign of his passing, so silent was the rhythmic tread of the horse’s hooves upon the soft thick grass.

A rider unskilled at such stealthy work on a beast would have failed to stop the metal of his armour from crashing against his shield and greaves creating noise and giving away his position. Valorous covered this like a phantom.

What was in the despatch? Were the barbarians planning an assault on the Empire? What better chance for glory he thought as he rode past the camp mile marker; a small stone inscribed with the distance to Fort Cyprus.

It read two miles.

In the darkness he could not see the fortification. Where were the torches that should be burning on the lookout towers? Perhaps he could not see them. Valorous covered those miles quickly, spurring his steed on vigorously until the solid shape of the forts wooden walls met him.

The outpost was strangely dark. Even at night one should see a light from far away burning bright and clear as though it were a beacon. He slowed his horse to a trot and approached the fort with caution.

He climbed from his saddle with the silence of an assassin and moved towards the fort. He was now no more than twenty yards from the gates, which were wide open, as though it were left like that inviting anyone in. It was deadly silent, only the fluttering sound of a tent met his ears, no laughter or chat amongst the soldiers could be heard from within Fort Cyprus.

Valorous drew his sword, unable to prevent the sound of it ringing in the night air. He stalked into the camp boldly. It was smaller than Fort Paxtas, only able to fit just three cohorts within its confines. It was empty.

Where was everyone? If there had been a fight there would have been signs of it, bodies on the ground, broken weapons and blood. Not even an arrow head could be seen on the ground.

Valorous started searching the tents and found them deserted; nothing was there, no personal equipment that belonged to those who had lived here. Valorous searched the small wood lodge that held the officers of high rank last. He found the small armoury empty and the food store barren. Dust blew across its floor mischievously.

What could have happened here? There had been no fight of that Valorous was certain. He had seen the horrors of combat before at the ‘Fields of Slaughter’ in Southern Kamidia, the battle that had left over twenty thousand men dead on both sides. Valorous would never be able to shake the image of the field filled with corpses, the blood was so thick on the hard ground it had turned it to sludge and he had slipped during the fighting on more than several occasions.

It was obvious what had happened. The garrison had left the fort, though Valorous could think of nothing to explain why Fort Paxtas had not been informed of this movement. All the weapons and supplies had been taken so they would not fall into enemy hands, always a common procedure. The tribes must be massing for war.

Valorous left the fort and mounted his steed which had been waiting patiently for him, head lowered to the ground munching on the parched grass.
Fort Coriolanus was a short distance away; he would search there too and hope to find some answers. He raced onwards. The grass was replaced by patchy thin turf and solid ground, the hard sound of the horse’s hooves thundered across the plain, no longer blanketing his movement.

It took Valorous three hours to reach Fort Coriolanus. It was a bigger fortification than Cyprus and stood out upon the hill it was founded. No lights burned from within. Further exploration led to the same result as his investigation at Fort Cyprus.

It had been abandoned but this time it had also been left in ruins. The gates had been destroyed and most of the walls had been torn down to leave gaping holes in its defences.

Valorous’ blood ran cold as he heard thunder roar in the sky.

*

The Mokkuralfi village loomed before them. Camp fires surrounded it as far as the eye could see. Lexicus could hear the voices of those who crowded around the fires, shouting in their course tongue.

Lexicus and Eyte’s lay on the soft grass of a small knoll overlooking the site before them with horror.

“There must be thousands of warriors here.” Whispered Eyes’s, his eyes wide and filled with both awe and fear. Lexicus nodded. He looked across to the village. He would have to go past the barbarian camp if he wanted to talk to Ithalk.

“Well, no point in just sitting here. If I don’t move soon I don’t think I will be able to find the courage.” Lexicus stood slowly, placing his hands on the grass to lift him from the ground. He brushed the mud and grass from his robe. He was glad his scarlet tunic looked almost black in the dark; at least he won’t be spotted as a Corinthian soldier straight away. Well at least he hoped not.

“At least you fit in here.” He said, turning to his young companion, whose barbarian heritage would stand out.

“If we cross into the village I do not want you to come inside Ithalk’s hall. Watch and listen from outside, there are plenty of places to hide in there so keep to the shadows. If there is any trouble whatsoever do not come to my aid.”

“But if you are attacked…”

“Then I will die Eyte’s. One of us must inform Ariston of the evening’s events. If I can not persuade the barbarians to lie down their arms they won’t want to lose any advantage they believe they have over us by letting me leave. You must be the one to return to the fort.” Lexicus smiled and raised his hood.

They approached with caution leaving their rides to rest on the hill. Lexicus could feel his whole body screaming at him to leave, this was madness. He mustered his courage and with Eyte’s besides him stalked through the camp.

Many of the occupants were sound asleep, lying in piles covered by crude blankets besides the fire. Some were too drunk to pay them any notice while others barely cast them a glance. And why would they? They had no reason to believe a Corinthian Centurion was marching through their camp.

Lexicus stepped over a leg but brushed it with his heel; the leg shifted and was followed by a shout, deep like thunder.

“Watch where your going!” the voice said. Lexicus did not understand a word of it. It was a barbarian dialect he had not encountered before. Lexicus stared down at the form he had almost tripped over. The man was a giant.
Long blond hair flowed from his scalp. His nose had been broken so many times the shape of it had all but faded, and he had the ears of a boxer, swollen and bloodied.

Lexicus stared into the pale wild eyes of the barbarian; they were the colour of iron. Lexicus went silent, his hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. The stench of sweat and alcohol assaulted his senses as the barbarian stood to his full height and looked down at him, chest-to-chest. The man stood towering over Lexicus.

Lexicus’ heart raced, should he strike this man down? He was relieved to see the flash of metal from behind the barbarian. It was Eyte’s. The youth had crept around the giant and now with knife in hand stuck it into the clansman’s back, covering the enemy’s mouth with his right hand so he would not scream out and alert his allies.

The barbarian jerked in Eyte’s arms and tried to break free. Lexicus looked anxiously about the dimming campfire. He drew his sword quietly, worried that the noise had woken the barbarians companions.

He heard the sound of Eyte’s knife at work striking again. Twice more Eyte’s plunged the dagger deep into the foes back. The man stopped his struggles and his head dropped to the side, blood dripped from his mouth.
Eyte’s carefully lowered the body to the ground and wiped the blood from his blade with the barbarian’s tunic. Lexicus nodded his thanks and sheathed his sword. To his surprise no one had noticed.

They continued towards the walled village. Torches flickered in the wind at the gates. It was quiet within the wooden walls. Light escaped from windows in homes and the hall, where he guessed Ithalk would be.

It was the grandest building in the village, built to the highest standards known to barbarian architecture. Hints of Corinthian design could be distinguished by its red tiled roof.

“Stay there,” whispered the centurion, pointing Eyte’s attention to the west side of the building, its shortest sided wall. It was a good place to hide; there were plenty of crates and barrels lined under an opened-wall roofed building to hide behind. There was also a window if a hole in the wall could be called that, so he could see into the hall.

“Good luck,” Eyte’s offered Lexicus his hand. The centurion took it firmly.

“I’ll see you presently Eyte’s.” He said then turned towards the entrance. His pace was quick, his footsteps heavy.

Eyte’s watched Lexicus walk to the door as he moved towards the area Lexicus had pointed out to him to hide. He rushed the last few yards as he heard voices to his rear.

He crouched behind an iron rimmed barrel and pressed his body against the wall. He shook with worry as he peered through into the hall, his heart jumped at what he saw.

*
Lexicus gripped the cold door knob and opened the door. He was immediately hit by the warmth of the place and had to lower his gaze as the light hurt his night-adjusted vision. He entered the hall and drew back his hood. His heart raced but he kept the worry from his face with his usual practiced ease.

The hall was packed. All eyes were on the newcomer.

A long table stretched out before him, upon it sat a feast fit for a king, so diverse was the food and drink on offer. He could recognise spices he had only smelt while on his trips to the Asiatic nations during his youth.

Feasting around the table was a host of barbarians and dark-skinned men dressed in fine silk decorated with gold necklaces and earrings. Several stood with expressions of disbelieve.

“I have come in peace.” Lexicus addressed Ithalk. The barbarian chieftain was sat at the head of the table, his strong sons flanking him.

Ithalk stood, his eyes narrowed as if he was making sure it was a Corinthian that stood before him, not a vision brought on by drink and his imagination. He was dressed in a dark bear belt that covered his broad shoulders and muscled frame. His black beard dripped with ale and food while his eyes burned with rage.

“You should not have come here Lexicus.” Ithalk spoke, a hint of a slur in his speech. It was obvious the barbarian was drunk or getting there.

“What is going on here Ithalk, are you gathered for war?” As Lexicus took a step forward a seat was thrown back and a barbarian stood from the table, drawing his blade. The barbarian was young; barely a hair stood out on his face but it was obvious he was fuming and ready to spill blood. Ithalk shouted at him. A host of other voices joined in, all loud and full of fury.

Many stood up, hands on the hilt of their swords. Lexicus watched as the gathered barbarians looked set to fight amongst themselves. Only the dark skinned men from Asia remained seated.

“What is this I see,” remarked an Asian. He was a handsome man, his features elegant. He was dressed in the finest cloth of purple. His dark eyes and sharp voice silenced the gathered mob.

“The first Corinthian you see as a unified nation and you instantly squabble amongst yourselves. Come now, I expected better. How do you propose you will beat these warriors if you kill one another?” The man spoke good Mokkuralfian. He was a man of good education Lexicus guessed. His words seemed to find a place within the hearts of the gathered tribal leaders. They almost appeared shamed.

“So you plan on fighting us?” Lexicus spoke clearly, his gaze rooted firmly on Ithalk.

“I am sorry old friend,” muttered Ithalk in Corinthian. “But you are the invader here not I.”

“I see you have crawled to the Asians for help.” Lexicus was angry; it was obvious about the outcome of this discussion. Not even the gods could stop it.

“We have the help of Asia yes, and the Pict’s.” A cold shiver ran through the centurion’s body. The Pict’s were involved as well!

“We can not allow you to return to your fort Lexicus, even if my heart wished it, the others here will not allow it.” Ithalk lowered his gaze; Lexicus could see the sadness in the barbarian’s eyes.

“So be it!” Lexicus muttered, drawing his short sword. A red-haired barbarian charged him, a blood curdling cry parted from the foes lips. Lexicus gritted his teeth and lunged forward. His blade pierced the barbarian’s throat. Lexicus withdrew the blade and was soaked by the splash of blood that flowed from the wound. The foe dropped but two more stepped forward.

Lexicus blocked an attack that swept in low to his right and stepped backwards. The second attacker caught him in the ribs. He felt the cold steel pierce his skin and smash bone. With a cry of rage and pain Lexicus lunged once more, plunging the length of his sword in his attacker’s chest. His second attacker moved in and stabbed the centurion in the face.

The blade sheared half of Lexicus’ cheek and jaw from his face. The old man dropped to the floor with a crash. The barbarian withdrew his blade and stuck it between the shoulder blades of Lexicus’ back

[Banehero]

heres chapter three.

CHAPTER THREE


Eytes closed his eyes after he watched the barbarian withdraw his sword from the centurion’s back. His heart raced and his hands were covered with sweat. He held back the tears that were swelling round his eyes.

Lexicus was dead. The man had been like a father to Eytes and was the only man he ever truly trusted. Now the man’s lifeless corpse spilt blood onto the ground.

Eytes wanted to drive his own blade into the barbarian and was angered even more when he watched another large red-haired barbarian cut Lexicus’ head from his body.

The barbarian held the head by the long grey hair and thrust it into the air with a roar of triumph. What a victory Eytes thought, killing an old man outnumbered. He turned away in disgust.

There was nothing he could do. If Eytes attacked he would be killed also, and Lexicus did not want that. The old man had told him to tell Ariston about the events of the evening, not squander his life needlessly. He had more than enough information to impart. War was inevitable.

Eytes composed himself and moved from his hiding place. The village despite the heated last few moments within the hall was still quiet and calm, as though it were a blanket covering the eyes of a child from slaughter. Eytes kept to the shadows and left the way he had come.

He passed the barbarian he had stabbed and killed on the journey across the camp and noticed he had been left exactly as he had laid him. A pool of blood was thick under the body.

The dead mans eyes stared at the youth, a look of horror and puzzlement engraved his features. A chill ran down his spine, was this guilt? Eytes had murdered before, but now with the death of Lexicus on his mind, the lifeless corpse did nothing but scar his soul further.

He arrived at the knoll shaking and sobbing, unable to keep back the despair from overwhelming his senses any longer. He dropped to his knees and placed his head in his hands, feeling the water cascading down his cheeks on his palms.

The wind was hard against him and the sky promised cold bitter rain. He mounted his horse and wiped his face to eliminate the tears from his cheeks. He took a firm grip on Lexicus’ white steed and kicked his horse’s flanks to start it moving.

“Hold right there!” A voice cried from the darkness. Eytes could hear and understand the barbarian dialect. Fearful of an arrow springing from out of the pitch, Eytes slowed his horse to a trot; perhaps he could try and talk his way out. He was thankful that he bore no markings of a Corinthian soldier upon him; only Lexicus’ horse would give that away.

Eytes noticed figures moving towards him. In the dark they looked as though they were phantoms or spirits of evil, he counted three, though he could not guess at how many more of them hid in the darkness.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” one called in a light-hearted voice. Eytes struggled to find an answer; his mind had almost shut down from the despair in his heart. He gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if need be.

He could see the three men clearly now as they stopped by his horse. All of them were short. Long filthy hair stuck to their faces, thick beards as black as the night held crumbs of food in place. In their hands and carried by broad shoulders and strong arms were spears simply crafted from wood, no bronze point flashed at their tops. At least they were poorly equipped.

One stepped forward and raised the point of his spear to Eytes chest. The man looked at the white steed.

“Nice animal, looks like a Corinthian race horse to me,” the man muttered and spat onto the ground.

“What you doing with that horse boy?” Another came closer, flashing an unfriendly grimace, his grip on the spear firm. “Looks like you’re a greedy lad; a boy ‘ain’t in need of two horses.” It was clear to Eytes that these men cared little about whose side he was on. They were thieves and murderers most likely, bored and frustrated looking for fun. Now they had found it.

“Let me be, I have no quarrel with you.” Eytes spoke bluntly, hoping the confidence in his voice would persuade the men to think twice about attacking him.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” the three laughed in short bursts. He noticed the third man had gone around to take a look at Lexicus’ horse. The animal was uneasy and paced backwards, away from the approaching barbarian.

The spear at Eytes chest prodded him roughly, he remained calm, trying to control the urge to break free and race away.

“Don’t be thinking about that,” the man said, indicating the sword at Eytes side. He would have to act and act fast.

Eytes grabbed the tip of the spear in an iron grip, much to the surprise of the barbarian and pulled it upwards, drawing his opponent towards him. The flash of steel and metal ring of sword being drawn from sheath followed. In one movement Eytes slashed the black haired man across the throat. Thick blood shot from the wound like a garden water feature. He gurgled and collapsed.

“Bjorn!” One of the dead mans companions cried; anger streaked his face as he lunged with the spear. Eytes kicked his horse and started it moving. The spear sank into its flanks. The horse reared upwards, flinging its rider to the ground before it fell.

Eytes could hear its cries of pain as it trashed on the ground, unable to comprehend its peril. The spear was stuck firmly in it and its owner desperately struggled with both hands to retrieve his weapon but achieved nothing but lack of breath and red puffing cheeks.

Eytes could feel numbness take his shoulder and right arm; it was possibly broken from the fall. He still had his sword gripped in hand and noticed the unarmed barbarian tugging furiously at his trapped spear.

Eytes ran towards him and sank his blade into the barbarian’s sternum. The crack of bone and puncture of flesh filled his ears. The foe screamed in agony. Eytes turned to face the last man but could see the foe had thrown courage to the wind and had decided to run. Eytes looked at the scene that surrounded him. Two men lay still on the grass, along with his horse. It looked up at him sadly before Etyes put it out of its misery.

Lexicus’ steed Facilis decensus Averno – ‘the road to Hell is easy’, named so because of its racing feats, stood emotionless on the path. Eytes would have to ride him home. He gripped the reins drawing the noble animal close to him. He stroked its head to dispel the fear that must have taken a grip on his heart.

He cleaned his sword as best he could on the grass and with a patch of torn cloth, brushed away the pieces of flesh and gore that clung to the blade.

Eytes looked at his arm now that he had the time to; he was pleased to find he could still move it up and down. The arm was not broken as he had first assumed, just bruised.

Rain poured then from the heavens and thunder rumbled in the skies, within minutes he would be soaked. Eytes settled himself upon the saddle.

He felt weak; all the anger that had boiled inside had been released. Sheathing his sword he rode towards Fort Paxtas, relieved that he could still pass on the news Lexicus had died to retrieve.



*


The morning sun came out from behind the mountains but its light was covered by clouds, the sky was dark and threatened yet more rain. The storm of the last night had taken its toll on the fort. The winds had been strong and full of determination; they simply had to break something with their natural power.

Repairs had been started and made to the walls, while men sat on rooftops, red tiles in their hands to replace those which had fallen and shattered during the evening storm.

Ariston stood at the centre of the parade ground overlooking the repairs, helping out where he could. This was what made the soldiers of the fort like their commander; he was a man unafraid of getting his hands dirtied by tasks he could easily leave to someone else.

Most men of his rank used their position to advance their own careers away from the military, using it to gain access to politics and the courtrooms. But this man, Ariston, a son of a great world renowned philosopher and politician, did not share those traits of greed for power as many did. He seemed to take pride in the legion he had been given.

This pride was Ariston’s love. These were his men; each and every life was his responsibility. He could not stand idly by while his men slaved away.

Ariston moved through the fort, stopping to address his men, not in the condescending tone of an officer but as a comrade, a friend. He would place his hand upon shoulder, greeting them by name or nickname.

He stopped before a man on a ladder, a short black haired soldier with sunken eyes rimmed with the darkness lack of sleep brings.

“Most of ‘em are cracked,” the man exclaimed, throwing broken pieces of tiles onto a larger pile on the ground.

“Almost makes you wonder why we bother Thraclydes!” Ariston joked. The tiles would always need replacing after a storm, but he had to keep the place in order and there was rarely a more dazzling site whenever the sun hit the
Corinthian tiles, it would remind Ariston of being back home.

Thraclydes rubbed the side of his crooked nose roughly and looked towards the pile of tiles he had stacked up besides the wall to replace the old damaged ones. Before he took two steps from the ladder Ariston had some in his hands. He passed them to Thraclydes who nodded his thanks.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ariston walked on. Lexicus and his squire had yet to return, nor the despatch rider who Ariston had later learned to be Valorous. This was bad news. Was the old man dead? What had happened to the despatch?

Was it mere coincidence or the work of the God’s that brought a worn out looking Valorous through the gates that very instant of contemplation?

His horse was exhausted; its sides frantically moved back and forth as it gasped for air, its head was lowered to the ground as though the beast had lost all strength to hold his head up.

Valorous leapt from his horse and watched it drop to the ground, flinging dust into the air. The horse collapsed at Valorous’ feet. He knelt beside the beast and stroked its neck softly. He had pushed it too far. Its eyes were wide with fear but they closed and it ceased its struggles.

Dirt covered Valorous’ face from the plains, his hair caked in dust thrown up from the ride. Ariston could see he was tired and confused.
“What does Tribune Lucus have to say?” Ariston asked, looking over the expired animal.

“I think its best I told you away from the men,” Valorous spoke; the usual arrogance of his voice had been replaced by one that sounded distant and detached. Ariston nodded.

He ordered the horse corpse removed from the fort; though he knew despite his order the men would most likely use it for food, cutting themselves the choicest pieces outside Fort Paxtas’ walls.

A group of soldiers tied its hind legs to a cart and drove its oxen forwards, towards the gates. The beasts moaned as they dragged their burden across the ground.

Ariston’s scarlet cloak fluttered in the wind behind him as he led Valorous to his chambers. Ariston offered him a drink, a glass of red wine he took from a plain bottle from his shelf. He poured himself a glass also, slowly and with practiced care.

Valorous took the wine and consumed the liquid quickly. Ariston simply sipped his wine, he swirled the liquid in his mouth before swallowing it.
“Fort Cyprus is deserted sir,” Valorous took out the letter he had been ordered to pass to the Tribune and handed it back to Ariston, it was still sealed.

“I rode to Fort Coriolanus as well, the place was empty. As far as I could tell it has been deserted for a few days at the very least.”

Ariston sat down and drank from his glass deeply, finishing it.

“I have heard nothing from Tribune’s Lucus and Alicabes, why would they leave their posts without informing me?” Ariston asked the question but expected no adequate answer from the man before him.

“This is grave news indeed. It mystifies me and I am at a loss. Lexicus has not returned either.” Valorous’ blank expression told him he knew nothing of Lexicus’ mission.

“He went to talk to the barbarians last night, to the Mokkuralfi village. If anything good came from the meeting, surely he would have returned. I fear the worst has happened.” Ariston related it briefly, his face a mask of seriousness.

Suddenly a knock came, hurried and urgent against the oak. The door flung open to reveal a shivering blood covered form. The figure staggered into the room regardless of an order to do so.

“Lexicus is dead!” The man cried. Ariston could see it was Lexicus’ squire Eytes. He was even dirtier than Valorous; dried blood covered his tunic and arms, splashes of it lined his face. Some of the blood had clearly been washed away by the rain, but even that could not wipe away the stains of death from his clothes.

Ariston sprang to his feet and helped Eytes onto the seat. He lowered him onto the cushion.

“They killed him!” Eytes looked enraged, even Valorous appeared shocked.

“Its war Ariston, war, but we do not battle against the barbarian alone, nay, but myriads of Asians, Pict’s and mercenaries as well!” Eytes did not relax on his seat. He carried on raving.

“We saw thousands of them along the shores and around the village. Barbarians of every kind, red haired Vanyir from the cold utter north, blond brown and black hairs united of the Kalami tribes. There is not stopping this tide from washing over is, and the Pict’s will hound us even more to the west. War Ariston!”

“Then it is clear why Fort’s Cyprus and Coriolanus are now empty, their men gone. They must have moved out but to where, back to Thracadonia?” Ariston placed a firm hand upon Eytes shoulder.

“You look tired; I can see you have had your share of trouble. I was told, from a rumour spreading like a market place gossip through my fort that you are now a free man. You shall be entitled to that which Lexicus gave you, I promise.

“Valorous, take care of Eytes, I want you to report back to me in twenty minutes, I have something for you do to, though it will mean more riding.” Valorous gave a salute and left the chamber, supporting Eytes as he went. Ariston looked at Eytes and could feel his heart tear asunder. Lexicus had done his duty, in doing so he had lost his life, a life that had in such a short time endured itself upon Ariston.

In all those hard days at the fort, Lexicus had been a constant source of marvel, from his military skills and experience through to his wit and intelligence, which made him appear more of a philosopher than a warrior.

The old centurions mind was keen and always wanted to express itself. The man could move about the camp and start a debate with anyone, including the servants and slaves of the camp.

Now he would never sit down with him again and discuss the qualities of man and the God’s and other such things. He knew his father would have liked him, imagining the many heated conversations they would have had if they had met.

A numbing sense overwhelmed him as though he could not quite assimilate and acknowledge the news of Lexicus’ death. He took out a plain piece of paper and composed a letter he would send to Thracadonia, scribbling neatly but quickly:


To the Legatus Supreme of Thracadonia, Xareos son of Maximus, Legatus Ariston sends his greetings.
It is with great urgency I send you this letter, my deepest fear has been realised and I am afraid we are all alone here in Kalami. Do you know already of the barbarian horde that masses here against us?
Fort Cyprus and Coriolanus have been abandoned and I would like to know the reason for this, and why I was not informed of this movement.
I seek orders, do you wish us to move or stand our ground? What are the courts wishes? How soon can we expect aid if our orders are to remain in Fort Paxtas? Time is of the essence, please reply as soon as possible.


Ariston signed the letter and allowed the ink to dry before he folded it in half and sealed it with wax. He would have to sit and wait until he had the response from Thracadonia. It was his duty and he would see it through despite the possible negative conclusion of this decision.

When Valorous returned his skin shined healthily, the dirt had been washed away from his face and hair. Valorous told Ariston of Eytes struggle to return to the fort, and of the men he had slain. The youth had committed and acted amazingly well.

Ariston sat at his desk and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. His gaze was on the three men before him, Valorous, Glavious and Derklydes. They stood at attention dressed in shining armour sparkling from a recent sheen. Derklydes had his giant horn bow with him and a quiver of its long arrows, the points of which were more than five inches long, enough to unnerve even the stoutest of men.

“Thracadonia is far, ride fast. Good luck gentlemen, May the God’s grant you safe passage and a speedy return.” The letter was passed once again into the hands of Valorous. Ariston knew if any man could deliver the letter with speed it was this man and the two who flanked him.

In them he had youthful energy and a long range threat with Derklydes and his bow, and Olympic champions famous throughout the lands for their achievements upon the sports fields in Valorous and Glavious. Two more men would accompany them at Valorous’ choice. He watched them leave and lowered his head. He was tired; the storm had kept him up and so did worry. He closed his eyes to rest but knew he shouldn’t.

He stood up quickly; he needed to start the collection of food and water to be brought into the fort from the crop-fields that surrounded Fort Paxtas and to prepare his men for the worst.

*

Ithalk planted the spade into the earth and hoisted it up, tossing the dirt upon a large pile besides him. The grave was deep enough now and he dropped the spade to the ground satisfied with his efforts.

His chest and back was damp with sweat and he wiped his forehead. At his feet was the headless body of his Corinthian friend Lexicus. He almost shivered at the site, not through fear, but from the whole absurdness of the situation.

Ithalk placed his large hands on the body and pulled with all his strength. He dragged and dropped the body into the freshly dug grave carefully, out of respect for his friend.

He looked over at the village, his village that had become the meeting point of the tribes. As far as the eye could see spread the myriads of campfires, more than he had ever seen in his life. By the shores were banked ships from Asia, there sails bright and colourful, flying in the morning wind.

There must have been well over sixty thousand men waiting to be unleashed upon the Empire around those campfires alone, most of which were now cooking breakfast. This was a force capable of beating back the invader, possibly all the way to the heart of the Empire itself.

For the first time in his fifty years Ithalk had seen his countrymen work together, perhaps times were indeed changing and the Kalami could finally live as one nation.

But then last night showed just how fragile the tribal alliance really was, if it had not been for Asian intervention blood would have been spilt, not Corinthian blood, but that of barbarian against barbarian. If that had happened all the last few years work would have been wasted.

His attention fell upon the swollen pale body of Lexicus. The spade was picked up and Ithalk began to cover it with dirt. Once he had finished he place a rock on the grave, a small blank stone and spoke the ancient words of his people to prepare the body for its next life.

Ithalk’s people’s concept of the afterlife differed from Lexicus’, the barbarian people believed that once the body had been placed in the grave it would take on a new form, animated with a strange life and power. The dead person would live a pseudo-life in the confines of his grave, not as a spirit or a ghost but as the undead.

The words he spoke would ease the transition and keep the undead away from the living. He did not know the old man’s burial customs so this would have to do.

“Rest now dead brother, let go your earthly passions and stay here where you lie, in honour and peace.” He turned down the hill.

Riders were approaching at a leisurely pace up the slope, riders dressed in bright purple silk, their wicker shields seemed huge in their hands. At the centre of the riders was the man responsible for keeping the barbarians from tearing each other apart when Lexicus had untimely arrived. He was a man who enjoyed the love of the Lord of Asia, a man with power.

The sun shone fiercely upon him; this man from Asia, but a giant white fan was held over him by a handsome tall servant dressed almost as lavishly as the rest of the group. Every now and again he would wave the fan to cool the lord down.

“Greetings Cyruss!” Ithalk called down to the Asian aristocrat. Cyruss smiled politely from behind the fan. His handsome features stood out for all to see, he stared with eyes as sharp as a hawk, and as clear as water. He was dressed as fancy as always. The costumes of the Asians amused the barbarian greatly and today Cyruss did not disappoint him.

He wore a light blue robe lined with pearls, the fabric shined like armour. Gold adorned his fingers, thick elegant rings of coiled snakes with eyes of red jewels and Asiatic patterns unknown to him each worth more than Ithalk possessed.

The party stopped next to the sweating barbarian. Cyruss rose from his seat on the palanquin he travelled upon, a beautifully crafted ornament of gold and silver. Elephants and tigers ran across its side, as well as warriors of Asia fighting past glories, immortalised forever on the walls of the carriage.

“Why did you bury that man? Don’t you hate the Corinthians” Cyruss had watched Ithalk work on the grave. Ithalk shook his head.

“Man’s nature is war; the people of Kalami aren’t saint’s man of Asia. TheCorinthian’s are a strong race, a people united for one purpose. I will see them out of Kalami not see them utterly destroyed, not every man among them are dogs but men of honour. This man was a man worthy of respect, though he was my enemy.” Cyruss appeared amused at the answer. His long curling moustache was stroked by his hands as he considered what was said.

“This army we gather is to destroy and enslave them isn’t it? That’s what I thought you have worked so hard for, all these years. I have interesting news my friend. The Pict’s have started a relentless assault in the west, the war there is at its most critical point. You know as well as I do the trouble the Empire faces from a further attack to the north.

“Their forces are spread as thin as paper. It will only take one action to pierce a gaping hole in their defences. The time is now Ithalk, your people are already moving out,” Cyruss gestured east, there were lines of men marching out as one army, almost Ithalk thought, as disciplined as the enemy ranks, however false that appearance was. It was like one giant serpent slithering along the land, picking up more men as it went.

“The siege shall start shortly, their will be plenty of eager men running to death this week. There has already been blood spilt last night. Two bodies were reported by a scout upon yonder hill.” Ithalk pointed out the hill where Eytes had fought for his life. The bodies of the men were reported immediately by the man who had fled and buried quickly and quietly. Ithalk and the tribal chieftains were the only ones who knew of the incident, it was kept like that to stop the fear of Corinthian justice already striking out at the barbarians before they launch their own attack. There must have been another rider with Lexicus.

If that was true the man should have returned to the Fort and alarmed them. Would they now be getting ready for a siege? It was too much to hope for that the man had seen their peril and simply deserted like the other fort garrisons that surrounded the last remaining enemy fort in the country.

“Then it truly begins.” Ithalk said almost as though he was regretful for the role he played in arranging the horde. Cyruss smiled.

“It began the day you sailed to Asia my friend.”

[Banehero]

Heres chapter four : )


CHAPTER FOUR


Crixus shivered violently as he pulled his cloak about him. He rubbed at his tired eyes, wiping giant flakes of sleeping dust from the corners right by his nose.

An eagle soared majestically in the sky. For a moment Crixus wished he could be that eagle, a king of the skies, how wonderful it must be to be a bird of prey, flying high with the wind beneath him, far from the troubles of mankind.

Crixus watched the eagle soar over the other side of the valley as he stood to take in the fresh gulps of air found in the mountains.

The eagle swooped in and landed on the opposite bluff. It had caught something, though Crixus could not make out the black writhing form held firmly in its talons. The eagle feasted.

He always enjoyed wandering the mountains in the morning; the early views were amazing before the regular mist descended on the summit. Sunlight caught the summit before Crixus, Anthena Peak; it was a vast expanse of smooth rock with an assortment of rocky pinnacles rising from it like the udder of an inverted cow.

Crixus could clearly see the fort and the valley that literally split the mountain range in two separate halves of equal splendour. He could see the shimmer of the sea in the distance to the northwest as he turned to face his companion who sat cross-legged besides the spit, roasting breakfast above the fire.

“How long till my bastard stomach gets its fill?” he asked bitterly, he was frustrated and cold, the clothes on his back were damp and he was hungry. Ageaous flicked back his long dark hair that had fallen close to the flames. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“It’s ready now.” Ageaous said with a smile. Crixus sat down besides his friend, the warmth of the fire washed over his cold form.

Ageaous took out a small knife from his pack and began cutting pieces from the prepared food. It was only a rabbit caught earlier that very morning. It was a scrawny meal not large enough to fill both their growling stomachs, but it was a meal never-the-less. What could be eaten was separated into equal shares. They ate as loudly as their stomachs had protested, chomping down the food with water from their skins.

Once they finished Ageaous stamped out the fire while Crixus covered the cave hole they had spent the night in with debris. How lucky they had been to reach the summit and the safe hole before the sky had unleashed its fury. They had been soaked lightly on the climb but had managed to find the cover they needed before the severe wind, rain and lightning had hit.

Today they would spy on the mountain tribes of Kuloc and Kamda, the ‘Bear-fighters’ of the north. Crixus could see smoke rising from their villages situated on the slopes and amongst the trees of the mountain forest that clung to the granite cliffs.

They made there way towards Kamda, the closer of the two tribes, carefully picking there way down the slope towards the valley. At times Ageaous would drop a rope to climb down, and left it there for the way back, when descent would be impossible otherwise.

The storm of the night had made the pass and trails tricky to cover, lots of hand and footholds simply could not be tackled due to the sludge the water had turned them too.

The journey was separated into climbing and descending, over one rock to the next and down another. They crossed narrow ridges where the winds blew dangerously, though the ridge had been blunted and trampled by the scores of men who had used this route in the past.

It was midday by the time they arrived at the great expanse before the village. Crixus stared down the hill in horror. Ageaous who had stumbled far behind the larger man arrived minutes later to find Crixus behind the cover of a large dislodged boulder that had fallen many years prior. Ageaous could see why.

Men clad in thick black and white bear pelts armed to the teeth with long spears, axes and swords swarmed about in large groups below. There were hundreds of them. There stood men in armour as splendid as that worn by the Corinthian’s, these were instructing groups of barbarians, moving them in close formations, almost like the Corinthian Phalanx.

To Ageaous’ horror they seemed to move with a discipline not unlike a professional army, though he knew this was not the case. The barbarians had no paid army; these men were just farmers mostly by trade, as such unskilled in the art of warfare. Now they marched in lines sixty spears across and five ranks deep. Who were these armoured men who trained them? Neither Crixus nor Agaeous could place the armour.

“Mercenaries,” whispered Crixus, spitting a load of phlegm onto the ground. Ageaous nodded. The armour was so mismatched those wearing it appeared almost like gladiators from the colosseum.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Ageaous pointed Crixus to a group trailing east; they were probably marching to the villages along the river Esturous. Others marched smartly towards them.

“The buggers are coming this way!” muttered Crixus. He looked about for more suitable cover. Ageaous put his hand on Crixus’ shoulder.

“We shouldn’t move they might see us.” Crixus gave a nod and remained crouched against the boulder. The front of the line of barbarians was no further than twenty yards from them now.

The two kept low in the rocks and shrubbery, hearts pounding anxiously. The enemy moved passed them without even casting a glance up the slope. Each man appeared focused on the march, eyes front, unwavering.

This was the first time Crixus had seen the ‘Bear-fighters’ so close. He had heard of their power and fighting prowess since he was a child. The stories of Orin the Hunter had filled his childish slave’s heart with dreams of adventure.

Now he was within a stone-throw from these famous warriors. There were bearded men with fierce eyes and young men barely into their teens as clean-shaven as the boys they were, moving in the line of marching feet.

At the front of the line was a large grey-haired barbarian giant almost as big as centurion Paxtas. In his right hand and carried like a walking stick was a weapon Crixus knew he would have great difficulty wielding with both hands. It was a demon of an axe that looked capable of delivering a crippling blow even to the peaks themselves.

They walked out of site but could still be heard marching as they disappeared round the bend that led to the valley.

“They are moving towards the pass, we better inform Lampolo.” Ageaous spoke quickly. They would have to back up the way they had come, stealthily. Ageaous crawled belly down on the ground to avoid being seen. Crixus just paced up the hill in a crouch. As they moved up each man cast a nervous glance back down to the village.

Crixus struggled for breath by the time he stumbled upon the third cohort, camped at the pass exit. The troops were mostly un-armoured and sat by their equipment, shields at rest on knees in pockets of small groups scattered across the pass. Men were laughing at some joke that had some rolling on their backs.

“There’s Lampolo.” Ageaous led Crixus sight to the centurion who led the cohort. From there position on the rocks they could see his giant transverse-crested officer’s helmet; the dyed horse-hair blew madly in the wind.

Lampolo was sitting amongst his troops, enjoying a little food and wine within a circle of friends.

“Ah Crixus, care for some Thracadonian wine and hot cakes?” shouted Lampolo as he looked up from his party to notice the pair pacing for him.

“Hot cakes?” Crixus mumbled to Ageaous as they rushed to meet the centurion. Ageaous smiled at the comment.

Lampolo was a beast of a man, broad of shoulder. His face was a picture of Corinthian good looks, he wore his black hair shoulder length to emphasise this. His pale blue eyes were calm and joyful as he looked over the sweating, panting forms facing him.

“Out for a morning run boys?” Lampolo’s voice was always loud and friendly. Today was no exception.

“You know how it is,” Crixus replied. A sweet aroma filled the air, it was the cakes.

“Don’t they look fancy,” Crixus implied as he stared at a cake handed to him by the centurion. He looked at it comically. “You lot would fit right in those fancy theatres back home with these.”

“Yes but not with these,” a bearded soldier drew his gladius with a wily smile.

“Or perhaps you should be up eating cakes and swinging that on stage Euripdes!” Crixus joked, the circle of men laughed.

“Got some news to report, the ‘Bear-fighters’ are on the move, there’s a few of the bastards too.” Ageaous turned the laughter to seriousness. He related to the group what he had seen outside the village and of the watch they had held over the moving barbarians as they travelled through the pass.

“Well it looks like there heading right for us!” Lampolo bellowed, looking north where dust clouds rose from behind the peaks. Lampolo stood to his full height, a clear head taller than every soldier under his command and peered about his troops.

Some had been watching the newcomers and had wandered over to hear what Ageaous had to say, most however had stared over to the clouds kicked up by the advancing enemy. Lampolo flashed his wide smile to reveal white clean teeth as he found the man he was looking for.

“Meneleus go tell our Legatus we might have some trouble, or fun, or whatever way you look at it I suppose.” He slapped the man on his shoulder for encouragement. Meneleus stripped away his armour and rushed off towards the fort.

Lampolo addressed the cohort, stomping up to a point of the slopes by the pass so all could see him. He drew his gladius and pointed it north, towards the barbarians.

“Kit up lads, I think we’ll be smashing heads by the end of this evening, who better to give these scum a kicking than us!” A cheer rose from the gathered warriors. His men snapped to attention and prepared the armour that some of them had already taken off this morning, to be ready for the foe.


*

The cart wheeled past Ariston noisily as he watched the men drive it back to Fort Paxtas. The crop fields had been emptied now, it had taken a very early start to accomplish the task, but it had been achieved, almost.

A line of carts moved, onwards by oxen and their drivers. Flanking the carts were armed soldiers. Racing from these were riders, keeping there eyes peeled for trouble, scanning the countryside thoroughly.

Trudging behind the carts were those farmers kept in Corinthian pay to produce the food the garrison would need every year. Now they abandoned their homes to seek shelter in the fort, taking whatever possessions they could carry and fit on the carts.

The churned up ground they left behind them would be of no use to the barbarians now. Ariston was convinced that if a siege was a possibility, then the fort had plenty to eat so would not be starved out so easily. Hopefully they could just sit and wait for reinforcements.

Ariston sat on his giant black steed Diomed, a present from his father before he had gone to Kalami, and glanced at the faces of his men as they passed. Some of them, the younger ones, looked incredibly worried.

Ariston knew that the order to retrieve all the food from the crop fields would tell the men what they expected to face in the coming weeks. He could understand why they would be afraid.

The older men were just as anxious he guessed, seeing as these men had probably fought before. These were the men who knew how to cover fear, yet still possessed it. They knew the horrors of bloody conflict and did not look forward to it at all. Ariston could count himself among those brave men who hid there fear with the courage and strength of heart.

Ariston missed the presence of Lexicus. He had said his goodbyes during the stormy evening, though the body was not there for burial, he went ahead with a ceremony anyway.

It had been a modest one, with only Ariston, Sarpedon and the legion doctor Arcagathus attending. A little wine was consumed; the rest of the evening was spent in contemplation, each man bringing up topics that Lexicus had enjoyed discussing.

It was early afternoon when they arrived at Fort Paxtas, tired and drenched with sweat. Ariston stopped besides the gates and looked over at the pass of Antir where he could see the 3rd cohort stationed, the sun shined off the men’s armour. A man was rushing from the cohort. What was wrong?

Ariston did not wait for Meneleus to reach him; instead he kicked the strong flanks of Diomed and moved to intercept the runner. Meneleus was a gifted athlete, his stamina unsurpassed by many. He had not even broken into a sweat from the run neither did he breath uncontrollably, it was as if the man was taking an afternoon leisurely stroll and had bumped into a friend on the journey. Ariston stopped Diomed and set his eyes upon the man Meneleus.

“Legatus Ariston,” he said with a customary salute. “Lampolo thinks there will be trouble in the pass, the barbarian tribes of Kuloc and Kamda are on the move and coming towards us.” Ariston nodded and leant forward on his saddle.

“How many men are there?” Meneleus answered quickly.

“Hundreds.” Ariston turned to watch the last cart roll into the fort.

“Inform Lampolo that his orders are to hold the pass, I will send the 5th cohort in support.” Meneleus briefly waited to see if his commander would add anything else but there was nothing. Meneleus nodded and rushed off again back to the 3rd cohort.

Ariston looked over at the warriors that milled about the mountain route. He had chosen the right time to collect the goods grown by the farmers, if he had waited longer it would have been too late to organise such a task what with the barbarians moving through the mountains.

His eyes scanned the Esturo plains that spanned east of the fort. Would the enemy be marching by the river as well? It was sooner than Ariston had expected. The barbarians and their allies must have pushed the invasion plans further ahead after the incident with Lexicus.

Ariston stroked Diomed’s muscled neck as he watched more of his men at work outside the walls. They were driving giant crude steaks into the ground, hammered firmly into the earth by heavy mallets.

He rode to the fort with haste, pushing Diomed to his fastest pace. How much he loved riding, he could feel the wind against his cheeks as he raced back to the fort.

As soon as he had dismounted and found an orderly to take Diomed back to the stables, Ariston turned to face the men of the 5th cohort whom he had ordered to stand ready for action and were not used on the work. They stood patiently waiting in full battle-dress; Ariston could see the sheen of sweat upon their brows.

Euridemas, the cohort’s lead centurion came to stand by his commander, walking over at a slow limping pace. He had his helmet tucked under his right arm. He had sprained his foot earlier he told Ariston when he noticed the quizzical look upon the legatus’ face.

“Just went over it I did, bloody ridiculous.” Euridemas added, his cheeks turned a deeper red.

“Can you fight?” Euridemas appeared offended by the question. He feigned injury dramatically, like he always did. Euridemas was a man who loved the theatre and had allowed its craft into his personal life, he had even performed his own plays, several for which he had received critical acclaim.

“Of course I can fight; I won’t be running away from the enemy.” Euridemas brushed back his long dark hair and placed the plumed helmet upon his head.

“Get your cohort to Antir Pass; I want your men to support Lampolo. Good luck Euridemas.” They exchanged nods.

“So they come,” Euridemas said sadly.

“They do my friend; remember we can send these bastards packing!” Euridemas broke into a smile and slapped Ariston on the back.

“Just the stuff I like to hear!” The stout centurion turned to face his men. He gave a shout and in one movement the whole cohort turned to the right. Euridemas proudly walked to the front, despite his foot. His men stood ready in a line.

“Flute boy play me a tune,” he called at the top of his low-pitched voice. A servant, a lad of no more than ten winters with thin straw like blond hair and covered in freckles jumped into the air when the centurion shouted. He withdrew his flute from a pocket in his torn tunic and began to play it, puffing his cheeks out like a hamster every time he played a note.

“Good, good.” Euridemas muttered to himself with a smile. The centurion gave the order to march and the courtyard rang to the sound of stamping feet. The sound of the 5th cohort faded into the distance, the flute was the last Ariston could hear of Euridemas and his men.

The fort was busy. Soldiers and servants had begun the long monotonous task of unloading the carts. Men rushed back and forth burdened with armloads of food sacks and other equipment the fort needed to sustain itself during a siege. Only the sentries stood at ease at there posts, overlooking the rolling plains and mountains that surrounded them.

A small dog barked and ran past Ariston, its feet spraying up the earth; its black thick coat was shaggy and white from running and rolling in the dust. It rushed to its owner who was managing a heavy sack when the dog started leaping at his knees joyfully, its giant tongue hanging from its mouth.

The man laughed and lightly brushed his small friend aside with his foot. The dog, named ‘Cinchook’, wagged its stubby tail happily as he followed his master to the store room.

Ariston turned to the doctor’s tent. The flaps had been tied back with cord so all could see within. Arcagathus stood at the entrance, arms folded as he looked over the busy men. His glance met Ariston’s. Arcagathus appeared troubled, his blue eyes and expression sour. He did not offer Ariston a smile.

Ariston arrived at the tent and greeted the old doctor. Arcagathus’ folded arms were scarred and his face pockmarked. Ariston had heard many stories about this man, mostly from the mouth of his departed friend Lexicus.

The doctor had once been a soldier, a man whose feats were well known to all during the conquest of the west. It was said he had slaughtered the Pict’s in there thousands, though Ariston guessed this to be an exaggeration of the truth.

What had happened to this man to change him from a ferocious warrior to a docile medic? Arcagathus had swapped his sword and armour for scalpel and apron. No one had ever asked why.

Arcagathus was old despite his strong physical appearance. His face looked weary. His white beard was short and scruffy, plastered over his face like a rug. His bald head shined like marble as though it had been polished.

The tent was spacious and tidy, what one would expect from a legion doctor. Arcagathus nodded and turned into the tent to stand by a table. Ariston followed and was hit by the strong smell of antiseptic.
Arcagathus stood over a table filled with instruments of his trade, a white cloth and bucket of warm water near his hands. Ariston studied the objects that lined the table neatly. There were scalpels, forceps, probes, extractors, catheters, hooks, bone drills and bone saws, and piles of bleeding cups. Some of them looked ghastly.

He could see Henbane seeds in jars, used to create the pain killers and sedatives the wounded would need during and after battle. A box of morphine sat open on a shelf besides unmarked bottles, its properties made from opium poppies.

Ariston prayed he would not be sat with Arcagathus later, bone saw in hand to amputate a limb.

“I watched Euridemas march out with that foot, he should have come to me with that hobble.” Arcagathus’ voice was quiet and soft. The strength of his voice had disappeared with age. The doctor was well into his sixties by now.

Ariston looked down the tent, past the many beds that would be littered with the wounded later. At the very end sat Arcagathus’ servants who would help with dressing wounds and the like. They sat in a strange awkward silence looking about with apprehension. Some of them had worked with Arcagathus before and knew how messy things got in the tent. It would not be a pleasant sight.

“Care to help us prepare these?” The doctor indicated the scalpel he now held in his veined pale hands.

“Prepare well Arcagathus; we will need you tonight I fear.” Ariston left the tent and made his way to the lookout tower. The winding narrow steps proved difficult and his legs felt like lead with the strain of the journey.

Once he had passed the last step he peered out to Antir Pass. Dust like billows of smoke rose from the rocks.

“Has there been anything to the east?” he asked the soldier on watch duty.

“Clouds of dust as high as Peak Geteus, whatever is coming won’t get here for a couple of days I’d say.” Ariston stared at the sentry; he did not know the man or recognise his face.

“What is your name soldier?” Ariston asked.

“Markus sir.”

“Report to me as soon as you see figures moving from the horizon. Good day to you.” Ariston left the tower and proceeded to his chambers, wandering what the future had in store for him.

*

Valorous stopped his horse, after the death of his last one he was determined to keep this one alive; he would need her for the ride to Thracadonia and back.

Glavious, Derklydes, Cronos and Ithakus watched him like a hawk. Valorous took out his water skin and drank the cool liquid. The taste of it refreshed him and he felt the strength return to his limbs.

He was happy that the river kono ran in the direction he was going, all the way into Thracadonia in fact, the horses could be rested and their thirsts quenched easily enough.

He twisted to face his men. Cronos and Ithakus the twins were those he had picked for the task of getting the letter to Thracadonia. They were identical, uncannily so, it was only from the thick jagged scar on Cronos’ cheek one could tell them apart. As if realising this and to help with identification, Ithakus had started to grow a beard and Cronos had opted to remain clean shaven. Everything down to the voice was mirrored by the other brother. They were strong men; each had proved their worth in the line of battle countless times, their bodies honed to perfection, their fighting skills deadly.

The Forest of Ungor stood before them, its depths hidden by shadows. They would have to ride round it, cutting through it would be no good for speed, so thick with vegetation and life was the forest of Ungor.

“Fear is spreading through the fort.” Ithakus said, shaking his head softly. His black mane was thick and blew in the wind.

“I know.” Glavious replied looking back towards the north. Fort Paxtas had disappeared along with most of the mountain range. It was clear that Glavious would have preferred to stay at the fort with the rest of his cohort. He knew the absence of Valorous, the twins and himself had weakened the fort. Just their presence in the line would put steel in the hearts of each man.

“It is a natural thing as are so many human qualities. I would not worry Glavious, for every man there can be conditioned beyond the touch of fear.” Valorous spoke with confidence.

“We can all be conditioned Valorous but do you suggest those with fear be brain-washed into its opposite?”

“That is not the suggestion Cronos and I think you misunderstand my meaning.” Cronos laughed out loud at Valorous’ words. Valorous continued.

“It is manipulation of the mind to think one way and one way only. However, we can call forth this attribute in times of need. By forgetting ones self one can rise to meet any situation with a level and cool head.”

“But isn’t forgetting ones self essentially ignoring ones humanity?” put forth Derklydes, his cheeks reddened as though he was uncomfortable.

“To become the perfect warrior one must stray from humanity as much as possible. How can I slay men when I’m thinking about who they are, if they have brothers and sons, wives and daughters? It would drive me insane otherwise.” Silence followed. Glavious grinned.

“Your starting to sound like Lexicus.” hilarity met this. Valorous shook his head, he was irritated.

“Enough of this conversation, we must continue our ride.”

The hills of southern Kalami sprang from the landscape, providing a more difficult ride. The horses could not be pushed as hard on the broken ground as they could on flat grassland.

“What’s that?” pointed Derklydes from his saddle as they round the base of a giant hill that could rival a small mountain. The group stopped and followed the boy’s finger. In the distance was a lone figure, the rider was too far to pick out details.

“Whoever it is, he’s coming this way,” Valorous mentioned, noticing the rider had not changed his course. The rider kept on coming.

[infernoc3]

Chapter 1 – A good introduction that follows the theme of Diablo, but too many details are revealed in the conversation. While it gives the reader an update on the background, it pretty much murders the mystery. Half of the information can be brought over to the next installment.

I have to make a point which might helps to spice up the paragraph, that is to cut down on the ‘he’s and ‘his’s. I know it is a tough call, but take a look at the example below.

“He was almost at the top of the steep hill now, for which Ariston was glad. He had lost his horse two days before after an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. He had put the beast out of its misery with the point of his sword and had to walk the rest of his journey.”

A makeover next :

“The summit of the steep hill is in sight, much to Ariston’s relief. He had lost his horse two days before when an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. The beast is lifted from its misery with the point of the sword and he had to carry on the rest of the journey by foot.”

Next section of Chapter 1, there is a part – “This had caused great friction at first when he had arrived now not more than a year gone, but he had quickly gained his men’s respect through combat and his leadership”.

Do you realize ‘This’ makes great material for description? In fact, it has the potential for a standalone epic. Think BraveHeart.

I hate to do this, but it’s technical :

“They are beautiful friend, perhaps that’s why we like it here so much.”
“Aye, but I can’t wait to be relieved; we have been far from home for too long Ariston”

Let’s see ..

“They are beautiful, my friend. Perhaps that’s why we like it here so much.”
“Aye, I can’t wait to be relieved. We have been far from home for too long, Sir”

What do you think of the above?

I’m not into military history, but the description of the fort and the soldiers should be ample.

“..I can always tell these things from the blank lost expression written across your face”, it will be better to put it as a thought instead of verbal remark.

Lexicus’s scouting trip is lividly presented.

“..It had been a long time since he had last returned to check the affairs of his house; would it still have been kept in fine condition, would the garden look as beautiful as he imagined? He dispelled the thoughts from his head as he rode between the open gates of Fuxtar.”

- Nice to know you have given the character flesh and blood, not just painting a one-dimension stereotype grumpy old man.

End of Chapter 1 build up quite a bit of suspense for the next chapter.

Chapter 2, … well I’m not into romance novels, beats me. As for politics, I’m glad you did not dwell too long on it, nothing wrong, just a personal distaste.

“Lexicus left the room with his heart heavy. His palms were sweating and he felt the bitter cold night even more harshly. He walked to the barracks and was greeted along the way by a figure hidden in darkness… Then they rode from the safety of the fort and their comrades, into the dangers of the night and isolation.”

I understand the abovementioned section only after reading again for a second time. The flow is not smooth.

Valorous’s trip to the forts is well-covered.

Lexicus’s demise feels so much like battle.net.

Chapter 3, Eytes’s emotions on his ex-master’s death can be exploited further, not here though, maybe in chapter 1 or other chapters.

Ariston is a noble comrade, barbarians are all bad … well, even Diablo deserves some credits with the love for his brothers, don’t he?

The conversation between the barbarian and the asian is most interesting. I’m a sucker for these :
[
“Then it truly begins.” Ithalk said almost as though he was regretful for the role he played in arranging the horde. Cyruss smiled. “It began the day you sailed to Asia my friend.”
]

Chapter 4, mountains, valley …. Prime candidate for cinematic backdrop. Could you cut down on the spitting?

The outpost and its activity are splendidly drawn up for the mood of war. Wow, you really have an eye for details. Crops? It has yet to cross my mind. Arcagathus? Ah, another enigma.

Exchange between Cronos, Valorous and Derklydes sounds philosophical, or are you trying to outline their differences?

Overall, the 4 chapters are filled with descriptions that help the reader to visualize the military life of a soldier, and the flow of the plot is not abrupt.

[Banehero]

Thankyou for taking the time to read through my work and post your thoughts.
I did think that maybe I was revealing something to early at the start, somehow I will have to work this encounter in during a later chapter so as not to spoil some of the plot.

I was looking at the story today and thought that it was slowed down by too many ‘he’s and ‘his’s, I will most likely go about changing this as well, thanks for pointing this out as it was an area I was a little concerned about :thumbsup:


Exchange between Cronos, Valorous and Derklydes sounds philosophical, or are you trying to outline their differences?

Its a mixture of both as ones philosophy impacts greatly on how others see you and how you interact with the world and other people, and everyone is different so I tried to express this here (did it sound ok) : )

There are a few paragraphs I will have to alter so they read more smoothly, and the changes you suggested for the conversation between Ariston and Paxtas reads better so I will change it to that, thanks :thumbsup:

Anyway, I have chapter 5 ready as well, I hope you enjoy it : )


CHAPTER FIVE


The rider was dressed in a purple robe of the deities worshipped by the Corinthians. It was obvious he was a priest. The grey in his beard surprised Valorous when the old man had stopped before them. He rode the animal extremely well, his heart was still strong.

The nobility he found emanating from the priest was of extraordinary calm. The priests light blue eyes scanned the group before him without fear or any other sign of emotion.

“Where are you headed old man?” asked Valorous. The priest looked at him and flashed a smile that did not break the bitter feature of his face.

“Fort Paxtas,” the priest spoke; every man seemed to be fixed on his gaze. Valorous could not avert his eyes.

“Then you are heading the right way, it is about a days ride from here,” Valorous said, pointing out with his raised hand over his shoulder. The priest looked at each of the young men before him. He seemed to study each and every one of them with care.

“Thank you young Valorous, I will be on my way.” The priest did not start to move his horse but turned to face behind him on the saddle.

“Be careful out there, parties of barbarians on horse are riding across the borders and the entire south. It will be a difficult task for you to remain undetected, may the God’s blessings be upon you.”

“How do you know my name priest?” The priest laughed.

“From the colosseum running in your armour, come now, you know your name is spoken and admired across the lands Valorous.” Valorous nodded his head, he was aware of the fame he had acquired from his victories in the stadiums across the Empire.

“From where do you ride priest, and why do you go to Fort Paxtas?” The old man looked at him quizzically for a moment.

“I have ridden from Thracadonia. I must speak to your commander.” The priest then suddenly shouted a command and tugged the horse’s reins. He galloped off round the hill as fast as he had come; his purple robe flickered like a flag caught in the wind behind him.

“Strange man,” observed Cronos. Valorous nodded, unconvinced by the priest’s words. There was something unsettling in the priests gaze.

“I think we should rest soon,” Valorous scanned the group’s choices.

“Perhaps we can spend the night on the edges of the forest?” Derklydes said, looking at the forest that loomed to their left. It would most likely offer better cover from the enemy than out in the open. Ithakus went pale.

“Those forests are haunted Valorous, I would rather camp up a pigs arse than there!” Fear was in his voice, though he tried to hide it behind a curtain of courage.

“The Forest of Ungor is not haunted Ithakus, don’t let the local tales and that of myth and legend enter your thoughts.” Ithakus shook his head, he could not change Valorous’ mind now that it was set so resigned his complaints to private thought.

The group arrived at the lush grass that stretched out from the woods. A strange mist hovered and clung to the leaves and trees like persistent flying insects bent on stinging the object of their concentration.

The forest itself was black as pitch, streams of sunlight flooded through the canopy at the edges, though it did little more than illustrate the foreboding evil presence of the woods.

Valorous knew the stories of this place, how, during ancient times when the years of man remained unrecorded, where history and myth merged into one breathing world. Clans bent on the murder of innocents carried out their vile deeds of savagery within the cover of Ungor.

It was said that the blood spilt on the ground had angered the Forest God’s and was cursed by them, and strange magical beasts were left to roam within its depths, chosen by Zeus to guard the forest from the misuse of evil.

The mist that floated before Valorous sent a shiver down his spine.
“We will camp on the tree-line, the sun is setting and we have ridden far and without rest since we left the fort. We shall stay here this evening and depart come the rising sun.” He looked over Ithakus; the man looked as white as a corpse.

Derklydes stared wide-eyed into the jungle of vines, trees and plant-life. The shadows cast upon the trees flashed demonic twisted faces formed from the bark.

The group settled down, leaving the horses to feed and rest upon
the grass. A fire was lit and covered as best they could from prying eyes. Cronos and Ithakus lay beside a running stream under a giant weeping willow, its thin hanging branches and leaves felt like fingers as Valorous brushed through it to wash his face in the cold water.

He watched a frog hop and dive into the stream with a splash as he knelt on the bank. The sound of the water surging along its predetermined path relaxed the warrior greatly. He hoped to the God’s that whatever beasts stalked this forest would not meet with him this night.

Valorous left the stream and wiped his knees of dirt before he sat on his reed mat he unfurled from the inside of his shield, placing his scutum to rest on its tripod.

He broke into his pack and brought out a little meat he had taken from the stores. The meat would need to be cooked over the fire. He took out half a loath of bread after a deep rummaging through his pack and tossed the meat to Glavious who sat preparing his own food already. Valorous bit down on the bread, it was almost like eating a rock.

Derkyldes crouched beside a tree closest to the edge of the forest, and peered out over a bush. His bow rested upon his thighs, the quiver of arrows near his hands. He would be first on watch, followed by Glavious.

The group ate in silence made all the more spine chilling by the still forest and ones imagination.



*


The ‘Bear-fighters’ appeared before the 3rd cohort as the sun set behind the rocks, they streamed into the pass like a fast running river and formed up in lines less than two hundred yards from the Corinthian battle-line.

The air was cool, something each man that stood in the line was grateful for, the weight of armour was burden enough without having to fight in the heat as well. The gentle breeze blew over the Corinthians and barbarians alike.
Lampolo stood like a tower by his centurions at the centre of the line. He peered about the faces of the troops pouring into the pass, studying them thoroughly.

They were out numbered, two cohorts, nine-hundred and eighty men against the might of the barbarians from the mountains. The foe was so numerous they had to stand crushed beside the man next to them, they appeared to Lampolo like sheep milled into the farmers pen.

The flanks of his cohort were protected by the rocks of the narrow pass, this would be a battle determined by a simple clash of centres. No real strategy was needed here save that of keeping the lines organised and moving forwards. Lampolo was confident that they could sweep the barbarians from the field.

The barbarians started hurling insults across the expanse at the Corinthians. Some raised their weapons into the air as though they were calling down the strength and aid of Orin the Hunter and their God’s.

The Corinthian line did not respond at all to the insults, they stood still in their ranks, spear tips to the sky as straight as rulers. Calm emanated from them that drove the barbarians into frenzy.

One barbarian, a tall brown-haired man, stepped from the ranks and pulled a knife from his belt, his other hand flicked open his thick black pelt to reveal the strong muscled features of his chest. Wild fury could be seen in his eyes as he drew the blade across his breast, crimson dripped from the wound.

“Noisy buggers aren’t they.” Lampolo said to his optio Euripides. The optio simply nodded with a smile.

“Crazy too, look what that fool has done to himself!” Lampolo pointed out the brown haired barbarian who had slashed his own chest, laughter flew from the ranks. Then there was silence for a few heartbeats as the realisation of what was about to occur sank into the hearts of each man.

Horns pierced the silence, deep and echoing noise that started the barbarian advance. Thunder seemed to accompany the rush, though it was the sound of running feet not nature.

The barbarians broke into a scream; Lampolo could hear one of his men shout out above the din, “here they come!” in an excited manner. The barbarians were no less than fifty yards when the Corinthian line began to take action.

Javelins flew through the air, the miniature spears rained down onto the barbarian foe with violent force. Once the Corinthians had let fly their missiles they moved forward, shield-to-shield, the line straight as they performed it on the parade grounds.

In one horrifying moment the front ranks dipped their spears outwards and met the barbarian line with a thud and clash of Iron upon bronze and bronze against wood. The barbarians came at them as a pack of wild wolves upon a trapped foe, throwing themselves at spear and shield.

The force of the Corinthian line broke the barbarian charge. It was a massacre. The Corinthian’s drove forward like a machine whose sole purpose was death. It was like picking a wheat field with a scythe, so dangerous was the Corinthian phalanx.

The foe that fell to the ground wounded or otherwise were trampled by sandaled feet, and stabbed by the butt-spike at the bottom of the spear by the back lines that were not seeing action.

Dust began to cloud the scene, bodies and blood became obstacles. The ground was fresh with rivers of gore and body parts. Scattered across the pass were hands, arms and legs but what was worse was the guts and urine that splattered and collected in pools on the surface.

Euridemas marched his men slowly behind the 3rd cohort. The wounded legionaries from the 3rd were attended by those men from the 5th while Arcagathus rushed from body to body, applying bandages and other equipment to those that needed it, passing out orders to his team of medics.

Lampolo had almost disappeared in the din; only the top of his helm could be seen from where Euridemas hobbled forward, through the slaughter and carnage. Then he noticed something, a change in the momentum of battle, the 3rd cohort had stopped moving. The barbarians had begun to push the Corinthian line back with their sheer weight of numbers. He could see men pushing from the back ranks through to the front to relieve those tired fighters, who folded back to the rear to rest.

Now the 3rd began to fall back and the barbarians pushed onwards like a wave of anger. Lampolo stood firm and buried the length of his spear into an opponents guts, before the body fell he had withdrawn and stabbed another in the throat.

He felt the force of a blow glance off his helmet, his shield vibrated from a series of strikes, and then his spear was cut in two. He discarded the broken haft of his spear by striking it into the stomach of a barbarian youth. Lampolo slid out his Gladius and hacked through the width of a wicker shield and its owner.

The line held and the barbarian surge turned into disorder, this was the magic of the Corinthian training regime, discipline took over and men fought all the more harder. When the twenty minute fighting period of the front rank ended, he was relieved by the man behind so that the line fought with consistent energy and vigour.

Panic began to take the hearts of the valiant foe; the barbarians had suffered greatly and now looked like breaking and running away.

Lampolo could see the left side of the barbarian line falter, the Corinthians moved into the gap, slashing the backs of those unfortunate to be trapped between their own comrades and that of the enemy steel.

Some did not run, a giant grey haired barbarian stepped forth along with more than two hundred brave, fearless clansmen, an axe in both his hands. The grey hair swung the axe as if it were just a child’s toy, roaring as it struck the scutum’s and men of Corinthia. His axe cleaved through shields like a hot knife through butter. Euripides fell, his head struck cleanly from his neck. Lampolo could feel his friends warm blood wash over his forearm, he
roared in anger.

The barbarian launched his axe from above, aiming to shatter Lampolo’s head also. Lampolo raised his shield and felt it buckle under the force of the attack. He stepped forward and slashed the exposed thigh of the ‘grey-hair’.

The Barbarian fell to one knee.

Lampolo used his damaged shield as a weapon and struck the barbarian in the head. The old man fell back in an explosion of gore and closed his eyes. Lampolo could see that the wound he had inflicted with the edge of his shield had split the skull. Brain fragments leaked from it.

The fight was over then, those barbarians who had steadied themselves for death died honourably, while those that ran had taken blows and slashes to the back. The moon was almost full in the sky. The moans of the dying and injured rose from the ground like wailing ghosts, so sad and pitiful were some of the cries for help. Quarter was not given to the barbarian wounded and those found were despatched quickly.

Now was the task of locating a dead friend or brother, groups of men stood in circles in silence around the fallen. Fighting was exhausting, men lay on the ground, some using each others backs as support, covered in sweat and blood.

Some began to strip themselves of their armour while others simply stood without a thought in their head, shaking and staring at the bodies that scattered the pass.

There were hundreds, though it was clear most were the enemy. The wounded and dead were loaded on carts and driven back to the fort for proper treatment and burial. The barbarians were left to rot in the pass to deter their fellows from reforming and fighting again.

Once the wounded and dead had been taken back to the fort the men of the 3rd and 5th cohorts formed up for a roll call. When the long monotonous task was completed the total number of dead could be determined. Those who had been injured had their names taken so they would not need to be called.

Thirty-seven men had been killed from the 3rd cohort and twenty-one from the 5th. Over two hundred were reported injured. One look at the field of death could tell how the battle went, and at what loss the barbarians had suffered.

It had been a good battle, one that filled all with hope; perhaps they could defeat the barbarians without reinforcements? Ariston was delighted with the news and his soldier’s performance. At least the barbarians had not attacked from the plains and the west as well.

“They must not be as organised as we first thought.” Ariston stared at the eyes of his lead officers. All but Lampolo and Euridemas who still occupied the pass had been called to the war-room.

“No they must not be Sarpedon,” replied Ariston from his seat. Before him at the centre of the table was an elaborately detailed model of the fort and the surrounding area. It was accurate, even the peaks were included. Blocks of coloured wood, half of which were coloured red, the other half black, lay in a neat pile besides him.

“These represent us,” Ariston said, holding up a red block, “two are in the pass, to recognise the 3rd and 5th, while the rest will occupy the fort.” Ariston placed the majority of black blocks to the east of the fort.

“The enemy will reach us tomorrow at the earliest, I do not think they will attack straight away however, they must organise drinking holes and allocate camp sites for the separate clans. Reports indicate they have no siege engines, only ladders and rams.

“We have no more than a couple of days before the main assault and we must be ready. Shall we stay in the pass or withdraw to the fort? I would like to know your thoughts gentlemen.” Sarpedon leant forward and studied the map with care. He indicated the gap between the pass to the fort with his index finger.

“We should place a wall here, stretching from the pass to the north gate. The pass is important, there are still lots of barbarians coming that way and it is a fine defensive position.

“The wall we place will offer those in the pass defence from the barbarians coming from the plains, so we may hold the pass more effectively without fear of being outflanked and charged in the rear.” A chorus of agreement and nods met his wise council. Ariston remained silent for a moment.

“I like this idea Sarpedon, but have we the materials and time to build this wall?” The old man looked at Ariston and confirmed the question with a single solid nod.

“Then start right away Sarpedon, I want this wall built in two days.” Sarpedon stood and left the room.

“What about the Esturous, shouldn’t we poison the river?” This question was asked by a young centurion named Theopompus whose father ran the Baths of Agrippa in the Corinthian capital.

Theopompus was a selfish un-extraordinary officer who Ariston had only accepted into the legion because of his father’s relationship with Theo’s father. The man was small but well built, his frame sharp and defined, matched by short cut black hair. Theopompus was a clever man, perhaps the only bonus of having him around. Theopompus continued.

“If we poison the river it will make it harder for them to starve us to death.”

“If we do that then we pass the sentence of death to all those villages that rely upon the Esturous. There is no honour in that.” A centurion from the 6th cohort spoke in his deep voice, a young man turned just twenty named Kwame. His skin was the colour of night and he came from the lands south of the Empire, from the giant sun-baked continent of Afrika.

The whites of his eyes were a deep contrast against the black of his skin and seemed to sparkle with intelligence. His hair had been cut short, though it was not his people’s tradition.

“I agree with Kwame here Theopompus. The river will remain free of impurities. You forget Theo, that once we have beaten back this enemy, we will once again be in need of the Esturous.” Theopompus looked angry and presented his usual disgusted look, a look he always gave when someone disagreed with him. Ariston ignored this.

The hour was late by the time Ariston had finally satisfied his desire to be ready and gave up to the blissful reaches of sleep.

*

The gentleness of night swept over little Ajax as he slept, curled in a ball in his crib. The light of the moon filtered through the open window, fresh cool air swam about the room.

Anetea sat watching the child sleep as still as a statue. Her long hair was tied back, her features as pale as the marble figures that stood sentry in the city. Her arms were crossed and she held her elbows in her hands softly. She was tired but could not sleep; her husband’s absence had begun to work worry.

The streets of Attica, the jewel of the Corinthian Empire, had been busy of late. The cobbled paths had been swarmed by marching lines of soldiers, travelling to the west and eastern borders of the Empire; this did not help in the slightest.

She looked out to the quiet street of Vicus Minervii, pleased to see that the clamour of the day had died with the sunlight. She was happy that she did not live in the streets further south of the city where fear had spread worst.

Ariston’s house stood at the north end of Attica, overlooking lush grass fields. Nearby were the Praetorian Camp and the Porticus Militarriensis, the military warehouse.

It was a fine setting, away from the centre of the city, away from the noise of the colosseum. It was a large house with a single floor that stretched along the Vicus Minervii, its garden covered by neat hedges that acted as a fence.

It had been the home of the late general Maximus before Ariston’s father had acquired it for his son’s marriage and as such a lot still remained from his time there. Maximus had been a keen lover of Afrika and the animals of that country, particularly hunting them.

A mosaic depicting a personification of Afrika was situated at the centre of the hall. On the walls were images of exotic animals captured by Corinthian hunters. Anetea did not mind the pictures; it was a part of the villa’s history.

It was the talk of the markets, theatres, temples and street of Attica that worried her, the talk of war. For months now since before the start of the year rumours about the trouble brewing in Kalami and the persistence of the Pict’s war for independence had flooded into conversation.

Now it appeared as though they would be fighting two fronts, perhaps more if other nation’s sick of Corinthian rule rose up. The first warning came from the merchants who had been to Asia and had seen with their own eyes the warships piling up in the ports.

As soon as this was reported and the accounts were validated by Corinthian agents, the Emperor had begun mobilising the armies that remained in relatively peaceful areas. Only the Praetorians remained as the force in the city, the Emperors own guard now walked and patrolled the streets.

The sound of her baby breathing in his sleep returned her from thought. She stroked his cheek and smiled. Anetea stood from the seat and stretched her arms and legs; she had been sitting down for so long her joints ached.

She heard a dog bark then whimper as though it had been struck to silence outside. Anetea moved to the window and cautiously peered out, first to the left and then to the right.

Lights burned dimly along the wide street, she could see a guard walking the stone path holding onto a large black dog by its leash. The guard was young, probably the same age as her husband she noticed and thought as the man passed her by without a look.

The footsteps that echoed in the night were a painful reminder of Ariston’s departure the year gone. She could feel tears begin to break the surface of her orbs, but she did not cry.

A loud knock alerted her senses to the front door. She closed the window to Ajax’s room and left, casting the child a loving glance as she squeezed past the crib. Anetea walked to the door barefoot, the tiles were cold to touch.
Who could be calling at this hour? It was a strange time to be getting a knock at the door. For a moment panic seized her, they could be robbers. Anetea remembered her friend Cleomenea talking about the violent crimes that had broken out in the city over the last three months.

Gangs of thieves had broken into even the most prestigious of homes; no-one was safe apart from the Emperor who had the protection of his guards. Murder was commonplace in the robberies. Apparently they had even stolen the treasuries of the God’s right from their very temples.

The knock came again, this time softer as though the person had almost given up hope of a reply from the house. Anetea scanned the hallway quickly. She picked up a small figurine of a warrior throwing a discus from the single table that occupied the hall. She held it above her head as she opened the door slowly.

“Took your time didn’t you, what’s that for?” It was Ariston’s father. He was dressed in a plain white toga that was covered in dirt; parts were even ripped by his feet. She looked him over through tired eyes. Cratylus was ageing fast, the blond of his hair had almost faded to that of white and the lines beneath his eyes showed fatigue.

“I thought you were a thief so made ready to strike you with this.” She said with a smile.

“Damn waste of money if you ask me,” Cratylus looked at the discus thrower and held out his calloused hands. Anetea placed it in his palms. Cratylus turned it over and examined the figure. It felt light in his hands, too light.

“On second thought, what you had in mind was the right thing to do; it’s all these bloody things are good for!” He smiled and passed the statue back to Anetea. She stepped to the side and held out her arm.

“Come in,” she said quietly. Cratylus stepped into the hallway and studied it briefly. The room was fashioned in an elaborate yet simple style keeping with the Corinthian tradition. Decorated furniture lay to one side of the room, seats with giant red cushions that looked as comfortable as beds and a long table covered with a golden inlay. He felt the warmth that the home provided and rolled up the sleeves of his toga.

“How did you get so filthy?” Cratylus’ cheeks turned red as he looked over his attire.

“Must have picked up the wrong toga, there’s always that risk in the bath houses.” His face changed from his friendly appearance, he furrowed his brow, the deep lines cracked across his forehead like an earthquake separating land.

“I have news”, he said, “and it’s not good.” Cratylus sat down on one of the seats. Aneatea nodded and closed the door.

“Wait a moment,” she said and rushed off to the kitchen. She returned moments later with a candle in her hand. Anetea placed the candle between herself and Cratylus, on the table. She pulled up one of the cushioned seats and nestled herself upon it gently.

“Where is my husband?” she asked.

“You know where he is Anetea, in Kalami.” Anetea did not avert her gaze, though her breath was caught.

“Ariston will not be relieved of duty. I have heard more as well. The only outpost in Kalami still garrisoned by Corinthian troops is Fort Paxtas, one legion in a nation of enemies.” Anetea could not believe what she had heard.

“Why is he still in Kalami?” A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away but more followed. Cratylus stood from his seat and walked over to his daughter-in-law. He placed a large hand firmly on her shoulder.

“I do not know why they have done this to my son. Tonight I will travel to see the Emperor himself and squeeze from him the reason for leaving a legion alone. I will return as soon as I have news I promise.” Anetea looked up at Cratylus and stopped her tears. She regained her composure and smiled.

“Thank you Cratylus, good night.” She rose from her seat and made her way to the bedroom. Cratylus watched her as she left to her chambers, before he turned to leave.







.

[Banehero]

Hi, I was hoping you could help me with something.
What do you think of the characters, do they seem like real people, do you care at the moment what will happen to them? I don't want them coming off as flat. Anyway thanks for your help.

[Banehero]

Heres chapter six :lol:

CHAPTER SIX


Cratylus stared at the stars as he walked upon the stone path. He could pick out some of the cluttered formations that shone in the depths of space. Orin the Hunter the barbarian legend pulled back on his mighty bowstring. The Sword of Skalos could also be seen, the tip of the blade sparkled the brightest of all in the formation. But this was no time for the study of stars.

He moved through the streets quickly, the Imperial Palace was situated in the centre of Attica. Cratylus made his way round the old Servian Wall, before the city had expanded the wall used to act as the main defence of the city. The wall was crumbling now though it was mostly intact; the rare dark clay-like stones that had been imported from foreign shores had started to show their age and looked slightly out of place against the modern architecture of the city.

Lights flared brighter as he neared the market-square, it was empty save that of folded stores and tables ready for use as soon as the sun rose. Dark alleyways hid scuttling forms, a dog rummaging for food, *****s selling their wares and those seeking them.

One girl emerged from a throng of women dressed in colourful garments. She was a pretty petite brunette dressed in white flowing fabric, she gave a cheeky smile.

“Fancy a go!” she called out with a giggle. She placed a slender hand over her mouth playfully as she laughed. Her friends joined in with mirth. Cratylus smiled coyly but shook his head and moved quickly on, past the forum of Nerva and the private residential apartments of the senatorial aristocracy.

Cratylus stopped before the palace. The flight of steps took time to navigate. Huge pillars stood facing him and marvellous statues twice the size of an average man representing the Emperors of the past stared quietly into the night. Torches flickered upon braziers casting illumination across the entrance; the statues looked menacing in the dim orange light.

Four guards stood at the entrance, tall and proud, they wore the armour of the Praetorian Guard, plumed helmets of iron and bronze fashioned in elaborate styles instead of simple plain bronze or iron of the ordinary legionary. Their blue uniforms and shields were distinctive and set them apart from the red of the standing army. One stepped forward with a crude thrashing stick in hand. It was a centurion with a black bushy beard and incredibly tanned skin. His stare was vicious.

“What can we do for you?” The centurion asked in an arrogant voice, it was as though he were addressing nothing more than a beggar, a street urchin.

“My name is Cratylus and I wish to speak with the Emperor immediately.” The centurion seemed to consider Cratylus’ words with contempt.

“He is asleep and the hour is late, come back tomorrow.” The centurion waved his arm indicating Cratylus to leave. Then the main doors folded open with a creak. A man dressed in bright green with fair blond hair addressed the centurion.

“He may come in.” The centurions jaw clenched as he tried to suppress his anger. He looked at Cratylus with the same icy stare.

“Thank you Dardonious,” Cratylus brushed past the centurion and placed his arm round Dardonious’ shoulders as they walked from the entrance.

“Greetings my friend, I can hazard a guess at why you have come.” Cratylus’ face was a mask of graveness.

“Then you must grant me an audience with the Emperor, I wish to know the workings of his mind.” Dardonious smiled and shook his head.

“The Emperor sleeps and does not wish to be disturbed but you may ask me your questions, I am his right-hand man after all, though unfortunately I will not be able to reveal all as I am not the Emperor.” Cratylus breathed a sigh of relief as they continued into the palace.

The Hallway of the palace was grand, the furniture lavish though sparse. Along the walls were statues the size of men, clad naked or otherwise in battle-gear of the ancients. Most recognisable of all was the image of Horatius, the brave Corinthian hero who saved the early republic from the Etruscans.

Dardonious was a man in his late twenties with the intelligence and wit of the best philosophers and comedians in all of Corinthia. He was the second-in-command of all the Empire, second only to the Emperor himself. His blond hair however had already started to grey; it was obvious the strain of the job was getting to him.

Dardonious’ once smooth face was replaced by that of lines of worry and lack of sleep. Purple rings loomed like black eyes, his features pale and his demeanour slow and exhausted.

He led Cratylus through an archway into a lovely little garden. A fountain with the head of a fish shot out water from its open mouth. The path lay neatly between thick dark hedges of waist height. A seat lay in a spot overlooking a small stream that made its way through the garden. Dardonious sat down and indicated Cratylus to join him.

“Why is the Tenth Legion still in Kalami when everybody else has retreated to the Wall of the Northern Empire?” Dardonious did not smile or seem to emit any other emotion than that of sorrow.

“Do you know the Lord of Asia? You do don’t you. He is a man with great wealth and a great army whose land we could not conquer, he is also a man bent on destroying the Empire after his failed invasion plans of thirty years before when you yourself fought in the line.

“He is coming for Attica and the whole of the Empire and to do this he has stirred up trouble among the Pict’s and the Kalami Tribes. Thousands mass against us in the north and west. Our forces to the north are still slim and it takes time for a legion to march the breadth of the world.

“We have reinforced the Wall greatly now, the Tenth Legion has been selected to hold off the enemy until more men arrive. They do not know our wishes and will by now no doubt have found the other garrisons abandoned.” Fury seemed to pass over Cratylus; he felt his cheeks redden with anger.

“So you mean to tell me he does not know you have left him there? When did you plan on telling my son this?” Dardonious looked up and whistled. The sound was shrill and tingled Cratylus’ spine. He heard the sound of rushing feet and saw a boy burst in, a young lad of no more than twelve winters. He held in his small hands a message, sealed to be sent off.

“This is the order for him to stand and die Cratylus, I did not wish to send it till you had seen it my friend.” Cratylus was handed the letter. The boy ran off without a command, back into the darkness of some room.

He turned it over but did not break the seal to read the letter.

“I will not open this, now that it is sealed only Ariston’s hand should open it.” Dardonious placed both his hands on Cratylus’ forearm. He leant in to talk softly.

“Then I shall send this letter to Thracadonia where they will send a rider to Fort Paxtas. I am sorry Cratylus, Ariston is a remarkable man with intelligence and nobility rare to find in one his age. He will not let his Empire down, nor wish to live to see the day the Empire crumbles, which will happen if that order were not given.” Cratylus stood dramatically to his feet in a sudden movement.

“I will take it myself to Thracadonia, tonight. Thank you for your help Dardonious, though know this. I do not agree with the methods you have used in destroying my boy and all those other men. The Empire has indeed fallen to such a state if it need sacrifice men for its own salvation in such a fashion.” With that he turned and left Dardonious sat on his secluded seat.

*

Valorous woke with the dampness of sweat. It clung to his forehead shining like wax under a candle. He had dreamt the darkest dreams that night in Ungor. Perhaps not all the beasts left to guard the woods were physical beings but something more sinister with the ability to invade your dreams and thoughts.

His dream was surrounded by fire and the smell of burning flesh. The scene was the fort. The barracks were on fire, and the hospital, the Tribunes houses were even ablaze. Barbarians ran amok around the narrow paths of the fort, slashing and burning everything, including the animals.

He had seen his own death that night; he was standing in the hospital with a skeleton force. It looked as though it were a last stand so few and desperate was the fighting men that surrounded him.

He watched in horror and pride how he chopped and stabbed the enemy down as they charged him, then flinched but could not close his eyes as a spear took him in the throat. Then he had woken. Valorous looked over his party as they prepared to leave the camp. They all appeared as though they had very little sleep and what they had got was haunted.

He slotted into place the last corbridge hook of his lorica segmetata and checked the leather straps of his shoulder plates. He rolled his sleeping mat and attached it to the compartment within his oval scutum.

The morning sun was high in the cloudless blue sky, its rays of light penetrated deeper into the woods eliminating the strange mist of the night before.

Glavious was packing his cooking equipment into his roll when he cried out. The group instantly moved to where Glavious crouched, peering over a bush. He jerked his head in the direction of what had startled him.

They stared from out of the shrubbery; up ahead upon the hill were figures on horseback, they were scanning the countryside like birds of prey for the mouse.

“How many?” whispered Derklydes trying to make a head count.

“Twenty-three, from what I can see.” Replied Valorous, his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“No match for us then.” Cronos placed his helmet on his head and smiled. The barbarians rode down the hill at a gentle pace towards the hidden Corinthians. They stopped a hundred yards from the tree-line.

“We can try and pin ‘em,” offered Ithakus looking over Derklydes and his bow. “I reckon the lad would get a few before they realise what hit them.” Every eye turned to Valorous, it would be his decision.

“I think we should stay put, we are still far from Thracadonia and they are many, we can not risk losing the letter.” Valorous stared into the eyes of a blond haired clansman with a thin drooping moustache. When the barbarian’s stare lingered, Valorous feared he had been spotted.

Then the sun hit the Corinthian armour, it flashed brightly through the leaves. A wild scream rang out in the air and the riders began charging their steeds towards the forest.

“Have they spotted us?” Glavious asked almost as though he hoped the barbarians had perhaps spotted breakfast instead.

“I guess so,” Valorous gave Derklydes a nod. The boy stood from the bush with arrow notched and bowstring drawn. He let loose the first arrow straight and true. The missile hit the first rider in the chest with such force it flung the man like a rag-doll from his horse.

His hand was already in the quiver before the first arrow hit its mark. Derklydes shot again, this time the iron point pierced an adam’s apple. The rider choked up thick black blood before he fell forwards to rest upon the steed’s neck.

Derklydes felt a hand grab his shoulder as he prepared a third arrow, it was Valorous. He noticed Glavious and Ithakus were leading the group’s mounts into the woods in a hurry.

“Let’s go!” urged Valorous, he had his sword drawn. They turned to follow Glavious and Ithakus. Cronos however burst from the woods pilum in hand at the enemy.

He launched the javelin with all his strength; it tore through a wicker shield as though it were only paper before striking the rider in the lung. He turned and rushed into the woods after his companions, minus one of his two pilums.

Valorous leapt a bush like a prancing deer as if he were hurdling for glory in Olympia. He knew the advantages the woods would offer infantry against cavalry. The horses would slow and the element of a charging shock attack would be lost. Then they would ambush.

The group spread out behind the cover of the trees and plant-life and made ready. Derklydes notched another arrow, sweat streaming from his brow, his heart racing.

The riders broke the foliage but slowed as they had to avoid trees and plants thick with leaves and branches where the horses refused to go. Derklydes hit a rider point blank as the barbarian raced past him. He then dropped his bow to the ground and raised his shield to the oncoming charge of a horseman.

He waved his spear at the horses face; it reared and threw the rider to the ground. The barbarian rolled from the earth into a crouch, one arm placed on the grass for balance. He was dark skinned from the sun, his brown hair thick with grease.

The barbarian drew a knife from his tunic and shouted what must have been a war-cry. He hit Derklydes in the shield and tried to tear the scutum from his grasp. Derklydes thrust his spear into the foes unprotected ribs; he heard the disturbing crack of bone and felt the penetration of flesh.

Then another rider was upon him, swinging a long sword in one hand above his head. Ithakus stepped between them and struck the barbarian with his shield. The barbarian tried to raise himself from the ground but Ithakus was on him. His spear pierced the skull. Ithakus withdrew the point and noticed the horrific wound he had caused seeping out blood and fragments of brain.

Suddenly pain exploded in his thigh, an arrow had ripped into the muscle and driven into the bone. Ithakus sank to one knee and took an arrow in the shield. The tip had broken through to the rawhide rim and stared menacingly at him.

Ithakus launched his pilum and struck the archer through the collarbone. He cried out with satisfaction as he watched the man fall and die on the soft dead leaves and grass.

Then the barbarians dismounted, some jumped from their horses others simply dropped as normal. They charged on foot. Valorous, Glavious and Cronos rushed out from hiding to meet them.

Valorous reached the enemy first, so fast was he at sprinting in armour. His scutum bowled over one opponent and took the violent blow of another. His gladius wrecked havoc as he danced his way through the enemy with such precision one could guess it to be a stage performance, so rehearsed did the warrior’s moves appear to be, from the fleetness of foot to strength of arm.

Glavious and Cronos met shield-to-shield and thrust to the fore their iron spears at the enemy. They cleaved through four men in a space of seconds.
Ithakus tried to raise himself but felt the bitter bite of cold steel; someone had fired another arrow, this time it had struck his chest. Ithakus gasped for breath through the pain.

Derklydes rushed to Ithakus’ aid but could not stop the third arrow from cutting short Ithakus’ life. Ithakus dropped with a thud upon his shield. Derklydes met the archer, a boy no older than he still mounted on a white horse.

The barbarian youth was preparing another crude looking arrow. Derklydes raised his spear and threw it, continuing his advance, drawing his gladius. The archer ducked with uncanny ability and laughed as the weapon flew harmlessly overhead. The barbarian fired his bow and hit Derklydes in the right shoulder. The youth had lowered his shield when he drew his sword and had paid the price.

He felt the force and was spun ninety-degrees to the ground. He collapsed in agony; tears began flooding his eyes as his arm seemed to burn with pain. The barbarian smiled wickedly as he teased Derklydes to a slow mocking reload of his weapon. Then his face twisted in agony as a sword crushed into jaw.

From his prone position, Derklydes could see the form of Ithakus who had managed to stand from his shield, the white feather ends of three long arrows shivered with his every breath. Ithakus had thrown his sword like a spear; the barbarian now writhed on the ground kicking up leaves with his death throes.

Then Ithakus dropped and lay still, his eyes wide open. Derklydes raised himself from the damp grass and shook his head at the arrow sticking out from his right shoulder. It was the first time he had been wounded.
He looked about and could see the barbarians had begun to flee out of the woods in panic. They had not bargained on finding men of Valorous and Glavious’ calibre.

Corpses and rider-less horses scattered the skirmish ground where Valorous had organised the ambush. A strange quiet harmony surrounded the area as he noticed the caressing touch and light of the sun pierce the canopy of leaves.

He heard the crunch of footsteps from Valorous, Cronos and Glavious as they made their way back from routing the enemy, brushing past overhanging branches and bushes.

They were all covered in gore. Blood dripped from the point of spear and sword alike; it even smeared the shields of the warriors. All three appeared unwounded as they surveyed the scene. Glavious rushed to the side of Derklydes, concern over his face.

“Brother!” Cried out Cronos as he turned Ithakus over to see the death stare and arrows that had taken his life, he cradled his brother’s head in his arms and sobbed, keeping his pain to a whimper.

“Its bad but you’ll live.” Glavious clapped the boy round the head as he opened his pack to remove the medicinal herbs and cloth to treat the wound. The arrow was cut from the body and pushed through the other side of his shoulder.

Derklydes cried out in pain and took a firm grip of his shield strap as Glavious worked the arrow swiftly out of shoulder and bone. He then applied the antiseptic, the cloth was tied on tightly, and it soaked with blood.

Valorous watched Glavious work on the shoulder and stood by Cronos, who sat with his brothers head in his lap. Valorous placed his hand on Cronos’ shoulder for comfort.

The body of Ithakus was buried where he died; his sword was thrust into the earth on top of the grave, his helmet rested upon the handle. The barbarian dead were dumped in a pile, those that had been killed out on the grass of the fields were dragged inside, the horses let loose with firm smacks to the rumps.

Everyone was quiet when they left the Forest of Ungor. Valorous spoke softly to himself and the spirit of his departed friend Ithakus as they rode from the woods, casting the trees a sad glance.

“You were right to fear the woods Ithakus, I am sorry.”

*

Ariston stood emotionless over the weapons training ground where the 6th cohort was split in groups that marched and those who attacked targets with their drill instructors.

The target was a stake the height of a man, the wicker shield and wooden swords the men carried were twice the standard weight. Ariston watched a grey-haired instructor dressed in red indicate a point on the stake with his cane.

The youth thrust and hit the target; an approving nod came from the instructor. The aim was to practice a thrusting technique as opposed to a slash; the youth had done as he was asked.

Ariston noticed Paxtas had come into view and had already said something funny to start the men of the 6th cohort laughing. He had his head swung back with laughter. How could the man remain so jovial in such a time as this!

The fort was at its busiest, the construction of the wall Sarpedon had suggested to screen the pass had started and men dug trenches to line it. In front of the trenches men drove iron spikes hammered into logs in the ground so only the point protruded, the men called these traps ‘lilies’ due to the resemblance they had with the flower.

The legionaries had first dug a vertical-sided trench six metres wide across the gap. This was done to prevent an unlikely attack while the soldiers worked.

Roughly four hundred metres behind the trench, men dug two more each five metres wide. The inner trench was filled with water. The earth from the ditches was piled up beyond the outer trench to form a rampart which would eventually see a palisade fortified by towers. It was the same tactics employed when a legion would lay siege to an enemy position.

Sarpedon had organised well, Ariston could hear the man bellow orders from outside the forts walls. The familiar sound of the Bucina horn called out the change of the watch.

Paxtas had wondered over to him now and stood with a grin across his stubble-covered face.

“Some rider to see you sir, it’s a priest.”

“Where is he?” Ariston asked peering across the training ground and the barrack walls.

“He is waiting at your house sir, though I heard him mutter something about going to the shrine to prey to the God’s.”

“Thank you Paxtas, better find out what he wants, perhaps he has come all the way from Thracadonia?” Ariston hurried to his house, rushing from the training ground.

[Banehero]

does anyone else get those grey boxes covering some of the writing? how do you make it go away?

[Ikeren]

I saw it in a different thread. You can get it out by copying and pasting it into a word document. Now shhhhh, you are ruining the mood :lol:

(Really awesome story by the way...I can't wait to read the rest)

[Banehero]

thanks Ikeren, I hope you continue reading and liking it, thanks for your time reading my work :thumbsup:

[Banehero]

Heres chapter seven : )


CHAPTER SEVEN

Ariston walked through the principia, the legion headquarters situated before his house. His mind was full of questions. Who could the priest be? What news might the man possess that Ariston did not?

He went under the archway and through the principia courtyard which stood virtually empty. A table had been set up outside and Tribune Julian sat over it in study, paper fluttered in the wind on the table, though only the corners as the Tribune had pinned the paper down with weights.

The entrance to his house, the praetorium, was wide open. The doors had been shut he was certain; the priest must have let himself in. He walked into the plain hallway; a figure was standing there covered in darkness, leaning on a twisted walking stick the size of him.

“Hello Legatus Ariston, we meet again!” The voice was familiar. As if by magic a candle burst to life in his free hand. Ariston recognised the stare immediately.

“I wondered when I would see you again. Came yourself this time did you.” Eunerich had not aged since Ariston had last met him.

“All that I have said has come to pass Ariston, though I neglect something, it’s a very sensitive subject so I will not beat about the bush,” the priest smiled, “this site will be your doom young one.” Ariston stared at the priest fiercely.

“Only time will tell priest, the Empire will not abandon us.” Ariston had to control his anger. The priest lowered the candle onto a desk, carefully so he did not spill any wax on the tiles. He walked over to stand next to Ariston.

“They already have Ariston, soon you must fight and the days and weeks that come will be heartbreaking, but do not falter. The future of the Empire is firmly rooted at the Wall. The longer you hold back the enemy, the stronger the Wall will become, the stronger Corinthia’s Empire will be.” The priest stopped and studied the reaction of the man before him with wry amusement.

“We have been left to die?” Arsiton asked the question as though he were destroyed somehow, inside where the mind could wreak havoc.

“Perhaps but then perhaps not, I know not these things, what I know however is whatever you achieve here it will be remembered for generations.” Ariston stared at the priest questioningly.

“Did you not say a moment before that this place will be my end?”


“I have been gifted with visions lad; I have a third eye as it were. The visions are often jumbled though an element of truth remains firmly established. I saw your death, though that does not mean it will happen, only look at it as a possibility.

“You will fight at the front for the most part, taking the role of a centurion not a legatus sitting safely on his horse to the right of the field. You stand as the most likely to die.”

“If that’s what the God’s decide so be it. My death means nothing if the preservation of the Empire hangs in the balance. That is why I lead this army Eunerich and I still have hope for us yet.

“See what we build to add the pass as a defensive point also. We will be able to hold it and the fort till reinforcements arrive I assure you.” Ariston spoke without raising his voice, he kept it measured. The priest angled his head and shook it.

“This I feel was what the God’s have had planned for you since your birth Ariston. Wait for your reinforcements if you wish, though don’t be shocked by a letter instead.”
*

Ithalk stamped with rage along the hill in front of a loud marching column of singing men. He clenched his fists and relaxed them, only to do it time and time again to release his frustration. However much he tried the angrier he would become at his failure to sustain his fury.

The target of this malice was Norgad and his mountain men. They had attacked without orders and far too early, eager for blood and glory. They had suffered tremendous casualties and lost the battle, thus rendering the northern force weaker when the main attack came.

“Where is he,” Ithalk bellowed with bloodlust as he stormed through the ‘Bear-fighters’ camp. The camp sat in silence nursing their wounds.

“He is dead.” One shouted. Ithalk paused and turned to the campfire it sprung from.

“He was killed, here is his axe.” The barbarian stepped forward and held out the giant axe of Norgad. It was indeed the weapon of the old man.

“I am Goron son of Norgad, these men are now my responsibility.” Goron was every bit the monster of his father. His neck was thick, his shoulders broad with a solid jaw. Ithalk looked at the axe then at Goron.

“That is why I said wait; your father paid the price for his ignorance. Do not attack again without orders or I will challenge you myself Goron.” Goron grunted and held the chieftains gaze. Ithalk left the rocky camp to his horse, one of his sons the oldest named Valrik waited silently for his father on his saddle.

“The mountain chieftain Norgad is dead.” Valrik’s eyes widened with shock.

“You killed him!” he asked, Ithalk shook his head.

“No, though I would have done if he lived.” Ithalk mounted quickly and studied his son once he sat comfortable on the saddle.

“It was bad.” He added picturing the worn out faces of proud men and the scores of wounded.

“Our scouts have come into sight of Fort Paxtas, at least there’s some good news.” Ithalk muttered information already imparted earlier by the mercenary scouts under Asian pay who had ridden ahead of the main army.

“We should be there in the next day or so.” He added as if the knowledge brought reassurance.

“Then forget Norgad’s mistake, he is dead because of his foolishness. Focus on the main assault to come.” His son’s words seemed to comfort him.

“Your right my boy, the Corinthian’s have tasted the first victory but it will be glory short lived!” He looked at the marching column that continued across the land as far as the eye could see. They were almost there.

*

The Wall of the Northern Empire stretched across the entire north and western borders of Thracadonia, it ran a full three hundred kilometres. It loomed before the riders as one of the greatest defences built in the entire known world. Towers with wooden shutters as windows were spaced out every twenty-five yards. A wind blew across the battlements, washing the sweating guards with a cool refreshing wave of air.

The morning of the fourth days ride was warm but humid. One could feel the sweat dripping down his ribs under his garments and armour. Yesterdays ride had been anything other than peaceful, though they had managed to avoid combat.

By the afternoon of the third day Valorous’ party had been tracked at first by a small group of men, a group that fattened as the length of time developed. They had been persistent, it had taken a while to throw them from their trail but the Corinthian horses were faster and hardier, capable of out-distancing the very best bred horses outside all the Empire.

Once they had given their pursuers the slip, Valorous had ordered a rest, the horses needed it after their ordeal. The stop offered the group a chance to gulp a little water and grab a bite to eat from their packs.

Then they had ridden straight through to the morning. Derklydes was pale and was unable to ride his horse after the chase. He was now asleep resting upon Glavious’ back as Glavious rode and led the youth’s horse. Cronos looked bitter; a murderous glaze covered his eyes as he stared at the wall.

“We are here at least.” Glavious said to lighten the dark mood that had surrounded the group since the death of Ithakus. A centurion waved down to them and shouted.

“Good morning to you! Who are you and where is it you ride from and where to?” Valorous moved from out of the group to speak and identify himself as the most senior.

“Optio Valorous of the Emperors Tenth Legion stationed at Fort Paxtas. I have come to deliver a letter from our legatus.” A few moments passed as they heard the centurion shout loudly to his men hidden behind the wall. A bolt could be heard and then a solid oak door opened quietly.

“Come in, rest a while before you travel further, there is a fire going and breakfast if you’d join us.” The centurion was a short fellow who introduced himself as Porsena. His bulk was mostly fat not muscle, his face was round with a small button nose and red cheeks.

Valorous led the way through the door, climbing from his horse and taking it by the reins. The party dismounted and followed his lead. White tents were lined out on a bare plain in a circle, five in total. A fire was situated in the middle of the tents. The tents could house ten guards including the centurion, a little more than standard.

When they arrived at the fire they were offered food and drink which they happily accepted from the two legionaries who were by the fire, resting till their time on the wall came.

They sat and talked around the fire like old friends though none had met before.

“I hear the barbarians are on the move.” The talk strayed from friendly introductions and banter, the barbarian threat was hanging on all their minds. The speaker was Argos, a man from the Hellenic states; he was in his mid twenties with shining bronze skin and black hair. He could stand as a model for the sculptors, so handsome were his features.

“What are you lot doing in Fort Paxtas? You’re the only buggers there I hear.” Argos finished, the group went silent.

“The Emperor won’t give up Kalami so easily, I’m sure a couple of legions are on the way to aid you.” Porsena joined the group conversation sat on the grass; his silver tainted armour caught the sun.

“That’s what I think this letter is, our legatus wishes to know when he can expect help I guess.” Valorous tapped the pouch that contained the despatch.

“Looks as though you’ve already seen some trouble.” Porsena spoke nodding towards Derklydes who slept on the ground, sweat shined on his brow.

“Ran into them at the Forest of Ungor, we lost one man, my brother…” Cronos spoke; it was the first any had heard him speak since Ithakus had been buried.

“I am sorry for your loss, war is a terrible thing, it takes the best of men.” Porsena’s sympathy seemed genuine and Cronos smiled weakly before he drifted off into his own little world staring into the flames.

Suddenly one of the men cried out with joy, he had that very moment recognised Valorous from his achievements in Olympia. Everyone was glad that the conversation changed to a happier one.

“You were thirty yards ahead of everyone the last time I saw you, it was incredible!” Valorous offered a smile and replied to the man’s praise.

“The God’s gift me, that is all.”

“Have you forgotten someone?” Glavious tapped the excited man on the shoulder. His face did not spread into one of recognition.

“No sorry but I am not familiar with your achievements.” Glavious was disappointed, he crossed his arms and looked at the sky.

They sat and talked a little longer, grateful for the company and relief of being in Thracadonia at last, even though it was not the city. Valorous rose and declared that they must continue their journey. The men shook hands and laughed at a rude joke or two before they separated.

The short centurion shouted at them as they left in his friendly manner.

“Good luck friends, I hope you get the response you are looking for and please come back this way if you do.” He gave a wave and turned back to the wall.

*

The wall had been built by the time the barbarians had arrived. It stood garrisoned by the 6th and 7th cohorts, men stood on the narrow palisade and towers overlooking the horrifying size of the army that entered the field.

At first the enemy scouts had been spotted a day before, then the geographers who would take the lay of land and start separating the areas for the tribes before they arrived.

The Corinthian’s watched them as they drove markers into the ground; each marker had a name written across the surface carved awkwardly into the wood.

“Look at the bastards!” men shouted down at the enemy, some even took pot-shots at them with bow and arrow though all failed to find a target.

Then the dark figures of a moving army came into view, a sight that froze the blood of even the most courageous of men. They watched as thousands of cattle were herded into hastily constructed pens along with other animals for slaughter while the barbarians lay siege. The men set these pens up at the back so that the men drank from a fresher point in the river before the animals.

Timber was being brought in carts and dumped in large neat piles and tents were erected across the plains. Ariston stood on the watchtower leaning out east, his heart began to beat faster, beside him stood Sarpedon, Paxtas and the six Tribunes.

The Tribune laticlavius, the senior Tribune stepped forward and leant on the palisade with his elbows. His name was Apollinaris, an educated man who had no previous military experience prior to his post to Fort Paxtas. He would be expected to leave after his tour of duty of only one or at the most two years service to begin a career in the senate. He looked nervously out to the horde.

“I can not see any siege equipment.” The Tribune said, holding his hand over his eyes to cover then from the sun.

“Maybe that’s what the timber is for.” Paxtas said pointing out the stacked piles of wood that were getting bigger and bigger every time a cart rolled passed.

“They could build giant siege towers with that amount of wood and roll them up to our walls.” This was from Sarpedon who surveyed the scene like an eagle; he did not want to miss a thing.

A horn sounded from Antir Pass, it was to signify the enemy had started to move closer to the 3rd cohort back in the pass. Ariston looked about worried though he did not let it show on his face, he was a picture of calm.

Everywhere men peered over the palisade with anxious looks. Some men began to smile though they could not understand why. The enemy began spreading out around the fort so the barbarians surrounded them.

There would be no marching out from Fort Paxtas now.

Though they knew what waited for them the sight of the enemy numbers still surpassed all imagination. It was vast, there would be a lot of bloodshed of that there was no doubt.

Men shifted uneasily as the barbarians began to mutter in their thick tongues and laugh around the campfires some had started.

“When will the attack come?” Asked Apollinaris.

“Not today, look at the size of that army. It will take a while for them to prepare after they have arrived at their allotted campsites.” Ariston spoke with certainty, now would be the last night to prepare the forts defences for a probable morning assault.

Tonight he would let the men gather, no duty, no marching, just friends together. For some of them it would be their last evening. He would let them relax as best they can with certain battle approaching, though he would have to order moderate levels of drinking per man, he did not want his army intoxicated for battle.

He stared at the tribesman unable to identify most of the clans. Upon a rise a pavilion was being set up and seats placed there. Were the chieftains going to sit and drink wine while their men fought? It was a team of Asians who worked on the giant pale yellow canvas.

“Whoever is going to be sitting there wants a front row seat.” Exclaimed Paxtas with a grin.

“Perhaps we should charge them for one, allow me,” Tribune Julian stepped forward and cupped his hands round his mouth to shout. “That’s thirty sestersi you bastards!” He shook a fist at the workers, everyone but Apollinaris laughed, a smile did not even break across his pale features.

“Looks like its going to be hell.” Paxtas muttered, hide covered galleries were being brought forward to lie on the grass. The barbarians would use the protection the gallery would offer to get close to the walls.

“Why have they no catapults? They could flatten us to the ground with them.”

“I do not know Apollinaris perhaps they do; you forget they are heavy things to transport.” Ariston replied to the nervous Tribunes question, his eyes firmly rooted on the sea of activity around the plains.

“They have ballista’s Ariston,” pointed out Sarpedon, “and some stone throwers, though those can work no harm against the walls.”

“Well there’s no point in watching this all day. Sarpedon can you muster the senior centurions from their cohorts and tell them to meet me at the principia courtyard.” Sarpedon gave a salute and made his way down the winding steps.
*
The assembled officers waited patiently and in silence for Ariston to speak. They gathered in a line before him stretching the length of the courtyard. Ariston studied the men who would be holding the army together, only the Tribunes looked edgy, every other officer composed themselves without emotion.

“Tonight,” Ariston paused then continued, “I shall relieve the legion. They may do as they wish this evening though please make sure they keep themselves moderately sober.

“The eve of battle is before us gentlemen, how so will the Corinthians act? Will we tremble with fear before the might of the allied horde, or will we stand like stone, solid and dependable?

“The men will look to you and your fellow centurions for inspiration; they will be looking to you when things get bad.” He stopped.

“I know you will not disappoint yourselves or the legion. As you know the 3rd and 5th are in Antir Pass, the wall that connects it to the fort is guarded by the 6th and 7th. The 1st and 2nd cohorts shall be at the east gate, 4th and 8th at the south while cohorts nine and ten will stand at the west gates. You know your places and duty gentlemen. I want you up as soon as the first Bucina horn blasts.” Ariston gave a nod and turned to leave.

“Right then lads, you heard the man, let’s pass round the good news.” Paxtas joked, his hearty laughter rose to the heavens as the group left the principia.

Outside the barbarians kept on coming, before nightfall the defenders could see thousands of campfires burning away like stars in space.


*

“Three miles till salamis, thank the God’s!” Glavious read the marker with enthusiasm as they made their way along the gravel road that meandered through pleasant forest and hills.

A small town lay before them; the town of Campova was a poor one, though a few beautiful villas loomed upon the hills. Derklydes moaned, the wound had been looked at thrice more and cleaned again and again. It was going bad; gangrene was looking likely to take hold. The boy was barely conscious as he clung to Glavious’ waist with sweating palms.

“Better look for a doctor.” Glavious said peering over his right shoulder at his wounded companion.

Campova had no walls like most towns though there were two statues twice the size of tall men acting as a gate into the town, the giants wore old muscled cuirass’ and carried conclave shields and old Corinthian helmets.

The gravel path they rode along round its way through towards a bubbling fountain at the centre of Campova. A small temple was found here with a domed roof and thin pillars. A sign scribbled with chalk on a piece of wood declared that the building was also a hospital of sorts.

The riders were watched nervously by the town’s inhabitants, who milled about the steps of the temple and the ground of the fountain square. By the cramped houses waited carts burdened by baggage, the oxen moaned loudly.

“What’s going on here?” Cronos asked watching a black haired boy rush past with a bag tied to a stick over his shoulder. In answer an old man stepped up with long grey hair and a white beard.

“The people of Campova are leaving young one, the threat of war hangs over this place like vultures above the dying man.” Cronos looked at the tanned winkled features of the old man.

“Why are they leaving I mean the Wall is their protection?” The old man laughed wickedly.

“The people here do not believe in walls for safety, it won’t help us.” The old man answered weakly and continued.

“We will hide in the mountain caves of our ancestors,” he pointed towards black peaks in the distance to the east, “we will be safer there than here.” The old man smiled and shuffled away up the steps into the temple.

“Cronos stay with the horses while we find help for Derkyldes.” Valorous dismounted with a thud as his sandaled feet hit the earth. He passed the reins to Cronos and paced over to Glavious. Valorous helped Derklydes from the horse and slung a supporting arm around his shoulder.

Glavious slid from his horse and went the other side of Derklydes. They carried him up the steps slowly, every now and again Derklydes would try and support himself but Valorous refused to allow this.

The temple was plain, the room virtually empty. There was nothing visible to distinguish which one of the God’s the priests here worshipped. At the far wall in an enclave sat a statue clouded in shadow. The old man who had spoken outside stood by an open door with a smile.

“Bring him in here.” He waved a hand into the room. Inside were a small bed and a stool. Valorous and Glavious lowered the boy onto the bed and indicated the wound.

The priest stepped forward and crouched beside Derklydes. His blue eyes scanned the wound with compassion. He un-wrapped the bandage and bent down to sniff the wound.

“The arrow was dipped in some kind of poison, smells like snake venom to me.” The old man stood.

“Can we leave him with you till our return we are on urgent business.” Valorous asked.

“You will have to; it will take a while to treat his wounds. I will look after him.” The priest smiled and turned to work on Derklydes. Glavious and Valorous left. The sun shone down on them and warmed the skin. They rode towards Salamis, the burden of passing the letter almost over.


*

The fire cackled and spat out miniature balls of flame at the legionaries surrounding it. One flew to land on Crixus’ cloak. He brushed it off quickly with a curse.

“How did your mouth learn such words?” queried Tribune Apollinaris who had joined the men with a bottle of expensive Corinthian wine. The men laughed. Crixus leant towards the fire and stared at the Tribune.

“From the Corinthian army where else?” He smiled mischievously. More laughter jumped from the fire. Apollinaris sipped his glass.

“The foulest mouths in all of Europa, though my slave owners were masters of the art as well.”

“You were a slave?” Asked the Tribune leaning in with interest to study Crixus more carefully.

“There is nothing more degrading than slavery friends,” Crixus seemed to speak for the first time without hatred in his voice. “Where men beat others simply because they are too lazy to do the jobs themselves, or unskilled.”

“Then why do you serve in the Corinthian army, it uses slaves?” Apollinaris asked seriously.

“I have come to know the men I live beside; it is not these I hate for they are like brothers to me. When I was a slave I would dream of adventure, my opportunity came along to claim my freedom and glory so I took it.” Crixus finished and went silent.

“How about the Tribune, let us hear your tale.” Paxtas bellowed and slapped his thighs. The men added their agreement. Apollinaris shifted uneasily on his stool.

“Mine is a boring one fit for no retelling, though I can impart a tale I was told as a child. It is about a boy whose father showered him with gifts. The boy’s father was a member of the senate and could afford extravagant presents for his son, but that did not make the boy happy, no, he craved education. The study of the mind became his love and he went to study in Thracadonia.

“But there is always an opposite of the grandeur things in life, if the study of cultures, art and philosophy was one than war is the other. The boy had grown to be a man when he was posted to an obscure fort in the wilderness.” He drew up his story.

“A fine tale, though why hide the fact that it is you in the story?” Paxtas asked with a knowing smile.

“I am not big on attention.” Apollinaris coughed sharply and drank some more wine.

“To tell the truth I had hoped to avoid combat altogether during my time here, I am not a fighting man.”

“It doesn’t look like you will get the chance to avoid it Apollinaris.” The centurion replied sadly.

“You round that up pretty fast didn’t you sir.” Ageaous said recounting the Tribunes tale.

“Well perhaps I can tell you in more detail at a later time.” Apollinaris stood from his stool and gave an uncomfortable nod before he marched off into the darkness.

Outside the barbarians prepared.

*
Ariston sat at his chambers table. A candle flickered beside a half-full bottle of wine. Ariston’s guests sat drinking their glasses and chatting amongst themselves. The Tribuni angusticlavi had been invited; Apollinaris had decided to spend the evening getting to know some of the men and had politely declined the offer. For most of his time at the fort Apollinaris had little contact with the men and wished to spend the night among them.

Sarpedon and Arcagathus were deep in conversation discussing the attributes of what goodness consists.

“What do you think ‘good’ is, surely it must be the opposite of evil or bad but then these are just words for the concept must arise from somewhere. Take war for example, it is considered both a blessing and a curse, good and bad, two opposites so closely connected I believe you will find similar attributes in both their make-up.”

“What attribute are these Sarpedon?” Asked the doctor with interest.

“Let us examine good as it were. What makes one good? To do things society accepts and wants us to do is surely good, but then look at our Empire. Is it good to take free men and enslave them?” The conversation continued as the wine bottle emptied though only the pair conversed.

Eunerich sat at the table but drank water only and ate modestly, picking at the food Ariston had prepared for his most senior officers.

“Don’t get to eat much with the God’s?” Julian joked pointing out his empty plate.

“You eat too fast boy.” Was the priests reply, he spoke as though he had been agitated by Julian’s words.

“What are the gardens like in the parks of Thracadonia? It has been a while since I have spent time in the secluded glens the gardens provide.” Tribune Septimius spoke, before his post to Fort Paxtas he had been the magistrate of his hometown which included one of the gardens, he missed it greatly.

“They are doing well.” This seemed to please Septimius greatly.

“Well gentlemen,” Ariston rose from his seat a little light headed from the wine.

“I think I shall call it a night, you are all welcome to stay and finish here.”

“Good night Ariston,” nodded Sarpedon as he took time out of his conversation. The rest thanked him for the evening and departed leaving only the priest, Sarpedon and Arcagathus at the table.

*

The shouting started an hour after midnight. Ariston had only just managed to fall asleep when he was woken by his orderly. He now stood at the east wall. In the darkness he could see shapes moving towards the fort, illuminated by torches in their hands.

Ariston could see the tattooed bodies of the clansmen, the orange glow of the torches made them appear like monsters in the darkness, almost like a group of satyr’s.

There were only seven of them, some were wiry and tall, others broad and muscled like tigers. They began screaming and hooting like maniacs. One stepped close to the wall and tossed up a black object. In reply the barbarian was shot down with an arrow to the forehead. His comrades rushed away whooping and howling.

The object he had launched onto the palisade came to rest before Ariston’s feet. He almost turned away when he noticed it was the head of Lexicus. The head had paled and stank; the flesh had begun to rot from his skull.

“My God!” shouted Paxtas as he recognised the head. Ariston ordered the head to be buried. A nervous and disgusted soldier picked it up and held the contents of his stomach as he stomped off to fetch his spade to dig a hole.

“They did this to scare us.” Lampolo added.

“Well it worked on me.” Everyone turned to Julian. Ariston rebuked his joke fiercely.

“This is not the time for jokes.” Ariston left the palisade by the steps and walked to the legion grave to find the soldier who was digging Lexicus’ grave. Eytes stood there with the spade; he had dug the grave himself it seemed.

“At least we can give him a proper burial now.” Eytes whispered. “What should the headstone read?” Ariston thought for a moment.

“I think that should be left to you Eytes, you have known him longer than I and knew him better. Write something fitting Eytes, have you ever given poetry a thought.” Eytes shook his head.

“Then ask someone like Euridemas or Apollinaris for help, they are educated men with a talent for writing.” Ariston stared at Eytes and could see the struggle in his eyes as he fought back tears.

“You miss him,” Eytes gave a nod.

“I do to Eytes, I do to.”

[Ikeren]

ballista’s

Well, that’s not quite what you want. I am pretty sure the plural form of Ballista is Ballistae
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=Ballistae

“Three miles till salamis, thank the God’s!”

Any of various highly spiced and salted sausages, made from beef or a mixture of pork and beef?

Salamis, shaken; test; beaten?

I am pretty sure you don’t mean either of those things (http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=salamis) And that you want to capitalize that in your story, being as it is a proper name.

angusticlavi

Think that’s another missed capitalization.

I am impressed you used orderly...so many wouldn't have. I like that.

[Banehero]

Thanks for the information Ikeren, I have gone through and made the changes on my word document :thumbsup:

Any of various highly spiced and salted sausages, made from beef or a mixture of pork and beef? :lol:

[Banehero]

Here is chapter 8 : )

CHAPTER EIGHT

The lights of the city of Salamis, capital of Thracadonia, glared brightly in the night. Above the stars shone. The lake beside the city glittered like a mirror. Boats rocked where they were tied to the docks, slapping against the wooden posts with a splash.

“Haven’t seen a city in years.” Exclaimed Cronos rather merrily, his mood though dark had lightened since they had met the guards at the wall.

They rode the path to the city and gained quick entrance at the elaborate iron gates when they were stopped by the watch.

The gates opened out to the cobbled paths beside neat cut grass. It ran for a few metres and led to the start of the city housing. Giant buildings with pillars the size of trees stretched out to the sky, each wondrous because of the modern standards of architecture they stood for.

It was described as the new Attica, though that label had stuck for almost two centuries. The city had started out very much the same as Attica; the original blueprints of Attica were used as the founding stones for Salamis, though through time things had naturally expanded.

The fort of the legion could be seen and the training grounds that surrounded it; vast fields of lush grass.

Valorous and his group moved down the empty streets stunned by the silence, only the sound of the horses’ hooves upon the stone could be heard and that of their own breathing.

It took them ten minutes to navigate through the city, music could be heard, a flute down a street played by a beggar, a horn and drum within the walls of a house. When they arrived at the fort gates another team of guards streamed forward under torch light. Valorous spoke out loud, holding out the letter.

“We have come from the Tenth Legion and carry an urgent message for the legatus.” The guard narrowed his eyes as he stared at the tired looking men facing him. He gave a single nod to his fellows who opened the wooden gate.

The fort was quiet, the men had gone to sleep hours ago, snoring could be heard from one of the barrack blocks. The guards led them to the principia where a large broad legatus sat at a table in the darkness of his courtyard.

“I will speak with him alone, you stay here.” Glavious and Cronos replied with a nod.

Valorous moved into the courtyard, his footsteps echoed across the stone confines. Vines grew on the pillars, plants scattered the ground in decorated pots as though the legatus had decided to change the legion headquarters into a garden of sorts. He stared from his seat at the figure approaching him.

“Legatus Xareos sir,” Valorous spoke clearly as he came to stop before the general. Xareos spoke in his loud voice like thunder.

“What can I do for you?” Xareos brushed his long hair and sat back on his seat to study the man before him. Valorous had already done the same. Xareos was a legend, a commander whose achievements on land had not gone un-noticed. His tactical mind was sharp and had won him many victories, not only on land but he had tried his hand at sea war-fare as well in the straights of Venal.

He was the general responsible for beating back the army of Asia when it had landed on the east shores to invade Thracadonia. Xareos was also the son of the late general Maximus.

“I have come from Fort Paxtas.” Valorous said swiftly.

“You carry a letter I see,” Xareos spoke clearly, his gaze set on Valorous. Valorous passed the letter into the hands of the legatus. Xareos tore the seal and opened the paper; it rustled in his finger tips. He scanned the flowing writing then paused before he placed the letter on the table.

“I have something for you,” The general passed Valorous another sealed letter, he then studied him sadly. “This is for your legatus; make sure you get it to him.” Valorous took the letter.

“If you don’t mind me asking sir, what are its contents?”

“I do mind, now leave I am sure Ariston would like to see the letter as soon as possible.” Xareos looked at his desk to signify he no longer wished Valorous to be present. Valorous turned and left the courtyard. He cast a suspicious glance back at Xareos who had himself raised his head to watch Valorous leave.

“Pssst you there, stop a moment!” The voice came sharp but quietly from the dimness of the principia courtyard pillars. Valorous watched a figure emerge from the gloom.

“I know the contents of the letter, my name is Cratylus.” Cratylus presented his hand which Valorous hesitated to shake.

“What is in the despatch?”

“An order to stand and die, Fort Paxtas will not receive any support. The legions are going to march to the Wall, no further.”

“Who are you and how do you know what’s in this.” Valorous waved the letter in front of Cratylus. Cratylus led Valorous to a stone bench beside a pillar and wall.

“I am Ariston’s father and delivered that message from the palace in Corinthia,” he sat down and made himself comfortable. “Trust my words; Fort Paxtas is being sacrificed for the survival of the Empire.” Valorous remained on his feet. His heart raced and his mind was full of questions.

“The Empire will offer us no support? Never before have I heard such nonsense!”

“Nonsense! Beware young warrior, don’t let pride of our nation take hold of your senses, is it really hard to believe the Emperor has passed such an order? Corinthia is a weakened nation; half of its army are men from conquered countries. The glory of Attica and the Empire is fast fading.” Valorous shuffled uneasily on his feet.

“If what you say is true then we must do something.” Cratylus broke into a smile.

“I have a plan, though it will take a while to organise. You know the Baths of Agrippa?” Valorous nodded.

“A friend of mine has begun something that might be of interest to you. Are you here on your own or with a group?”

“There are four of us; we had to leave one of our number to the care of a priest in Campova however.”

“Then I advise you send one member to Corinthia and to the Baths of Agrippa. It could be our only chance at getting Fort Paxtas the assistance it needs.”

“Can you tell me what your plans are? What is happening at the baths?” Valorous asked. He did not want to ride to Corinthia for little reason. Cratylus stood and placed his hand on Valorous’ shoulder.

“You will find out when you get there.” It was obvious Cratylus would not reveal his palns. Valorous looked to the sky, a crescent moon could be seen against the dark backdrop.

“Very well, have it your way Cratylus. I will return to Fort Paxtas to deliver this message personally. As for Corinthia and the baths I will send someone, though I’d prefer to know it would not be a waste of time.” He turned and began a pace back to his horse.

Glavious and Cronos stood by the horses and stared at Valorous as they heard his footsteps echo along the stone. A wind had picked up and bit at the skin with its frigid touch.

“What’s going on Valorous?" Glavious asked as he noticed the distressed appearance on his friend’s face.

“Fort Paxtas will receive no help.” Glavious and Cronos both reacted with shock.

“What!”

“I want you to ride to Corinthia Glavious, to the Baths of Agrippa. There you will ask for a man named Cratylus.”

“Cratylus, who’s he?” Glavious asked raising one eyebrow with curiosity.

“He told me he is Ariston’s father, He can help us. I will send Derkyldes to you as well, as Cronos and I make our way back to deliver this.” He tapped the sealed letter.

“Then I shall go, I will see you all soon in Kalami my friends.” They shook hands firmly, then Glavious jumped onto his horse and began a trot. Valorous watched him leave and muttered quietly to himself and Cronos.

“Let us be off as well.”

*


Corinthia spread out before Glavious as he rode his steed hard across the grass. The capital Attica could be seen in the distance, the lights from the city flared vibrantly in the night. It had taken a full day to reach the city, a day of riding with only customary stops to feed and rest the horse less it die from exhaustion.

During the ride Valorous’ words echoed non-stop in his mind. Could it really be true that the legion had been left to die? It seemed unlikely, though he knew that was hope burning in his breast, who knew the workings of powerful men like the Emperor? The poor would always be the ones to fight and die, and those in power chose when and where.

What was this meeting at the baths? Glavious recalled the baths were situated to the utter south of the city, away from the crowded streets and populated areas of Attica. Was Cratylus Ariston’s father? If so then what had he in mind to save his son and all the other men at Fort Paxtas?

Glavious crossed the Pons Neronianus, the western bridge into the city that stretched across the river Tibus and ventured through the narrow cramped streets of the western edge of the city.

He could see the dominating structure of the colosseum as the lights within its confines filtered out and illuminated the building. He could hear the crowd scream and shout as they watched whatever entertainment was being provided this evening.

Glavious disliked the Gladiator fights the slaves were put through for the enjoyment of the nation. It was nothing more that pointless bloodshed, even the barbarians did not find sport in such activities and they were the ones considered uncivilised.

Glavious arrived at the entrance of the Baths of Agrippa. The baths were the biggest in the city, the building that housed them grand.

At the tops of the flat balcony roof stood statues of Corinthian soldiers, they appeared as though they stood guard over the place. The statues faced inwards towards the baths not at the ground surrounding it so all he could see were their backs.

He tied the reins of his horse to a standing tree in the garden that led to the door. The door was closed. He clenched his fist and rapped on the door. He heard his knock echo. Glavious pressed his ear against the door as he caught the faint sound of footsteps from behind the ash-wood.

“Who’s that?” The voice was hurried and anxious.

“I am looking for a man named Cratylus, he said to meet him at the Baths of Agrippa.” There was silence for a moment. Glavious could feel his impatience build as he waited, his heart beat fast in his chest. Then a bolt slid across and the door opened.

The man at the door was short and chubby, the fat from his arms dangled from them like sacks. His face was round as a wheel with cheeks as red as roses. He wore a greying black beard and was bald. He was dressed simply in a towel he had tied round his waist. Water dripped from his body.

The man looked Glavious up and down and peered over his shoulder as though he were looking for others.

“You alone?” The man asked. Glavious nodded. “Good, come in.” The man stepped from the doorway to allow Glavious in.

A group of men sat besides a steaming pool that glittered from the torchlight that burned viciously mounted upon the pillars. Some were armed and stared menacingly at the warrior while others peered out from the baths, their bodies submerged in the water with only their heads sticking out from the surface.

“I am Cratylus,” he spoke in a friendly manner, “you were sent by your friend from Salamis?” Glavious answered with a nod.

“Good, welcome friend.” Glavious paced over to the group, he made his way round the pool carefully, he did not want to slip and fall in. The iron studs on the bottom of his sandals rang as they touched the elegant white tiles of the room.

Cratylus was sat on a bench; he stood to greet Glavious and offered out his hand. Glavious shook it and felt the firmness of Cratylus’ grasp.

“This man is Polybius,” Cratylus said pointing out the man who had let him in. “He runs the Baths of Agrippa.” Polybius rejoined his comrades with a smile and sat himself down where Cratylus had been a moment before.

“You know my son Theo do you not?”

“I do, though admittedly not well.” Glavious knew of Theopompus’ bad reputation but had remained free of comment and judgement.

“I am sure you would like to know our plans. Well now is the time to sit and listen my friend, for what we do here goes against the law and word of the Emperor. In short words, we could all be hung for this.” Glavious sat cross-legged on the tiled floor and pinned back his ears. Cratylus continued.

“These men here all have relations with the fort in some way, be it brother, son or even father. We are all prepared for the consequences of our actions. Tonight men from all over Corinthia will meet us here. We plan to build a force strong enough to act as reinforcements to Fort Paxtas.

“We have men in high positons, in the senate and otherwise who have authorised this plan in secret. Tonight we will scour the city for noble warriors ourselves, you included Glavious. We have reports that even some of the Praetorian Guard will leave their posts. Members of the Imperial Horseguard have volunteered their services also, so we have cavalry in our numbers.”

“How many men are you expecting?” Glavious asked looking over the serious expressions of the men facing him.

“I do not know exactly, we will find out though won’t we. A thousand, two perhaps?” Glavious laughed.

“How do you expect to move two thousand men across the country without being seen, let alone escape the city?”

“It will be very difficult but once our force has gathered here at the baths we will march out the south gate. There are only empty streets that way, no one would see us leave the city at night and the guards at the gate can be bribed. Then we will travel west around the city and go north through Thracadonia to Kalami.”

“How do you propose on getting through the wall?”

“We have papers claiming business, they appear authentic though who knows how far they will carry us?”

“We must try!” Polybius put in with emotion.

“When do we start?”

“Right now if you’d like Glavious.”


*

Valorous and Cronos arrived at Campova as the sheet of darkness stretched across the land. Few lights burned within the homes and the carts that had sat by the houses had vanished. Lines in the earth led east, to the Black Mountains. Most of the townspeople had fled to make up home in the caverns of the mountain range.

The fountain was still bubbling in the square, the splash of water relaxing. Valorous and Cronos both dismounted and stared up at the temple where they had left Derklydes the day before.

They entered through the arch into a unit room. Cracks in the door where Derklydes had been laid shot out beams of light. Valorous knocked his knuckles against the wood twice and spoke out loudly so he was certain his voice carried through the door.

“Derklydes, it’s me Valorous.” The door opened slowly, Derklydes gave a beaming grin that revealed his stained yellow teeth.

“The priest did a good job I see.” Valorous said with a smile as he gave Derklydes sill intact limb a pat.

“He did not have to cut your arm off, lucky bugger.” Cronos muttered with a smirk.

“Where is Glavious?”

“In Corinthia I hope, I will tell you all once we have left this place.” A snore broke the conversation. The old man lay asleep on a chair in the corner of the room, his head rested upon his arm, braced by the elbow.

“We should thank him.” Derklydes said pacing over to the priest. Derklydes tapped the man on the arm and he startled awake. He looked exhausted, the purple rings round his eyes made him look as though he had recently been a victim of a mugging.

“Thank you, I must be going now.” The priest smield and gave a nod as he fell back to sleep. The snoring resumed.

Derklydes collected his things and dressed in his armour. They left the room once he had finished, after blowing out the candle to pitch the room into darkness.

Derkyldes horse had been taken to the stables; they found it there in good health. The villagers had looked after the animal while the boy had recovered. The horse’s coat shined as he led it out from the enclosure.

“Now listen to me Derklydes, you will not be coming with us to Fort Paxtas.”

“Why? I must come back with you.” Valorous shook his head sternly and related the last day’s events in Thracadonia and where Glavious had gone.

“I want you to follow Glavious and give him support anyway you can, I am certain he will need the help.”

“But…” Valorous held out his hand to silence the boy.

“You must return to Fort Paxtas only with Glavious. Do not follow us back Derklydes, only death awaits you there.” Derklydes nodded his understanding with eyes closed and fists tightly clenched.

“Whether Fort Paxtas stands or falls will be determined by whatever Cratylus has planned, I am relying on you to help him.”

“Then I shall not fail you Valorous,” he said with a forced grin as he jumped onto his horse. The three exchanged nods before Derklydes adjusted his bow and quiver strapped to his back and kicked his horse into a run.

“What do you think will happen to us?” Cronos asked with a solemn look.

“A chance for glory and immortality Cronos, can you not hear the call of the God’s?”

*

“Ariston!” A familiar voice boomed and resounded in his head. Ariston woke and sprang from his bed like a startled deer. He opened his eyes to behold a sight beyond belief. Before him floating as though suspended from strings was the ghostly visage of Lexicus’ head. Lexicus bore a grim look on his face; his eyes were wide with madness. Ariston struggled to speak.

“This is your fault!” It cried with demonic energy.

“My fault?”

“I died because of you!” Ariston shook his head.

“It was your decision to go to the barbarians.”

“Everyone will die here Ariston, you know this deep in your heart.” The head laughed and faded, leaving the twisted laughter to linger in the room. Then Ariston had woken from his nightmare.

Ariston rubbed at his eyes and heard the squelch of liquid as he pressed them softly. He yawned and noticed the sun had not come up though the dawn was fast approaching.

He shook his head and reached for a cold drink of water on his bedside table. The water was warm on his tongue but he swallowed it with closed eyes. He noticed his hand shook as he clasped the glass. He put the water down and grabbed his shaking hand.

“Courage do not fail me today,” he whispered as the shake disappeared. His heart beat slowed as he relaxed.

The bed sheets were damp with sweat. His dreams had been plagued by the head of Lexicus. It had floated before his very eyes and spoke. Lexicus had blamed Ariston for his death in the dream and had also declared the fort doomed. Was this just a dream or was it something more disturbing? Ariston had heard the God’s passed messages to mortals in strange ways, dreams being a particular favourite as the heroes of the past claimed. Ariston dismissed the thoughts as he raised himself from the bed to peer out his window.

It was the morning of the third day since the Kalami tribes and their allies had arrived. There had been no blood spilt since the barbarian was shot for chucking up the head of Lexicus.

The enemy had begun building the lattice work for the siege mounds with the timber and continued to prepare other equipment such as rams and ballistae for the coming assault.

Ariston knew that time was fast approaching, today looked likely. He had ordered the hastily erected palisade that went along to the pass covered with soaked ox-hide so that if fire arrows were used they could prevent the spread of the flames.

Then the Buncina horn called, light had now covered the land though it was a grim white. Ariston moved to his armour which lay neatly on the floor at the end of his bed. He looked at his reflection in the shield that leant against the bed post.

“May the God’s protect us!” He armed and dressed himself carefully, taking time with his appearance.

His gladius had been oiled and was ready to spill blood when the time came to drop spear. He connected the belt round his waist and positioned the sword to the left, the opposite side to the everyday legionary and tied the front of his white belt in a bow as a symbol of his rank.

Then he left into the light of the morning sun, composed and in control of his fear. He looked up at the sky, grey clouds loomed but not many, it would most likely be a clear day.

[Raging_Zealot]

Just a few things for now. Overall good writing. In the most recent chapter, nothing really jumps out at me besides this:

“I have a plan, though it will take a while to organise. You know the Baths of Agrippa?” Valorous nodded.

Orangise should be organize.

I'll try to find time to read over things better to give additional feedback.

On the first read, it seemed a bit redundant to show Ariston's dream, and then to go over it again in the next paragraph, however upon looking over it again, I have decided it is not so. As I was reading, and saw the dream being addressed again, I formed the notion that it would be merely an elaboration, or a repetition. After fully reading it, and looking at it again, I see that it is used more to display Ariston's thoughts and feelings at that time, which I see as good.

[Ikeren]

...his mood though dark had...
...his mood, though dark, had...
Though dark was kind of an aside, I really think it needs to be inside comma’s.

and felt the firmness of Cratylus’ grasp.

Beautiful. You built what you could expect the character to be like more then firmly enough in a mere half a line. I love it.

Right now, if you’d like, Glavious.”

Again, the “if you’d like” is an unnecessary aside. Maybe I’ve learned wrong, but I really feel it should be bracketed by comma’s.

I really like the story. It's well written, and it's obviously been well thought out. It's not poor action, where there are completely random fights thrown in to keep people from getting bored during the non-fighting parts. I like that.

[Banehero]

Thanks for your suggestions and thoughts Zealot and Ikeren they are much appreciated.

...his mood though dark had...
...his mood, though dark, had...
Though dark was kind of an aside, I really think it needs to be inside comma’s.

Right now, if you’d like, Glavious.”

Again, the “if you’d like” is an unnecessary aside. Maybe I’ve learned wrong, but I really feel it should be bracketed by comma’s.

I think your right there :thumbsup:

[Banehero]

heres chapter 9


CHAPTER NINE


Ariston stood on the battlements of the east wall, the ground before the trenches and traps was filled by the enemy massing in line three hundred meters from the wall, just out of range of the forts Ballistae stationed in the towers.

The barbarian ranks carried ladders of various sizes; some looked too short and would most likely be nothing more than death traps. Gaps in the line were visible where rams waited to be unleashed on the fort.

Ariston could see one with a long beam and reinforced head suspended from a wooden frame with four strong legs. Wheels were situated at the bottom of each leg so they could simply drag the ram across the ground with ropes.

It was obvious what the enemy planned today, a ladder attack while they worked away at the gates and walls with the rams and began laying their siege mounds. It was always a risky manoeuvre, casualties would be high in such attacks but the Kalami had no real threat to punish the walls yet.

“It looks like we will be fighting today.” Paxtas said as he watched from the palisade next to Ariston.

“We are as ready as we’ll ever be, I just hope they attack soon, this waiting is doing the men no good.” Ariston answered peering over the faces of some of his apprehensive men.

“Battle will be good for the men; once there is action they will simply fight and discard their fear.” Paxtas added.

Ariston stared at the line of legionaries standing around the inner wall. Ladders had been placed and fixed to the inside wall so that men could quickly assist their comrades on the battlements from where they waited on ground level.

The legion now stood separated, each century of each cohort had their place and waited in silence. Ariston turned to those men within hearing range and spoke as loud as he could force his voice.

“Be patient brothers,” he said then paused for a moment, “the enemy will be upon us soon. Is each of you ready? I am.” Ariston drew his sword. His orderly Demetrius rushed to his side, a cockerel in hand for sacrifice to the God’s. Ariston took hold of the struggling animal with an iron grip around its neck. He drew the blade across it spilling blood onto the battlements. He passed the dead animal back to Demetrius who shuffled back behind the legatus.

Then horns sounded from barbarian instruments. The sound was deafening and terrible. A chorus of shouts and obscene gestures were directed at the legionaries who stood on the walls.

“Well I am pleased I have absolutely no idea what they are saying, sounds awful.” Julian said at Ariston’s side.

“I think its something about your mother.” Muttered Paxtas with a grin, Julian laughed.

More horns sounded and seemed to shake the very ground with vibration. Ariston could feel it rumble in his chest. The barbarians charged with a thunderous roar.

“Here they are men, for Corinthia and the Emperor!” He raised his sword into the air and cheered. His men raised their spears to the skies and joined his cheer.

The barbarians moved forwards like an irresistible current as it made its way to engulf the fort. They breached the first trench scrambling down one side and up the other. They ran into the field of ‘lilies’ and wooden steaks. Men dropped from wounds to the gut and collapsed in agony clutching their foot as they impaled their feet rushing over the iron spikes.

Behind the legionaries on the wall stood the auxiliary units, the skirmishers, men selected from their cohorts to act as missile troops. They drew back on their bows and released a deadly barrage of arrows onto the oncoming horde.

“Cast!” Centurions along the wall relayed the order to launch spear. Pilums flew from the wall with deadly accuracy landing on the massed ranks of rushing barbarians.

As the missiles rained down men were caught and tripped by fallen comrades, causing even more chaos. Men fell and were trampled to death by their own tribesmen eager to get to the walls.

The wave crashed against the wall and ladders were raised from the trench. Ariston could feel his hands had begun to sweat as he rushed to a ladder and pushed with all his might. He could not tip it over; the weight of the Kalami climbing it was too much.

Instead he slid it to the side so that it came away from the wall to strike the next ladder beside it. The ladder and those clambering up its steps landed horribly on the sea of men below.

Blocks of hide-covered galleries now protected many of the barbarians from missiles. Stones were hurled from the walls with a thud as they struck the flimsy wooden frame of a gallery. The Hide tore and the men rushed from out of the ruined cover.

Then a cloud of arrows covered the skies from barbarian bows. Ariston raised his shield and could hear the crash of the iron tips upon his scutum and those next to him.

He crouched as the onslaught appeared never-ending. Besides him a man dropped pierced by many arrows. Blood began to spill from the man’s wounds and mouth which flowed round Ariston’s sandals.

The sound of a challenge met his ears. The arrows rained lightly now, the barbarians had used the time the Corinthians had taken shelter beneath their shields to scale the walls.

One leapt the palisade to land before Ariston. He was stripped to the waist like most clansmen, strange tattoos marked his chest. The sword in his hands crashed upon Ariston’s shield with a clunk. Ariston could feel himself almost slip from the blood that now coated the battlements. Ariston pushed with his shield and forced his opponent from the wall. The barbarian screamed as he tumbled.

Another swung at him from the top of a ladder; the blow glanced off his helmet and knocked Ariston backwards. Ariston gripped his spear and stabbed the barbarian through his unprotected throat as his foe stepped onto the narrow battlements. All around him similar struggles raged with the shouts of men.

Then there was a crash so loud Ariston believed that part of the wall had been destroyed. Men stared from the wall at the team of barbarians working on the fortification with the ram. The ram was long and tipped with the head of a bull cast in brilliant silver. It seemed to grin as it chipped away at the fort.

“Rope!” Ariston called to his men. Two legionaries rushed to his side with a long piece of rope, a noose was located at the end. The men knew what to do, they would make an attempt to get the noose round the ram and pull it up.

They lowered the rope but missed; a barbarian made a grab for it but caught thin air as the legionaries withdrew it. The second attempt was a good one as the noose slotted round the ram head.

“Pull!” Ariston cried as he struck out at another enemy scaling the ladder. The men pulled but achieved nothing. Then strong hands took the rope with a cry as thunderous as the God’s. Paxtas pulled the ram from the barbarians grasp. Sweat poured from his face as he reddened with the exertion. The veins on his neck stuck out and his head pounded.

The ram was pulled over the wall and dropped onto the battlements. The men let go of the rope and rolled it onto the ground with a cheer. Ariston gave Paxtas a nod.

“You are in command here Paxtas.” Paxtas gave a nod and turned his attention back to the enemy. Ariston rushed along the battlements to the south wall where the legion was having similar success with the noose also.

He stepped over the body of a decapitated barbarian and noticed the trail of blood which indicated where the head had rolled. He heard an arrow whiz past his cheek and felt the un-nerving closeness of the wind as it sped by.

His eyes scanned the battlements. It was chaos, man against man fighting for their very lives. They fought with an inhuman ferocity and determination. Ariston watched a legionary who had been stripped of shield fling himself upon the foe, burying his pilum in ones gut, his gladius into the face of another.

Ariston picked up a scutum from the ground; he carefully released the dead man’s grip from the shield and stepped besides the man whom he had watched. He noticed he recognised the legionary as he passed him the shield. It was Marcus whom he had spoken to in the tower before the horde had arrived. Marcus didn’t have time to even nod his thanks; he turned and thrust his spear into a chest of an oncoming tribesman.

Then he was cut down, a spear took him beneath the chin as a barbarian tore the shield up. He closed his eyes and dropped, the barbarian’s spear trapped under him. Ariston stepped forward and thrust his spear tip in the enemies groin as the foe attacked bare-handed. He tore it out and opened a second wound across the breast.

Then a pilum came over from his shoulder, a legionary was supporting Ariston as though they were on an open field within the phalanx. They worked on the ladder crew who managed to reach the battlements, smashing and tearing flesh like a butcher.

The familiar spring of the catapults launching their heavy loads into the air filled his ears and he looked up to see boulders hurtling over the walls. The catapult crews within the fort had begun their bombardment. The rocks smashed into the heads and crushed the Kalami tribesmen unfortunate enough to be in its way.

Out in the pass the blood spilled thick and urine drenched the soil. Euridemas was in the front of his rank, the 5th cohort taking over from the tired 3rd who now sat and drank water and dressed their wounds, ready to go back in line in a short time.

The battle in the pass had been ferocious, so many had the enemy thrown between the mountains and this time they did not run. They were driven by the thought that this was it; this would be the day the fort fell.

Euridemas pushed his men onwards, driving the enemy back against the very pass walls. This was how the battle had gone, like a swinging pendulum, the Corinthian line had pushed back the barbarians only to be forced back a short while later. He hacked through a wicker shield once, then again as the man who wielded it dropped to one knee. Euridemas kicked him over and continued his march, the man behind him sticking the butt-spike of his spear into the downed man’s neck with a horrific crunch.

Lampolo nursed a wounded shoulder where a barbarian had caught him with an axe. He tossed his damaged shoulder plate to the ground. He had gone through two shields already; the first had broken in two, the second its hand grip had torn. His broken shaft of a pilum indicated he had similar luck with the spear. He looked across to a man who sat nearby, rooting the corpses that surrounded them for weapons. It was Meneleus. He stopped at a perfect pilum and smiled as he dusted it off.

Across the pass the wall was defending poorly. Its soaked ox-hide boards had been stripped and parts of the timber wall were now ablaze. The makeshift tower ballista crews worked furiously, pitching their arrows into two or three men a time.

Kwame stood on the narrow wooden battlements. The barbarians had managed to rush here well and fought like devils. A spear thrown by a barbarian flew overhead. Men from the 6th and 7th cohorts stood in teams shield to shield. The barbarians crashed against them like a wave upon the breaker. For a moment Kwame felt as though he would be pushed from the platform but he held his footing and so did his men. They pressed against the barbarians with the might of their shields, the thrusting of spear and the short gladius proved too much for the Kalami as they began to cut them down and regain the battlements.

He could see Claudius, the 7th’s lead centurion, hammer away at the legs of an enemy with his gladius. Claudius sheered through the kneecap and dropped his foe, finishing him as he lay on the ground.

“Water!” Kwame cried to the servants who stood by the inside trench. They dipped buckets into the water filled hole and rushed to the flames licking the defences. The acrid stench of burnt wood drifted across the battle as the wind blew the thick clouds of smoke over the fort. The water washed over the flames with a sizzle but did not stop the raging fire from spreading further.

Then the sound of the small stone throwers of the barbarians mingled with the pandemonium that had swept the plains. The small orange size missiles rained down like a deadly hail storm.

Ariston had to raise his shield and felt the force of one rock smash his shield. His arms were tired now; he could feel the strength leaving his body. But he would not stop; he had reached the point where pain of body was nothing.

Ariston could see his men had reverted to tossing the enemy dead from the walls at their comrades to crush them like they were launching boulders. More arrows filled the skies and Ariston pressed his body against the parapet.

The ladders had filled even more; the barbarians had lost their patience and no longer waited for one man to start climbing. They fought themselves to get up the ladder, climbing over bodies in their rush causing some to fall to their deaths.

Legionaries now stood poised above the barbarians and began throwing their pilums down on the climbers at point blank range. Archers now lined the walls and let loose their deadly barrage.

Then Ariston noticed a rather dangerous looking siege mound almost near completion further down the wall, to the south. The mound was almost as tall as the wall now; measures were being taken to counter this though it looked as though the men working on heightening the wall with hastily constructed walls of wood would need to work faster.

The attackers defended themselves by bringing to the fore giant blocks of thick wood. They raised it and pushed forward to the wall, pilums and arrows struck it with no effect. A line of barbarians waited on the mound crying like a pack of animals.

Ariston rushed to the south wall. The men there worked furiously, pushing away ladders and fighting those barbarians who had managed to storm the walls. He rushed to the tower ballista crew and cried our orders with an outstretched arm.

“Remove that defence!” Ariston indicated the wall of wood the barbarians had risen to cover their work on the mound. The crew nodded and turned the weapon to face the mound.

A triple-finned bolt head was placed in the ballista, they winched the string back and fired. The bolt struck the wood and smashed it round. A deadly storm of arrows now hit the attackers as their wall turned and fell.

A catapult came dangerously close and smashed onto the siege mound throwing up the timber, dust and men. Screams filled the air. Then horns sounded over the noise of battle. It was the same sound that started the attack but now it seemed as though the barbarians had had enough.

They began to pull back.

“What’s going on?” Asked a confused centurion from the 8th cohort, his helmet had been knocked from his head and blood drenched his hair. Ariston looked across to the pass and noticed the barbarians were pulling back there too.

“It looks as though they are retreating.” There were no longer any attempts made to scale the ladders. Some were simply left leaning against the wall as they ran back to the safety of the stockade that the barbarians had erected to surround the fort.

Ariston shook his head and rushed back to the first cohort feeling the sweat drip down his sides. His legs and back was sodden with it as well. As he passed men waved fists at the retreating enemy and shouted insults.

Paxtas was still standing; he leant upon the palisade and took off his helmet to brush his hair. It was damp with sweat. His sword was blunted and bloodied, his armour and shield coated with gore.

“Looks like we chased them off today sir,” he said with an exhausted smile. Crixus and Ageaous were beside their centurion coated in a similar fashion. Crixus carried the end of a broken pilum in his hands, crimson dripped from the point.

“You forgot this!” He cried as he launched the broken weapon into the back of a fleeing clansman. The cast was a good one as it struck the foe with force.

Ariston was happy and the sense of relief that followed the legions victory was welcome. A cheer rose from the legion that rumbled over to the barbarian ranks. Today had been a good day; the bodies on the ground spoke of how brutal the fight had been.

Outside the walls hundreds lay dead; in the pass the bodies were thicker. They must have killed thousands but at what loss he did not know. He would have to check in with the cohorts soon after they did the roll call.

Stretchers carried wounded men to the hospital; Ariston was certain Arcagathus was working away, doing his best to heal the men. He stared out to the ground at the mess that caked the grass. Wounded men crawled on their bellies, some simply called out for help in between the dead.

“I want a round up of the dead and injured within the hour Paxtas,” Ariston turned to leave but stopped. He spoke softly to Paxtas. “Good work with the ram.” Paxtas simply grinned and spat out a tooth from his mouth.

“No problem sir.”

The numbers came in within the hour. Ariston pored over the papers given to him by each cohort. The numbers of dead and wounded were little, the most damage being done in the pass where the troops could fight in line against more opponents.

The 3rd and 5th cohorts had lost only eighty-seven men, though twice that number had received niggling injuries, some of which would not recover. He read the number out loud.

Two-hundred and fifteen men.

That was how many the legion had lost in the first assault on the fort. Good news in Ariston’s book, though the weight of leadership was heavy. Ariston sat at his desk and placed his head in his hands.

[Ikeren]

Good one with the noose...I've never seen that before, but it is sheerly brilliant.

[Banehero]

Good one with the noose...I've never seen that before, but it is sheerly brilliant.

Thanks : ) Here chapter ten : )

CHAPTER TEN

The brazier burned violently casting its heat through the tent. Ithalk sat on a stool, his arse numb from the length of time spent on the solid surface. A breeze blew the purple canvas flaps open to grant Ithalk a view of the camp. His eyes briefly caught the disillusioned and sorry looks on the men’s faces who sat around the raging cackling campfires.

To say he was disappointed with the days result would have been an understatement. Twice now the army had suffered defeat against the small force at Fort Paxtas. How would they fare against the rest of the Empire if they struggled so against such a force?

Morale would be low amongst the men, the legionaries had fought like demons and the taste of defeat was bitter. It would only be a matter of time before the fort fell, but if they suffered more losses would the army break apart and return to their separate tribes?

If something like that happened then the possibility that the tribes would never again unite would be real, they would return to fighting one another while their land was changed into a Corinthian state. The way of the Kalami life would then come to an end.

The tent flap was pushed aside and Cyruss bent through the entrance, adorned as usual in gold and silver, the scent of cinnamon in the air accompanied him. He looked almost amused and studied Ithalk with a smile, he peered about the tent.

“I see you are enjoying the Asian campaign tent.”

“It’s better than the grass.” Ithalk admitted looking over his bed tucked in the far corner.

“Today was bad,” Cyruss spoke plainly but there was a gleam in his eyes. “Tomorrow will be better, the siege mounds are placed and as we speak are being watched and defended by our Numidian allies. Do not be disheartened Ithalk, the Corinthian’s are a tough people with a stunning military list of accomplishments. We must pound away till our siege towers are built and wait for our catapults to arrive from Clontarf.”

“And how long will that be?”

“A week no more, we have a little surprise in store for the Corinthian’s. Have you ever heard of an elephant?” Ithalk’s eyes widened at the mere mention of the giant beasts.

“You have elephants!” Cyruss nodded with a smile, he was happy he had shocked the tribesman chieftain so easily.

“See the Corinthian’s are doomed Ithalk.” With that the Asian gave a courtly bow and left Ithalk to his thoughts.

Doomed the Corinthian’s maybe but they still stood and would be as dangerous as a cornered lion.

*

The courtyard stood in silence as the names of the dead were called out by Ariston. They had been buried with honours shortly after the battle; their bodies washed and cleaned of blood and dirt.

As many centuries as they could spare for the ceremony stood at attention, Ariston could not afford to leave the pass undefended and the walls un-occupied. Despite Ariston’s request for the 3rd and 5th cohorts to leave the pass and swap with another cohort within the fort, they still manned the rocky enclosure, determined to stay the reminder of the siege in the pass.

Ariston would not stop them; they had fought hard in the most dangerous spot of the field. The mounds of enemy dead in the pass had begun to litter the field as though they were a wall, a fortification to fight behind.

Once the names had been called the cohorts fell out to resume their posts. Some rushed to the forts workshops to prepare new weapons for the next assault.

Stock piles of arrows and spears collected by the walls and were dispersed among the men. Sling bullets were also passed around, though they would see little use, some among the men could drill the bullets from a hundred yards with deadly accuracy but most could not.

Ariston returned to the Principia courtyard with Sarpedon and the Tribunes, to discuss further tactics and ideas. A long oak table now sat at the centre of the courtyard, a series of high-backed cushioned seats and stools surrounded it for his officers.

A vase sat on the table filled with cold water, a set of sparkling glasses at hand. A bird landed on the roof behind Ariston as he pulled back his chair. It began a delightful tune, one which took him away from the troubles plaguing his mind. He was taken back to the past, to happier days when the songs of birds were joyful.

Ariston was sat on a knoll over-looking the river Tibus. The sun was high and birds sang happily in the depths and heights of the trees while Anetea lay in his arms. They had just made love and she now slept peacefully, her warm breath comforting as it stroked his skin.

“Ariston, aren’t you going to sit down?” Sarpedon’s voice snapped Ariston from the tranquil moment of his past. “You look miles away. Ariston noticed the amused looks and those of concern that were presented by his men. He gave a smile and sat.

“I apologise,” he said as he rested himself upon the chair. He turned once again to look at the bird but it had gone, it was almost as though it had not been there at all.

“How badly damaged are the walls?” Ariston asked Sarpedon, shaking the bird from his mind and the thoughts of his wife.

“The palisade across the pass needs some work and the west gate took a hammering, I advise we build a second wall behind it. Ariston nodded.

“Make it shorter that the outer wall Sarpedon, I want the buggers surprised if they smash through the gate.” Sarpedon gave a wicked smile.

“We’ll have to strike up some tents and use some of the barrack buildings for the wall, I shall start straight away.”

The west barrack block was taken apart, a slow process as they did not want to damage the stone and the framework for when the new wall was started. The remaining gates were fortified by giant suspended beams, ready to drop their force onto a ram and hopefully break it.

Paxtas sat on the battlements twirling a silver disc in his hands that dangled from a chain. He looked at it fondly, it was something Ariston and the legion had noticed. What it stood for to Paxtas was unknown; he did not speak of it. It was never out of reach and was tucked into his armour at all times. The disc was some kind of good luck charm the men deduced, the way he would caress the metal and hold it in his hands was always with respect and, if one could say such a thing, love.

“Sir, what is that thing?” Asked Ageaous, the centurion turned his gaze.

“A gift Ageaous, from my wife,” he stood and presented the disc in his calloused hand. “She gave me this before we were married as I was leaving to serve in the Pictlands.” A smile broke his features, “she said it would keep me from harm and bring me safely back to her.” He placed the disc back round his neck and tucked it into his cuirass. Paxtas then keenly studied the enemy. He would need more than a silver disc to get him out of this, for that he was certain.

*

“What’s this place?” Whispered Glavious as he huddled in his cloak besides Cratylus under the cover of a tree, the wind that hit them was cold and strong. The tree branches moved with its force, the rustle of leaves loud but strangely comforting.

“This is the Imperial Horse Guards camp,” Cratylus pointed out the symbol of the guard, a pole stuck out the ground with a circle-head of gold depicting a rider and his horse. It shook with the wind.

“At this hour I agreed to meet with a centurion named Flavion, well that’s the plan anyway. You know how these sorts of things can get muddled simply because of human incompetence. Not on my part mind you, or his, Flavion is a man of his word.” Glavious nodded and stared out to the camp.

In the darkness Glavious could see very little. He could smell horse though, drifting from the stable blocks in the wind.

“Hmm, looks like it will rain sometime tonight.” Cratylus exclaimed as he stared through the canopy to the sky. Then soft footsteps could be heard, footsteps coming from the camp. The man was moving over grass to cover the sound as best he could.

A figure moved in the darkness, his shape a mere silhouette in the pitch, the light from the moon flashed armour. A centurion emerged to greet Cratylus. He wore no helmet but his rank was clear from the set of phalerae, silver and gold discs rewarded to men after battle, which was presented across his silver armour proudly.

“Hello Cratylus, I am here as promised.” Cratylus beamed a smile and the two embraced with a hug.

“I knew you would come. You have good news I hope?”

“You have my century friend and that of another, two-hundred and forty horsemen at your disposal.”

“Great news!” Cratylus almost shouted this then realised his excitement and moved to silence.

Flavian was a handsome man and a tall stout one at that. His cheeks were dark and sunken, his chin covered with stubble giving him a rather rugged appearance. Flavian’s eyes were the colour of the sea, an odd mix of blue and green.

“You are Glavious the armour-sprinter?”

“I am he.” Glavious replied, trying to keep a triumphant smile from breaking across his face.

Then heavy footfalls sounded behind them on the street. The three stood as still as they could manage with the breeze blowing toga and cloak alike. A marching line of troops passed them but did not stare their way; they just looked agitated about marching in the dark on such a cold night and seemed to be hurrying towards the barracks.

One man tripped and the line halted. An angry centurion bellowed orders to the men helping their comrade to his feet to let him lie on the ground. The man nodded and they dropped him. The centurion hit the downed man with his cane. He shouted something un-audible as the man stood. The centurion returned to the front of the column and resumed the march. They disappeared into the night.

“We will be able to meet you at the baths in two days Cratylus, our commanding officer wants us to do something and our absence would help our effort little.” Flavian said when he was sure no other ears were in the position to listen.

“Then we shall meet in two days Flavian.” The two embraced once more.
“It would be an honour to shake the hand of an Olympic champion.” Flavian added, extending his hand out to Glavious. They shook hands before the centurion turned and left.

“He’s a fine fellow that one.” Cratylus said as he watched Flavian head back to the camp.


*

The five-day ride from Thracadonia to Kalami had been uneventful. Valorous and Cronos had not seen even the trace of a scouting party upon the ground; if they had been spotted no attempt was made on their lives.

Now as the sun set behind the mountains, their journey was pitched once again into darkness. The pace of the horses slowed as they stopped to rest. From where he held onto the horses sides with his legs Valorous could feel its frantic breaths and the beat of its heart.

He slid from his horse to land on the soft long grass. They were merely a few hours from the fort, they could afford to stop and rest a while. The food rations that had been depleted on the journey to Thracadonia had been replenished from the storerooms at the garrison in the city. They now had some cakes, no longer just stale bread and meat.

He took out some water and drank deeply from the skin, he swirled the liquid in his mouth before taking it down his dry throat. Cronos sat on the grass and stared up to the night sky, it was clear and thousands of stars glittered like the light from a candle.

“My brother liked the stars; he would have appreciated this view.” Cronos said forlornly. Valorous tipped his head back to take a look.

“Perhaps he’s watching them now, from somewhere?” The two fell silent; both eyes gazed upwards, planted firmly on the stars.

Then Cronos spotted one tumbling through the pitch, a shooting star flashed across and was gone only a heartbeat later.

“Make a wish Cronos.” Valorous had noticed the star as well.

“I already have Val.”

The two spent the next ten minutes lying on the grass with their backs to the ground; they just watched the starts in silence. They were anxious to return to the fort, though what they expected to find there they could only guess.


*

The plains before them were alive with men and the orange flicker of campfires. The sight started each of their hearts racing. Valorous could see the fort still stood, in the darkness he could make out soldiers on the walls carrying burning torches. From the light he could see the forms of bodies that lay in the trenches before the fort.

“Look at the size of that army!” Cronos whispered, his eyes wide with awe.

“It’s the biggest I’ve seen; even in the west I have not encountered such a large enemy camp.”

“How are we going to get through?” Cronos asked noticing the stockade that surrounded the fort. Valorous was silent for a moment as he considered their options.

“Whatever happens in the next few moments it is imperative we get Ariston this message.” Valorous took out the sealed letter.

“That will be you task Cronos, get this letter within the walls if you have to throw it up.” Cronos gave a nod.

“What will you be doing in the meantime?”

“I will create a disturbance in the camp so their eyes will be upon me and the trouble I cause.” Cronos shook his head as Valorous held out the letter.

“I refuse.” He said, composing himself for Valorous’ anger. “The fort needs you, every man their needs your spirit. I cannot allow you to give me this task; I must not deprive the fort of your services. Your skills are greater than mine, use them better than this. What you plan to do will surely be your death, therefore I refuse. You must take the letter.”

“I have given you an order Cronos!” He said sternly.

“With all respect Valorous, to Hades with you’re order! Good luck my friend.”

Cronos slid from his horse and rushed towards the camp, his footfalls blanketed by the grass.

“Cronos you fool.” Valorous spat with anger and leapt from his steed to follow Cronos into the camp.

Cronos slowed his approach as he hit the borders of the camp. Sentries stood watch though they were tired and complacent, they did not expect the Corinthian’s to attack them from the back.

A giant man dressed in a robe, his face hidden by the hood sat staring into a campfire, his spear planted in the ground at his side with his back to Cronos. Cronos hit him with speed, knocking the man to the ground with one swift strike of his spear. The man rolled onto his fire and caught alight, the flames licked at the robes and his flesh.

Cronos dropped his spear and reached into the flames, his fingers located a stout firm log that would act well for his needs. Tents fluttered in the night breeze and animals kept locked in pens moaned loudly. No-one seemed to notice as Cronos flew to the latch of the gate. He threw the door open and rushed at the long-horned oxen, waving his arms into the air. He shouted to scare them and it worked. They broke from their pen, smashing through the thin timber of the fence and charged headlong into the camp.

The stampeding animals tore through tents and bowled people over like they were skittles. They kicked up flames as their cloven feet hit the campfires, spraying burning pieces of wood into the air.

Cronos worked swiftly, he moved to a line of tents and torched them. One by one the tents lit up and spread, before long the whole south side of the camp was in chaos.

As the flames licked away at the canvas Cronos dropped the torch and drew his sword. A shout came to his left, he had been spotted. The barbarian lunged with wild fury and drove his spear right through Cronos’ scutum. The iron point ripped through and cut deeply into his arm. Now however his enemy was weapon-less.

The barbarian did not let this stop him though; he came at Cronos bare-handed, spittle ran from his mouth as though he were possessed by a demon. He hit the shield and knocked Cronos to the ground. Cronos fell with the barbarian on top of him who was throwing fists like darts thundering into Cronos’ face.

Cronos could feel his nose break and the pain explode in his head. He could feel the blood on his face. With his shield he managed to gain a purchase on the barbarians and rolled him onto the ground, now Cronos was on top. He stabbed the barbarian in the face, a sickening crunch and cry followed.

Cronos stood covered with blood; he coughed it up and spat it out from his mouth with a broken front tooth. His nose poured crimson that ran over his lips and into his mouth.

All around him were the shouts of men as they struggled to douse the fire from spreading with water and wrestled with the animals that had been released. Some animals simply had to be shot down, so dangerous had they become, no-one dared approach them to slow the beasts.

Cronos could see now would be the best time to slip away while the barbarians were busy sorting out the mess he had caused. He moved from the cover of a still intact tent but did not get far. His armour shone and his scarlet cloak fluttered like a flag betraying his escape.

Barbarians rushed him from all sides once they had him surrounded. Cronos took the brunt of ones attack with the shield but could feel hands and steel hit him from all sides, his groin included.

He fell beneath the onslaught with an agonising cry, hammering away with his gladius till his last breath escaped him.

Valorous could see the chaos caused by Cronos’ reckless charge; the flames that spread across the plains lit the entire area as though it were daylight.
Valorous had stripped himself of his armour, only his undergarments remained. In his hands was a gladius and shield and tied around his waist was the all important despatch.

His leg muscles rippled from the impact on the ground as he ran through the camp. As he made his way to the fort barbarians who milled about the inferno stared blankly as they watched the Corinthian pass them.

His speed was blinding and as he went he slashed out at those men unfortunate to be in his way. He jumped fires with ease and ducked under wild attacks when the enemy tried to knock him down.

He reached the south gate and cried out to those who stood on the battlements.

“Open the gates! It’s me Valorous!”

“Valorous! Valorous has returned!” Men called excitedly to one another as they peered down at him. The gates were opened quickly and Valorous was greeted with a cheer from the men.

“Caused a bit of a mess out there Val!” One shouted from a tower with a smile.

“Excellent work!” Another called from the darkness with a laugh. Valorous ignored them and marched towards Ariston’s quarters, his body coated with blood from those he had slain on his run. Then the gates were shut and the excitement died, they realised that Valorous had left with four other men, none of which were with him now. They lowered their heads and went silent.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Good stuff. Still enjoying the story. One suggestion: try to write less colloquially in narration. For example:


They made there way towards Kamda, the closer of the two tribes, carefully picking there way down the slope towards the valley. At times Ageaous would drop a rope to climb down, and left it there for the way back, when descent would be impossible otherwise.
The phrases 'made there way towards' and 'picked there way down' are informal phrases that would be fine in dialogue, but are less welcome in narration. Consider these alternatives:

- ...approached Kamda...

- ...descended the slope...

Less wordy, easier to read, though perhaps not the exact meaning you were trying to express. It may be hard to find the right word sometimes, but a less-is-more approach can help to make the reading less laborious. Broadening one's vocabulary helps.

A couple of other points about this paragraph. The words 'there' should be 'their' (I've also noticed this in other places) and the word 'descent' in the final sentence should either be 'ascent' or else I am very confused.

Another example from the following prargraph:

... made the pass and trails tricky to cover (try 'difficult')

Keep up the good work. :thumbsup:

[Banehero]

Good stuff. Still enjoying the story. One suggestion: try to write less colloquially in narration. For example:



The phrases 'made there way towards' and 'picked there way down' are informal phrases that would be fine in dialogue, but are less welcome in narration. Consider these alternatives:

- ...approached Kamda...

- ...descended the slope...

Less wordy, easier to read, though perhaps not the exact meaning you were trying to express. It may be hard to find the right word sometimes, but a less-is-more approach can help to make the reading less laborious. Broadening one's vocabulary helps.

A couple of other points about this paragraph. The words 'there' should be 'their' (I've also noticed this in other places) and the word 'descent' in the final sentence should either be 'ascent' or else I am very confused.

- I spotted these too, most of the mistakes I've noticed, the wrong theirs have hopefully been ironed out in my word document, along with the confusing descent part : ) though if you notice more don't hesitate to tell me, they may be the buggers I missed out : )

Another example from the following prargraph:

... made the pass and trails tricky to cover (try 'difficult')

Keep up the good work. :thumbsup:

Thanks for reading through Ox and for your thoughts : ) :thumbsup:

[Banehero]

Sorry its been a while, I haven't been writing as much but I will post the next chapter later tonight (if all goes to plan)

[Banehero]

Good stuff. Still enjoying the story. One suggestion: try to write less colloquially in narration. For example:



The phrases 'made there way towards' and 'picked there way down' are informal phrases that would be fine in dialogue, but are less welcome in narration. Consider these alternatives:

- ...approached Kamda...

- ...descended the slope...

Less wordy, easier to read, though perhaps not the exact meaning you were trying to express. It may be hard to find the right word sometimes, but a less-is-more approach can help to make the reading less laborious. Broadening one's vocabulary helps.

A couple of other points about this paragraph. The words 'there' should be 'their' (I've also noticed this in other places) and the word 'descent' in the final sentence should either be 'ascent' or else I am very confused.

Another example from the following prargraph:

... made the pass and trails tricky to cover (try 'difficult')

Keep up the good work. :thumbsup:


I have made a lot of changes to this chapter (and the rest of the book, hopefully all the right their/there's are sorted) thanks for your help Ox, hopefully you will like it when I get it onto TDL. :thumbsup:

[Banehero]

Heres the next chapter : )

CHAPTER ELEVEN


Ariston was awake when he heard the knock at the door. Demetrius had woken Ariston to alert him to the fires though he had barely risen out of bed by the time Valorous had reached his house.

He wiped sleep from his eyes as he opened the door. Valorous stood there and his sight was a relief. Valorous was stripped to his undergarments, his tanned chest exposed and covered with a blanket of sweat that glistened from the candle light Demetrius held at his side. It was apparent he had had to run to get here, perhaps that was the reason for the bedlam outside the walls. In his hands were the shield and sword, the gladius still dripped blood onto the tiles.

“Come in,” Ariston stepped aside to allow the optio space to enter into his chambers.

“Thank you Demetrius that will be all.” Demetrius nodded and handed Ariston the candle before he shut the door.

Valorous placed his sword on the table and dropped his shield with a clatter against the wall. He was speechless and could only manage to place the letter on the table with a thud as he slammed it onto the surface.

Ariston considered the legionary for a moment then reached for the letter. He unfolded it, breaking the seal of Xareos.


To legatus Ariston Scipio, Consul Dardonious Marcellus sends his greetings. It is with a heavy heart I send you this letter for its contents will be of no reassurance to you I am certain.

Asia, our greatest threat to our Empire has once again invaded our shores, by which I am sure you are aware. The Kalami tribes and the Picts to the west have signed agreements to supply Asia with troops in the hope of regaining their lands. These are dangerous times for the Empire and we must meet this threat with the same determination and power like the Republic of the past that this Empire was founded on. Not since Hasdrubal has the Empire been so threatened.

As you know, the Wall of the Northern Empire has been completed; it now stands as our one true defence against the barbarians and allies to the north. Our legions mass there as I write this letter, though many have yet to reach its stony heights.

It is important that these legions reach the Wall, though it will take them time to traverse the globe. The Tenth Legion has been selected to act as our first line of defence to the north.

Unfortunately we will be unable to give you any support. You are on your own Ariston. I am sure you are aware of what this means. Your sacrifice can save the Empire and it is a great honour the Emperor bestows upon you.
For the glory of Corinthia you must hold them in Kalami for as long as possible. Good luck Ariston, my heart is with you and your men.


Ariston could feel a shiver run its course through his entire body. His hair on his arms rose and tingled. He had to read it again just to make sure he had not imagined what he had read. He noticed the look on Valorous’ face and composed himself; he did not want his men to see him despair.

“I take it you already no what the message reads?” Valorous gave a nod.

“Your father was in Thracadonia at the time I received this letter. I have not read it but Cratylus told me.”

“Who else knows? Where are the others?”

“Only the party with me and you now, I came straight here as soon as I entered through the gates. Ithakus and Cronos are dead,” Valorous seemed to lose his concentration as he mentioned the men he had lost, “Derklydes and Glavious are in Corinthia with your father.”

“What are they doing there?”

“I do not know, your father mentioned no details other than he had a plan and would need some help.” Ariston gave a nod.

“He mentioned nothing at all?” Valorous shook his head.

“Sir, Ithakus and Cronos should get special mentions at their memorials; they sacrificed themselves for the success of the mission.”

“Of course I have no doubt they did. Rest now Valorous you have done well.” Valorous gave a salute which Ariston returned then slowly walked to the door.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ariston picked up the shield and the sword and handed them over to Valorous. He simply smiled weakly before he left.

Ariston looked at his hands. Blood from the handle of the blade had wiped itself onto his skin. He wiped the drying blood with his cloak and sat. He held up the letter and tossed it onto the table.

What would he tell the men? Should he? No, they had the right to know. He would have to speak to everyone, or as many as he could to allow the pass to be defended. He would have to tell the officers and get them to pass the news around, and then he would address the men as soon as the first trumpet sounded.


*
“This cannot be true!” Paxtas slammed a fist onto the table, his face flushed red with anger.

“I’m afraid it is, the seal of the Emperor is here,” Ariston pointed to the circle golden wreath at the bottom right corner of the letter.

“Then it is finished,” muttered Apollinaris looking across to Paxtas.

“We should poison the river; there is no reason not to now.” Theopompus stood as he spoke as though it were a discussion in the senate. Ariston shook his head.

“If we are dead men Theopompus there will be no need of the river that’s for certain, though we cannot poison it. Innocents are involved Theo, women and children. You wish to ruin their water also?” Theopompus shook his head with disbelief.

“This is folly, we must go to these extreme measures to prevent such a big force attacking Thracadonia, and it might even force them to leave the plains.”

“Once again Theopompus you display a keen military mind, I will not fault you for that, but I am in charge here and I say no.” Ariston cast a stern glance and Theopompus sat back down.

“I do not rage war against women and children no matter the circumstances; we must destroy them with the strength of ourselves alone and put our faith in the spear.”

“I think we will need to raise a gate at Antir Pass, when the time comes to retreat to the fort we will need a gate.”

“Then build one Lampolo, but make haste, I expect another assault will come on the morrow. It will be bigger than the first, this time they will come eager to kill those who have killed their people, they will come seeking vengeance.

“Tell your men to be ready at the first trumpet; I want everyone to hear what I have to say once the news had been passed on. Also, mention Glavious and Derklydes are safe in Corinthia with my father.”

“Your father?” Theopompus interrupted.

“My father has a plan to help us, though what it is escapes me, I have been told nothing more, only that I believe your father is also involved Theo. The only possible thing they can be doing is building an army. It will take time to muster willing men before he has even begun the march to Kalami.”

“Holding the fort will not be easy if we are to wait that long.” This came from Septimius.

Ariston scanned the faces of his officers as he poured himself some wine he had brought from his chambers. Every face was grave. The room was silent, only the soft sound of the red wine filling the glass could be heard.

“We will act no differently if we were to receive help, drill will be addressed as usual, more so even. The men will attend religious duties and discipline must not slack.”

“What about desertions?” Sarpedon asked, raising the point on all their minds.

“Hopefully it will not come to that. But if men desert and are caught we must follow the rules, they will be executed.” A series of stern nods followed Ariston’s words.

“The first trumpet gentlemen, I bid you goodnight.” With that the officers rose and gave a rehearsed salute as if they were one organic life-form. Ariston returned the salute and watched his officers retire into the night.

Demetrius stepped into the light of the room and began collecting the empty glasses on the table.

“We must be the unluckiest legion in the Empire, wouldn’t you agree?” Ariston asked his orderly.

“It’s not looking too good,” he said before he departed, his hands occupied by the glasses which chimed in his grasp.

Ariston sat back down and thought turned to home, to his wife and son and those dear to him who was fortunate enough to be away from this place. Would he see them again? Would he be able to see that smile he so badly needed to see, a reassuring flash of happiness?

“Don’t bet on it,” he whispered sadly as he stood to make his way to bed. Sleep, that’s what he needed, the blissful reaches of the brother of death.

*

The trumpet sounded at daybreak waking the legion from its slumber. The Bucina Horn joined in with a blast that rumbled ones chest. Ariston had dressed before the trumpet blast woke the legion and was ready on the courtyard for his men sitting comfortably upon his steed, Diomed.

Slowly the cohorts filed out of the barracks. Those men already awake on the walls watched the massing troops fill the ground. The first maniples of Lampolo’s and Euridemas’ cohorts made their way from the pass, through the newly constructed solid gate erected between the pass and the plains to the fort. Lampolo and Euridemas led the way, bearing proud faces.

No man spoke, the officers did not call out to the troops to arrange themselves properly, they each fell smartly into place and gazed at their commander who sat on his magnificent steed, once the clamour of armour and stamping feet died down Ariston addressed his men carrying his voice deep and confidently across the fort.

“I bid you good morning legionaries how fare you this morning? Well I hope, though I can offer you only words to gladden your hearts if you are not for we are certainly in trouble,” Ariston gave a smile, “but do not let this bother you brothers, for we still stand breathing now and if we fight with valour and strength, if we hold our lines we may yet see this siege through.

“They are many, beyond countable numbers stand against us. But they are not professional soldiers; they do not know how to counter our phalanx. They will charge us but will bounce from our bronze, fall to our steel.

“They Are flesh and blood brothers, mortals who will know the touch of fear when they meet you in battle, when they meet a wall of shields and men of courage.

“Know this, we have been chosen to blunt the enemy force before they invade our homeland. We will deal such a blow they will not stomach it. We must show them what a handful of legionaries can do, so they fear the might of our vast armies across the Empire.” A cheer rose from six thousand throats. Ariston waited for the tumult to die down before he continued.

“I expect another assault today. The chaos that spread through the camp will have damaged the Kalami’s morale, there leaders will be eager to press on with the siege. I ask you to stand with me brothers, to deliver this blow. Will you stand for me?” Weapons rose to the air with the cheer of the legion. Ariston beamed a smile.

“To your stations men, and prepare!” He raised his gladius and turned his horse. He rode to the cheer of the army as he made his way to return Diomed to the stables.

The legionaries fell out; the centurions began to bellow orders as the men rushed to the battlements. Once Ariston had left Diomed in the care of the stable boys; children from the farms who wanted to lend a further hand since moving from the crop fields. He moved swiftly to the south wall to survey the damage of the fire and stampeding animals.

The morning light distinguished the broken pens that had now been repaired and the skeletal remains of burnt out tents. An ashy smell drifted on the wind and assaulted his nostrils.

The bodies in the pass were now pale and bloated, the stench gut-wrenching and far worse than that of the burnt canvas. They would have to deal with the dead soon before disease spread through the fort. They had enough to contend with the myriads outside the walls let alone a plague.

Ariston heard heavy steps behind him and he turned to face the walker, it was Sarpedon.

“Where will you be fighting today sir?” He asked in a delighted tone, almost as though the choices were endless and entertaining.

“You shall conduct things here today Sarpedon, my fight will be with the men in the pass.” Sarpedon nodded and looked up to the sky. It was white and cloudy, the blue of the sky invisible to mortal eye.

“It will rain sometime today,” he muttered.

“Then it can only be a blessing, if it rains they can’t burn our walls down at least,” Ariston said with a laugh. Sarpedon turned to him serious now.

“I know my words cannot dissuade you, but do not be reckless with your life Ariston. This legion needs a general like you, stay alive sir; please remain here in the fort where your influence can touch those around you.”

“Will I be any safer upon the walls to be shot at by arrows? No Sarpedon I must go to the pass, at least for a little while. Do not worry for me, worry for yourself and the men.”

“Very well,” The two nodded and separated. Ariston made his way down the slender palisade steps. He noticed Eytes was pacing towards him.

“Sir,” Eytes spoke loud and urgently. Ariston halted and eyed the man with interest.

“What can I do for you Eytes?” Eytes assumed the legionary position of attention.

“I would like to take the sacramentum.”

“You wish to join as a legionary, to take the military oath?” Eytes nodded and responded enthusiastically.

“I do sir!” Ariston considered the man for a brief moment then gave a single nod of his head.

“Very well Eytes, follow me.” Eytes’ face broke into a smile, a smile it seemed that the youth could not make disappear. Ariston led him to the principia courtyard and through its arched door.

The legionaries were required to repeat their oaths every start of the New Year, the room was therefore large and spacious to accommodate more legionaries. Ariston led Eytes to the centre of the principia. Little light filled the floor as the windows were draped by thick red curtains; the torches that burned were diminishing with every minute the flames licked away and cast an eerie flickering light throughout the room.

“You are aware you are a free man Eytes and that by saying this oath you cannot leave this place, in short your freedom will be governed by the rules and law of the Empire?”

“I want to stay.”

“Then swear your allegiance to the Empire,” Eytes nodded, since a child he had recorded it to memory, taught expertly by Lexicus. Eytes recited the oath perfectly, a word was not omitted, the sincerity of his words firm and full of truth.

Ariston nodded once Eytes had finished and placed his hand upon the cloth of Eytes shoulder.

“Welcome to the legion Eytes, report to Sarpedon, he will get you some equipment. You will be in the first cohort.” Ariston gave a smile and left Eytes to pursue the old officer and dress ready for battle.


*

Valorous lay upon his barrack bed, alone and admittedly depressed though he tried to keep it from the men. His bloodied sword lay unsheathed upon the cold stone floor, the blood that coated it dry and dulling.

Cronos had sacrificed himself for him and no man had ever done such a thing, it was not something Valorous had been prepared for. His first command and he was the only man to return to the fort.

The fact that Derklydes and Glavious remained alive cheered him but did not distract him from the fact that those who did not return were men picked by him. Ariston had chosen the others; perhaps that’s why he did, because they would live. Was that the difference between a great leader and a poor one?

Two men had died under his command. Valorous was aware that men died in battle, but not his men. He thought that with all his strength and courage he could keep his friends alive, but still that was not enough.

He was not as strong as he thought he was.

The door knocked then opened and Valorous sat upright. Ariston entered the room with a slow gait.

“I heard you were here.” He said with a smile. Ariston placed his helmet upon the bed opposite and sat.

“You seemed a little lost as I dismissed you last night; I have never seen that in you before Valorous, is there anything on your mind?” Valorous gave a nod.

“Forgive me if I sound weak sir, but I feel guilt over the loss of the twins.” Ariston gave a slow nod and breathed a sigh.

“Leadership is always a burden Valorous, those men died, there is nothing you can do about it, there is no way to bring them back to the world of men,” Ariston stopped to study the expression of the optio before him. Valorous looked as though he were about to break into tears.

“Guilt is something we all bear Valorous, be it the legionary standing in the line or the king upon his horse, man can not be free of it.”

“But my strength and skill meant nothing…” Valorous stammered.

“In the end it never does, what is is, its the will of the God’s, fates cruel joke on the world of mortals. Do you want to know why I gave you that task Valorous? It’s because I know you were up to it. You’re a far better fighter than me Valorous, the men out on those walls look to you as though you are a God, some champion from the time of heroes all but lost to us now. You must lead them by spirit, something I can muster but not wield as well as you.

“Cronos and Ithakus were legionaries, they knew the risks when they took the oaths, it was not your fault they died Valorous, do not place the blame where it does not belong.” Ariston stood then and picked up his crested helmet. He tucked it under his arm and gave a smile.

“You were the only one capable of bringing back that letter Valorous, no man in all of Europa could have done more.” With that he turned and left Valorous to his thoughts.

[infernoc3]

Yes, you have my attention and you do great.


Unfortunately there are real life matters to handle, and I find it hard to keep up with your chapters, so I drop off from there.

Keep up the good work. :clap:

Hint :

You may want to shorten the length of each chapter, so that it will be easily to absorb the new chapter and relate back to the previous one.

[RevenantsKnight]

Whoo-ee...this took me a heck of a long time to finally read in its entirety. Before I break out the editing stick, I should mention that I’m rather impressed that you’ve put this much effort into this story.

Anyway, here are some comments on your piece:

I personally am a sucker for ancient military history, and I think you do an excellent job of working within that sort of world. However, some elements you bring up are Greek in origin (the phalanx, the use of Attica as the capital, Olympic games) while others belong to the Romans (pilums, gladiatorial combat, the concept of an overextended empire defended by a line of forts.) I’m assuming that this is intentional, and it does work on the whole, but during a few of the battles I had to stop and blink before I remembered that this wasn’t necessarily one era or the other.

One of the reasons why it took me so long to finish this is the grammar. Now, I’m an openly hard critic of grammatical errors and they probably mess up the reading for me more than the average person, but there are some trends running through the entire story here that probably should be fixed. As it is, it’s a bit of a fight at times to get to the meaning.

In general, though, this piece is rather engaging; the characters tend to be believable, though sometimes a tad underdeveloped, and the description is vivid and complete without stating bland facts. You’ve done a good job overall, and with cleaned-up grammar, this story should be one to remember when all’s said and done.

Due to the immense size of your story, I’m making specific comments on Chapter 11 only, though I’ll consider doing more if you want my grammatical nitpicking and if the forum remains a bit quiet.

Valorous stood there and his sight was a relief.

This is a little confusing...while I’m assuming that this means to say that Ariston was relieved to see Valorous, it’s not grammatically clear, since “his sight” can be construed to mean Valorous’s vision given the way it’s used here.

Valorous was stripped to his undergarments, his tanned chest exposed and covered with a blanket of sweat that glistened from the candle light Demetrius held at his side.

I think you mean “the light of the candle” instead of “candle light” since Demetrius can’t hold light per se.

It was apparent he had had to run to get here, perhaps that was the reason for the bedlam outside the walls.

The first clause of this sentence is made awkward by the use of “had had to run” and “here,” since “here” implies that the narrator is physically present at the scene and “had had to run” is just wordy. My suggestion: “...he had run to the fort...” etc.

In his hands were the shield and sword, the gladius still dripped blood onto the tiles.

These two clauses are both complete in their own right and should be separated by either a period or a semicolon.

“Thank you Demetrius that will be all.” Demetrius nodded and handed Ariston the candle before he shut the door.

There should be a comma after “you,” and a period/semicolon after the first “Demetrius.” In general, I’d suggest looking out for more errors of both of these types, since they come up a lot.

To legatus Ariston Scipio, Consul Dardonious Marcellus sends his greetings. It is with a heavy heart I send you this letter for its contents will be of no reassurance to you I am certain.

The shift between a third and first person narration here is a little awkward; even though I get that the first sentence is probably some sort of standard formality, it still felt like a bump in the road when I read this. Maybe if you redid it slightly to something like “Legatus Ariston Scipio, I, Consul Dardonius Marcellus, send the greetings of the Emperor,” the next sentence wouldn’t feel so out of place with the rest. Of course, you could just keep this as it is, since it does get the point across. Also, there should be a comma after “letter” and “I am certain” might read better if placed after “for.”

Asia, our greatest threat to our Empire has once again invaded our shores, by which I am sure you are aware.

The first “our” should be “the”; there should be a comma after “Empire” since that phrase is technically removable from the sentence, and “by” should be “of.”

These are dangerous times for the Empire and we must meet this threat with the same determination and power like the Republic of the past that this Empire was founded on. Not since Hasdrubal has the Empire been so threatened.

First off, “like the Republic...” should read “of the Republic...” Second, you use the word “Empire” a whole heck of a lot in this message, and particularly in this passage; it gets repetitive after a while. Some parts could be eliminated, such as the phrase “that this Empire was founded on,” since this bit should be more or less common knowledge to a semi-educated legion commander. In general, though, see if you can’t replace a few uses with other words; for instance you could use “all of us” instead of “the Empire” in the first sentence above.

You are on your own Ariston. I am sure you are aware of what this means. Your sacrifice can save the Empire and it is a great honour the Emperor bestows upon you.

There should be a comma before “Ariston,” and the last clause above isn’t parallel with the rest of the sentence.

For the glory of Corinthia you must hold them in Kalami for as long as possible. Good luck Ariston, my heart is with you and your men.

Minor nitpick: there should be a comma after “luck” and a semicolon/period after “Ariston.”

He noticed the look on Valorous’ face and composed himself; he did not want his men to see him despair.

“I take it you already no what the message reads?” Valorous gave a nod.

It’s unclear here whether Ariston or Valorous speaks first until Valorous’s response. This is a problem that runs throughout your piece; try to indicate explicitly who starts a conversation. After that, it’s much easier to follow, even if you keep it in the straight dialogue fashion that you favor, since it should be mostly back-and-forth.

“Only the party with me and you now, I came straight here as soon as I entered through the gates.”

The comma there should be a semicolon. I’d advise you to consider specifically checking over your clauses for a subject and verb in future pieces, as this seems to be a common problem. There are more instances of this in the following passages; if you have trouble finding them, let me know and I’ll see what I can do about explaining this rule in more detail.

“Of course I have no doubt they did. Rest now Valorous you have done well.” Valorous gave a salute which Ariston returned then slowly walked to the door.

Comma after “now,” and another after “Valorous.” This seems to be another recurring issue; I suggest reading your sentences out loud and seeing where your natural pauses are, and then placing commas to mark them. If what I’ve said is enough for you to find the rest of them in your story, great; if not, let me know and I’ll get you some more, as well as a (hopefully) more detailed explanation.

What would he tell the men? Should he? No, they had the right to know. He would have to speak to everyone, or as many as he could to allow the pass to be defended. He would have to tell the officers and get them to pass the news around, and then he would address the men as soon as the first trumpet sounded.

This part seems a little too matter-of-fact for my tastes. Adding in a sentence or two describing Ariston as he thought, or what his reaction is when he finally decides on a course of action, would be welcome. This is pure opinion; what you have works to keep the plot moving, but I personally wouldn’t mind a few more details.

“I’m afraid it is, the seal of the Emperor is here,” Ariston pointed to the circle golden wreath at the bottom right corner of the letter.

The adjectival form of “circle” is “circular.”

Innocents are involved Theo, women and children. You wish to ruin their water also?”

Diminutive forms of names (i.e. Theo instead of Theopompus) suggest a familiarity that probably isn’t appropriate for a legion commander and a direct subordinate. This is a trend that comes up a lot, and in general I’d say that such appellations seem out of place in a military setting, especially with officers or soldiers of differing rank.

Ariston cast a stern glance and Theopompus sat back down.

You may want to add something like “at the junior officer” after “glance” just to ensure that the reader gets that the glare was aimed at Theopompus.

“I do not rage war against women and children no matter the circumstances.”

Do you mean “wage war”?

“Your father?” Theopompus interrupted.

“My father has a plan to help us, though what it is escapes me, I have been told nothing more, only that I believe your father is also involved Theo. The only possible thing they can be doing is building an army. It will take time to muster willing men before he has even begun the march to Kalami.”

A character note: Ariston may be in general an easy commander on his officers and troops, but he seems too complacent here. If he made his way up to legion commander, he’s got to have some sense when his authority’s starting to slip and the will to act accordingly.

This came from Septimius.

The average reader might have trouble keeping track of all these officers, especially since some of them don’t have any distinguishing qualities. I’d suggest building on them more, or at least adding a descriptive clause here so that Septimius isn’t just another name in the story.

“The men will attend religious duties and discipline must not slack.”

Again, this is odd coming from Ariston, since he apparently can’t detect possible discipline problems among his officers.

Ariston sat back down and thought turned to home, to his wife and son and those dear to him who was fortunate enough to be away from this place.

That should be “...and his thoughts...”

Would he see them again? Would he be able to see that smile he so badly needed to see, a reassuring flash of happiness?

“Don’t bet on it,” he whispered sadly as he stood to make his way to bed. Sleep, that’s what he needed, the blissful reaches of the brother of death.

This part contrasts the two paragraphs well...good job with that.

The trumpet sounded at daybreak waking the legion from its slumber. The Bucina Horn joined in with a blast that rumbled ones chest.

The second sentence isn’t parallel with the first. I’d amend the last bit there to something along the lines of “...that rumbled in many chests.”

Ariston had dressed before the trumpet blast woke the legion and was ready on the courtyard for his men sitting comfortably upon his steed, Diomed.

This is a good example of why you need commas to mark pauses; as it is, it reads as if Ariston’s men were sitting comfortably upon his steed. With a comma, Ariston is the one on horseback, which is what I assume you meant.

“I bid you good morning legionaries how fare you this morning?”

I suggest replacing the second use of the word “morning” with something else; as it is, it sounds like Ariston just greeted his men and then instantly forgot, following that with another greeting.

“The chaos that spread through the camp will have damaged the Kalami’s morale, there leaders will be eager to press on with the siege.”

That should be “Kalamis’,” since that’s a plural possessive. Also, “their” is the proper word for “their leaders”, not “there,” because you’re indicating possession.

Once Ariston had left Diomed in the care of the stable boys; children from the farms who wanted to lend a further hand since moving from the crop fields. He moved swiftly to the south wall to survey the damage of the fire and stampeding animals.

Here, you’ve got a period and a semicolon where commas should be. This should read as one longish sentence if you plan to keep most of the words as is.

They would have to deal with the dead soon before disease spread through the fort. They had enough to contend with the myriads outside the walls let alone a plague.

Eytes’ face broke into a smile, a smile it seemed that the youth could not make disappear.

Possessive forms of names that end in “s” still have “’s” on the end. The “s” is omitted only for the possessive forms of plural nouns (i.e. Rogues’.)

The legionaries were required to repeat their oaths every start of the New Year, the room was therefore large and spacious to accommodate more legionaries. Ariston led Eytes to the centre of the principia. Little light filled the floor as the windows were draped by thick red curtains; the torches that burned were diminishing with every minute the flames licked away and cast an eerie flickering light throughout the room.

If you want, you could spend a little more time describing the principia. I’ll grant that it’s hardly an important part of the story, but having vivid little details everywhere help bring a story to life in the reader’s mind.

Eytes recited the oath perfectly, a word was not omitted, the sincerity of his words firm and full of truth.

I’d phrase the “a word was not omitted” as “not a word was omitted.” Also, you use “word” maybe a bit too much here; perhaps a synonym or a slightly different construction using “voice,” etc. would help break up the somewhat monotonous sound of this excerpt.

Two men had died under his command. Valorous was aware that men died in battle, but not his men. He thought that with all his strength and courage he could keep his friends alive, but still that was not enough.

This bit in particular is very good; I can get a good feel for the sort of guilt with which Valorous is dealing.

The door knocked then opened and Valorous sat upright.

A minor note: the door didn’t knock on itself. You could phrase this as “A knock sounded on the door, which then opened...”

“I heard you were here.” He said with a smile.

Again, end bits of dialogue with a comma, not a period, if you're next indicating who said the words in question.

“In the end it never does, what is is, its the will of the God’s, fates cruel joke on the world of mortals.”

Umm...I’m not sure what “what is is” is trying to convey. Also, “its” should be “it’s,” since it could be replaced by “it is,” “God’s” should be “Gods’,” and “fates” should be “fate’s.”

“Cronos and Ithakus were legionaries, they knew the risks when they took the oaths, it was not your fault they died Valorous, do not place the blame where it does not belong.”

Maybe it’s just me, but “they knew the risks when they took the oaths” sounds like something out of a bad war film. In fact, it sounds too modern in general, since it suggests an unusual level of freedom on Cronos’s and Ithakus’s parts; I’d imagine that a more consoling sentiment in medieval and ancient times would be something along the lines of “They died honorably, and with glory...their names will live forever.”

Overall, I like this story a fair deal, and I'd be even more impressed by it if the grammar and such gets cleaned up. Regardless, I await the arrival of the next chapter :)

[Banehero]

Thanks for taking the time to read my work Revenantsknight, your feedback is important to me : )

I personally am a sucker for ancient military history, and I think you do an excellent job of working within that sort of world. However, some elements you bring up are Greek in origin (the phalanx, the use of Attica as the capital, Olympic games) while others belong to the Romans (pilums, gladiatorial combat, the concept of an overextended empire defended by a line of forts.) I’m assuming that this is intentional, and it does work on the whole, but during a few of the battles I had to stop and blink before I remembered that this wasn’t necessarily one era or the other.

- This is intentional, its all an odd mix of both but I think it works okay, I am very pleased you picked up on this, as there are lots of references in my work to actual famous battles or people and places. If you can spot them... let me know!

- As for the grammer I will have to go through and tidy it up, at the moment I am finishing the next chapter but there won't be any more untill this area has been cleaned up : )

I’ll consider doing more if you want my grammatical nitpicking and if the forum remains a bit quiet.

- I would very much like your grammatical nitpicking, so feel free to do so, my grammer isn't great though I hope its not completley intolerable, I tend to miss lots of things even when I read through my work several times (its all too possible that my eyes and mind work at different levels, and what I sometimes see, I misread, taking it for what I actually meant rather than the end result :lol:

A character note: Ariston may be in general an easy commander on his officers and troops, but he seems too complacent here. If he made his way up to legion commander, he’s got to have some sense when his authority’s starting to slip and the will to act accordingly.

- I can see what you are getting at, but Theopompus will play a very important role against that of Ariston, which will be revealed soon (or at some point in the future) : )

[RevenantsKnight]

Here’s some more comments and suggested edits, this time focusing on Chapter One. I’ll try to work up through all the chapters if I have time.

Overall, my earlier comments are still the same; the story’s engaging and the characters are interesting. This chapter’s better about grammatical issues and such; it looks like you caught a number of errors in your rewriting. :)

Again, some general grammatical notes: look for pauses in sentences where commas should go, and for places where clauses should be two separate sentences or joined by a semicolon instead of a comma. I’ll point out some more examples and leave the rest to you, because the best way to fix your grammar is to search through your work yourself. If you need me to give more examples, let me know and I’ll make some up.

The cry of a wolf could be heard over the persistent winds that blew down the slope. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly. Ariston could see the moon in all its full glory, casting an eerie light across the land.

A strong description of the setting, made even more impressive by its efficiency with words. Good job with that. :)

He shivered and wrapped his woollen scarlet cloak about him more tightly, to keep back the chill of the wind. He coughed and muttered a curse as he almost slipped, saving himself a fall with an outstretched arm. He noticed his hand was bleeding as he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm. The wolf cried out again.

He was almost at the top of the steep hill now, for which Ariston was glad. He had lost his horse two days before after an awkward fall rendered its leg useless. He had put the beast out of its misery with the point of his sword and had to walk the rest of his journey.

This came up earlier, but I just wanted to offer my suggestions on the matter, so I apologize in advance if this is just beating a dead horse. When reading this, I noticed that all but one of the sentences in the above passage start with “He [verb].” While they’re all grammatically correct and good on their own, they sound a little monotonous strung together. One way to vary things a little is to swap clauses in some of the sentences; for example, “He noticed his hand was bleeding as he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm” could be rewritten as “As he brushed the rocks and dirt from his palm, he noticed his hand was bleeding.” Changing one or two sentences in this manner should help the passage sound more natural and less like a list of actions. Be careful with this, though; some of your sentences cannot be flipped without messing up the meaning; the second sentence of the second paragraph, for instance, has to keep its order to make logical sense. Another option would be to replace “he” with “Ariston” once or twice.

One last comment: I’d switch the “he” and the “Ariston” in the first sentence of the second paragraph.

He could see the fire at the centre of the room, crackling away, spreading its warmth through the room.

I’d try to replace one of the uses of “room” with something else. Also, “through” should probably be “throughout.”

A draft could be felt and he found it to be coming through a gap in the wall.

This sentence sounds awkward to me, though maybe that’s because all my English teachers from high school on up have treated the passive voice like a plague-ridden corpse. It does work grammatically, so if you like the passive voice or want to use it here for some reason, this is fine and you could leave it as is. Personally, I’d change this to the active voice, so the rewritten sentence would be something like “A draft of the cold night air brushed across his face and he traced it back to a gap in the ruined temple’s wall.”

This was where he must have seen the light from his ascent. He reached it and blocked it with some large stones found scattered in the room, rolling them into place.

The first sentence is a little unclear at first; as it is, it reads as though he had stood there in the past and seen light coming from “his ascent.” You could rewrite this as “This was where the light he saw during his ascent must have come from,” or something similar. Also, there should be a “he” before the “found” in the second sentence.

He looked around the room and paced towards the fire, removing his scarlet-plumed helmet with ease. He placed it on the ground and proceeded to roll out his sleeping mat from the inside of his shield.

“Well, looks like I’ll be sleeping on the ground again.” He removed his cuirass and let it clatter to the ground. He was exhausted. He took off his bronze greaves and put them aside and sat besides the fire.

Again, watch how many times you start a sentence with “he.” I note that this isn’t as much of a problem in, say, Chapter Eleven, so maybe you’ve already picked up on this.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty taking off your armour warrior.” The voice startled Ariston, but it did not sound threatening.

Here’s an example of a natural pause that needs a comma; after “armour” there should be a comma, since if you read this sentence aloud, there’s a pause between those two words that’s longer than the spacing between, say, “too” and “hasty.” There’s a pause there when I read it, anyway. Maybe that’s just me...

Eunerich stepped from the shadows slowly, draped in a purple hoodless robe, a robe of a Priest of the Gods.

I don’t think that “Priest” and “Gods” should be capitalized, though I’m not entirely sure in this instance. Also, I can remember clerics for one god, but not so much for multiple deities; for example, the Bacchae were Dionysus/Bacchus’s followers, and the oracles at Delphi worshipped Apollo, but neither group worshipped other gods or goddesses.

“I have a message from the God’s.” The priest announced as though he were talking in front of an audience.

Again, end bits of dialogue with a comma, not a period, if you're next indicating who said the words in question, and don’t capitalize the next word; the speech and the following clause should be treated as one sentence.

“It is too dangerous for old men such as me to be off riding horses, I’ll leave that to the younger generation. But you are right, time is of the essence. The Tribes are massing.” Ariston’s eyes widened.

“What are their intentions?”

A few things: the comma after “horses” should probably be a semicolon, and I’d suggest moving “Ariston’s eyes widened” to the next line, just before he speaks. That way, Ariston’s actions and speech are grouped together; they would then read more as a collective response and less as two separate actions.

“The Kalami want their freedom.” The old priest added, his eyes fixed on Ariston, his watch unwavering.

There should be a comma after “freedom” instead of a period, and “the” should be in lower case. Also, “watch” isn’t quite the same as, say, “gaze” or “sight,” which is what I think you meant.

Ariston felt stupid for asking the man the question; surely it must have been the Gods who had given him this information.

Again, I don’t think “Gods” should be capitalized; most of what I’ve read on Greek or Roman mythology doesn’t use upper case when using the word to refer to multiple gods/goddesses.

“Every barbarian nation at our borders could flood into Corinthia at anytime, and those within who have fallen under Corinthian rule could take up arms against us also. We have beaten them back before, we shall do so again if necessary.” Ariston spoke with confidence.

This part confused me; unless I misread it, Ariston’s first saying that Corinthia is in imminent danger, and then he goes on to state that there is nothing to worry about. A side note: the phrase “at any time” is three words, not two.

“What do you suggest I do?” Ariston asked puzzled.

Here’s another instance where you need a comma; as it is, Ariston is asking “What do you suggest I do?” to someone, or something, named “puzzled,” whose name isn’t capitalized. Putting a comma after “asked” will fix this.

“Keep your eyes on the Kalami knight, and send word to your cities that the Barbarians are coming to crush all of Corinthia.”

“Knight” is a word from a significantly later age, being German in origin, so I’d be a bit surprised to see a character from ancient Greece or Rome say it.

“Why are you telling me all this, surely you could have gone to somebody else, I am only a centurion?” The old man smiled and looked up dramatically, as though he were performing a role on a stage in the amphitheatre raising his right hand towards the ceiling.

I’m highlighting this passage because there are a number of systemic grammatical errors in it; hopefully you’ll be able to pick up on them. If not, let me know and I’ll point them out, but with any luck, you’ll be able to notice such errors. Once you’ve got that down, it’s just a matter of time before you start correcting those mistakes as you write, which will really help your writing as a whole.

Nice image at the end there, by the way...I got a good picture of the priest’s stance from that.

“Only the gods can tell you, but ask me that question the next time we meet.” With that the old man turned and faded into the shadows. Ariston called after him, demanding what he had meant.

There was no reply.

I enjoyed this part quite a bit.

The peaks of Mount Geteus shone brilliantly in the morning sun. A weak breeze blew Ariston’s cape softly about him. His hands stroked the palisade as he leaned against the battlements.

This seems like a good opportunity to me to add in a few more descriptive bits on Ariston himself, since it feels like he doesn’t get enough physical description. As far as I could tell, you don’t mention things like his height, his build, facial features, etc. that help the reader construct a mental image of him. Obviously, you don’t need to touch on all of these, but I would recommend adding a few distinct elements, so the reader has something to associate with him. You could also weave some bits into the preceding part of the chapter, but there you need to be careful that any additions don’t disrupt what you’ve got already, since that’s one of your stronger parts in my opinion.

He was in command of a full legion, ten cohorts, almost six thousand men, most of which were older than he.

That should be “most of whom were older than he was.” And while I think that what you have works, in your place I’d delete the comma after “cohorts” and replace it with “totaling,” because as it is the “ten cohorts” doesn’t seem to flow well to me; it’s separated from the rest of the sentence almost and this change might help that.

This had caused great friction at first when he had arrived now not more than a year gone, but he had quickly gained his men’s respect through combat and his leadership.

“Gone” should be “ago,” and in order to keep the last clause parallel, I’d change it to “through combat and leadership” or “through his combat skill and leadership.”

“Admiring the view sir?” Ariston turned his head and greeted his friend.

Given the way these sentences are ordered, it seems like Ariston says this to Paxtas. I’d move the second sentence here to the start of the next paragraph to clear this up.

”Good Morning Paxtas, come to give the battlements your eyes.”

The last part of this seems awkward to me; was it intended to be a rhetorical question of sorts? If so, it should end with a question mark; if not, I’m not really sure what it’s doing there. Maybe I’m being thick, but if the latter possibility’s the case, I see no point in having that clause in the story.

“You know, every time I stand here I am still taken by the sites of these mountains. There really is nothing like this back home.” Paxtas was a Corinthian half-breed. His father was Corinthian, but his mother was a Mesinian, a girl who lived in a country that had long ago fallen to the might of the Empire. Mesinia was a country filled with rich farming land, a reason why it had become a target of the Empire. Its land was flat, with little hills and no mountains.

This is good; I now have something I can bring up in my mind every time I see the name “Paxtas” on my screen. That sort of thing helps me believe the characters, and in a story like this with so many names, such imagery is important to just keep all the officers straight.

“Aye, but I can’t wait to be relieved; we have been far from home for too long Ariston.”

Here’s another point where there should be a comma; inserting one after “long” will do nicely.

“You know it will be a few more months till that happens my friend. Till then look at your mountains. Who knows when we will see there like again once we have left?”

"Till" is a spoken-language form of "until," and even though it's used in dialogue here, I'd use the full version, just because it's less casual and better suited to a conversation between two military officers on duty, even if they do know each other well. Also, "there" should be "their."

Ariston clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned away to walk down the narrow platform.

The last part of this sentence seems wordy to me; I’d rewrite this as “...walked away down the narrow platform.” I’m a little bad about this too in my writing, and it usually takes me a couple rounds of editing to pare down the length to something slightly less verbose.

He made his way to the lookout tower, greeting those sentries that stood fully armoured and erect at their posts, the sun shined off their polished armour, their shields gleamed like mirrors.

This sentence is in need of some revision; first of all, the second clause should probably read “greeting the sentries standing fully armoured and erect at their posts.” Next, if you want to make a minimum of wording edits, I’d change the rest of it to a separate sentence reading “The sun shone off their polished armour, and their shields gleamed like mirrors.” If you want to leave it as one sentence, I’d rewrite it as something resembling “...sunlight shining off their polished armour, shields gleaming like mirrors.”

“Morning sir.” The man was in actual fact no more than a child and went by the name of Derklydes.

Here, I think it would be more effective to describe Derklydes’s youth than just say that he was “no more than a child.” I’d suggest writing about why he looks young, if he does, or why his age is not represented in his features, as well as mentioning one or two details of his appearance. As it is, there is nothing to create a definite image for the reader. He could look old or young, be tall, short, in between, etc. since you don’t specify anything about his physical self; you merely state that he’s young, which in of itself doesn’t mean that he has a youthful appearance.

He stood to attention sweating in the morning sun under the labour of sixty pounds of full armour.

That should be “stood at attention.”

“You haven’t used that thing in a while,” Ariston pointed out the youths bow.

“Out” should be “to,” and “youths” should read “youth’s” since you’re indicating possession.

“That was the bear was it not?” Derklydes beamed a triumphant smile. He was happy his commander remembered his fine shot that brought down the mountain bear. It had been a huge beast, terrifying to behold in all its anger and rage, but he had taken his shot despite the pressure. It had taken four arrows to fell the thing.

This passage could use another look and a revision, because it’s got several problems in my opinion. You imply that Derklydes shot only one arrow with the phrase “his fine shot that...” but you go on to say that “it had taken four arrows to fell the thing.” Since you don’t really describe this “fine shot,” I wasn’t sure whether Derklydes had scored one crucial hit and other people had landed the other three arrows, or if the sentence should read “his fine shooting” because he shot the bear four times to kill it. Also, I assume this passage is intended to portray Derklydes as an exceptional archer, either for his age or in general, but there wasn’t enough there for me to think of his deed as something particularly skillful. Finally, your use of the word “thing” seems out of place in both the narration and the speech; I’m pretty sure it didn’t come into its modern use until recently. In this case, I’d replace it with “beast” or a similar word, and in general I’d avoid using it.

Ariston stared out towards the Kalami village to the east of Fort Paxtas and stroked his hair. What could they be up to he wondered.

The second sentence here sounds awkward; I’d either get rid of the “he wondered” or combine it with the first sentence into something like “...and stroked his hair, wondering what they could be up to.”

The Kalami village was called Fuxtar in his tongue, and was a small settlement compared to most of the barbarian villages further north, past the mountains, who could the riders be and why so many?

Here’s a place where you have two complete sentences joined with a comma; I’d make “who could the riders be and why so many?” its own sentence.

“Thank-you Derklydes.”

“Thank you” isn’t hyphenated.

Lexicus was the oldest officer in Fort Paxtas, indeed he even reminded Ariston of his own father.

Again, there are two complete clauses here joined by a comma.

His thick grey beard and hair was whiting now, his skin was thick leather, no longer soft from youth.

“Whiting” should be “whitening.”

At first the old man had been trouble, possibly because he had been waiting to take over the fort from the old commander. He had been a centurion for over thirty years and watching a younger man with little experience promoted over him take charge of the fort must have been hard. Ariston trusted no one more than Lexicus however; the man seemed wisest of all he had ever met.

Since you start the paragraph with “At first the old man had been trouble...” I expected to see some reasons as to why he came to accept Ariston, so it was a little jolting to jump from his difficulty with Ariston to the present without any middle ground. I suggest adding a sentence or two on how Lexicus and Ariston got over their initial hostility and became strong friends.

“You look troubled; I can always tell these things from the blank lost expression written across your face.” Ariston nodded.

Again, it’s not entirely clear on who says this at first; I recommend explicitly noting that Lexicus starts this conversation, and then moving from there. This appears to be a general problem in dialogue for you; try to read your openings over as passages in a grammatical text and not part of your story, and maybe it’ll help you notice when it’s unclear who says what.

“I do not know. That’s what I want to find out, you lead them Lexicus.” Lexicus gave a salute, sharp and well rehearsed and stomped off.

This is another short passage with a few common grammatical mistakes in it; hopefully you’ll be able to find and correct them now that I’ve alerted you to their presence.

The old Centurion began calling out names above the din, and before long Ariston watched them ride off out of the east gate.

I’d replace “them” with “him and his chosen soldiers” for clarity’s sake, switch “off out of” with “through”, and add “fort’s” before “east gate.”

The plains of Esturo rolled out before the riders like a carpet. Behind him lay Fort Paxtas and to the left was the strong borders of the mountains that cast shadows across the plain.

Who’s “him” in this sentence? I assume it’s Lexicus, but the pronoun reference is unclear from just the passage above.

How lovely the weather was Lexicus thought as he gulped down the revitalizing liquid from his canteen, looking up at the blue sky. Red wine dripped from his chin and he wiped it away quickly with the back of his free hand. It should be water in his canteen he knew, but what harm would it do if he had a sip?

“Was” should be “is,” since Lexicus is thinking this when the weather is nice, not afterwards. I’d also swap “the revitalizing liquid” and “red wine,’ since the former refers to the latter. Finally, I’d move “he knew” to the start of the third sentence, and “it should be” should be “there should be.”

If one was unhorsed they were also the fastest men on foot, so with luck they could make there escape if the others could not help them.

I suggest eliminating “if one was,” since the sentence is fine as “Unhorsed, they were also...” and “there” should be “their,” since you’re indicating possession.

Lexicus stopped the group at the river Esturous, the largest river east of the fort, and one that supplied the village of Fuxtar and the fort with its water, it round its way on a meandering course through the plains.

The “its” in “its water” is unnecessary, and “round” should be “wound” if I’m reading this correctly.

The horses stooped to refresh themselves while the men washed away the sweat of the mornings ride from their faces and bodies.

“Mornings” needs an apostrophe after the “g” since you’re indicating possession.

The morning sun shone on the rivers surface casting Lexicus’ reflection back at him.

Again, don’t drop the “s” from a possessive noun unless it’s also plural, even if the noun ends with an “s” in its normal form.


Lexicus pinned his ears back and tried to make sense of the dark-haired youths words.

Again, possessive forms of nouns have an apostrophe between the “s” and the end of the noun.

Fuxtar was situated on a large hill, surrounded by a forest. The river Esturous ran at the bottom of the hill and already they could see women and children on its banks drawing water from it in large buckets. They were poorly dressed like most barbarians, but were clean in appearance despite the dirt on their clothes. The wooden wall that surrounded the village was twice as high as a man. Smoke rose from some of the hovels indicating food being prepared.

As they rode near the village the women and children noticed them and cast them mean glances. Some of the children even shot imaginary arrows at them, drawing back on their invisible bow strings before rushing off back up the hill.

Nice attention to detail here; this gets a good image going for me.

“Can’t see anything strange from here.” Grumbled Ageaous, the quick-witted thief jumped from his horse and led it by its reins.

A grammatical note first: don’t end quotes with a period if you next attribute it to someone, end it with a comma, and don’t capitalize the next word since that’s part of the same sentence. Second, the part after Ageaous is a place where there really needs to be a period or semicolon instead of a comma.

He stooped to the ground, studying the many footfalls and hooves that left an imprint on the trail.

As it is, this sentence reads as if he’s studying the footfalls and hooves themselves, not the marks they left. I’d change this to something like “...studying the many imprints on the trail,” since he next says what made them.

It had been a long time since he had last returned to check the affairs of his house; would it still have been kept in fine condition, would the garden look as beautiful as he imagined?

I’d change “have been kept” to “be,” and add “when he returned” to the end of the second sentence. To avoid repetition, I’d replace “...had last returned...” with “...had the opportunity to...”

He could hear a dog bark; it was a large shaggy grey animal, thin as a rake and tied to a post. The dog reminded him of those that were trained for the dog runs in the coliseum back home, though not as well kept of course. It barked at the riders as they entered the village, straining against the rope that tied it to the post. For a moment Lexicus thought he could see the post rocking in the ground as though it were about to be ripped from the earth.

Again, this is an excellent description of the setting. I really get a good feel for the hostile, closed atmosphere in this village.

He looked over at the youngest member of his party, Eytes, he who was not a warrior of Corinthia but a man born from the Kalami after his mother had been shamed by a Corinthian centurion.

“...he who was not...” sounds awkward to me. It’s grammatically correct and you probably could leave it as is, but it just sounds funny somehow. Oh well, maybe that’s just because I’m insane...

“She said she does not want to talk to us ‘bastard Corinthian’s’.”

No apostrophe needed here, since “Corinthians” isn’t possessive, just plural.

Eyte’s nodded his understanding and spoke out once more. He got the same reply.

Umm...why the apostrophe? After all, his name is “Eytes,” right...?

“Where are all the men?” Eyte’s asked her softly. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the stranger who spoke her language yet stood by her enemies. She replied with confidence, her voice strong and un-wavering. Eyte’s translated.

“She said they have gone away.” Lexicus shook his head and urged Eyte’s to continue.

Again, what’s with the alternate spelling of “Eytes?”

Valorous led the group down the hill and into the shade of the forest. A multitude of birds sang their delightful tunes to one another and any who would listen. It did not ease the centurion at all.

Another well written passage, in my opinion.

He could see a lot of plant-life crushed by nothing other than footfalls and wheels.

“Plant life” usually isn’t hyphenated, or at least not in the textbooks and such that I’ve read.

“They must have cut them down to make weapons, spears most likely.” Added Glavious, he shook his own eight-footer to emphasise the point.

By the way, I disagree with previously posted opinions stating that you reveal too much in this chapter. It’s not like you’re writing a mystery story, so I think it’s fine the way it is. Besides, I’ve read/seen a number of books/movies that more or less give away the end early on, and I thought many of them were great anyway. As long as I’m given good reason to care about the characters, believe the plot and in general enjoy the story, I’ll probably think of that sort of thing as a very secondary concern.

In summary: a good start to your story, other than the aforementioned grammatical problems. Good job...:thumbsup:

[Banehero]

Sorry I have not posted anything lately. I have been quite depressed recently and have not had the energy/inspiration to write (or do much else). I shall try and post my next chapter that I've got tonight : )