Ironroot (17 page)

Salonius sloped off in the opposite direction, to the door. There were cracks around the door and he’d have to be careful not to be observed. He took up the best hidden position where he could see the tied twine through a crack which would be wide enough to thrust his sword through. His heart racing, he sought another crack and, finding the best, quietly waited, watching the man at the window. Irritatingly, now he was somewhere he could hear, they’d stopped talking. With bated breath he waited.

His first sign that Varro had made a move startled him. There was an unpleasant ‘crunch’ and a faint squawk from the man at the window. Even as Salonius thrust his sword between the planks and severed the twine with ease, he watched with fascinated horror as the man at the window slumped slowly backwards and fell to the floor, a gaping hole where his eyes had been and a multicoloured slick of unpleasantness pouring from the wound. He twitched for a moment, gurgling, as Salonius pulled the door open. Varro had appeared at the window now, a grim look of determination on his face and his sword running with the man’s blood.

The man lying wrapped in a blanket had grasped his sword and was coming to his feet quickly, his eyes flickering between the messy corpse on the floor and the vision of bloodlust at the window. So intent on Varro was he that he never noticed the door swing open behind him and never saw the stocky young soldier leap across behind him, his sword raised high.

With a grim smiled, Salonius brought down the bronze pommel of his sword hard on the very top of the man’s head, knocking him unconscious instantly. The man slumped to the floor.

Growling, Varro rounded the wall of the shed and stormed in through the door. As he leaned down and wiped his sword on the dead man’s tunic, he glared up at his companion.

“You think they’re innocent men?” he barked. “They’re in civilian clothes with no insignia or sign of rank. Yet they’re armed like soldiers and following us. You want more?”

Sheathing his sword, the young man bent down and lifted the unconscious soldier easily, slinging him across his shoulder. As he settled his burden more comfortably, Varro collected the saddle bags from the pile in the room and shouldered them. With a single angry glance at Salonius, he strode purposefully out of the shed and toward the road that led to the bridge.

“Firstly, if you’d been more aware of your surroundings and less worried about the ethical consequences of what you were doing, you’d have seen that the farmer was lying gutted in the back of the barn behind the cows. No one’s going to find that till tomorrow morning; afternoon probably. We’ll be long gone by then.”

He started to walk again, slowly, and Salonius strode alongside, a contrite expression clouding his features.

“Secondly: we don’t need their horses. We’ve got our own, and I’ve got their saddle bags. There’ll be nothing at the horses that we could use.”

“I’m sorry. It’s hard. Years as a soldier and these things become ingrained. You know that? I’m finding it hard to stop. Whether you’re with the second or on your own, you’re still a captain. You’re still my superior, and it’s wrong.”

Varro opened his mouth to speak, but Salonius plunged on.

“I know I’ve got to. I know we need to be as unobtrusive as possible at the moment and that ‘captain’ and ‘sir’ draw attention, and I am trying. Time will change things.”

“That’s part of the problem, Salonius,” Varro groused. “I’m running out of time. Every hour that passes for you brings you closer to promotion, or retirement. You might end up owning an inn like that.” He pointed across the bridge at their destination.

“That’s what I always planned. But every hour that brings you closer to your future brings me closer to a hole in the ground.”

He stormed along in silence, his head bowed as he crunched along the gravel leading up to the bridge. There was no need for subtlety now.

“What you’re doing matters. What we’re doing matters. We’re fated for this. The Gods themselves set us on this path and who can argue with the Gods. And the future’s unknown to us, for all the Gods might read it. My sergeant says that Scortius is the best doctor in the whole army. If there’s a way to cure you, he’ll find it. But we’ve got to pursue this; get to Saravis Fork and find your cousin. If whatever this is is so important people will kill to stop it, then we need to find it.”

Varro looked down at his companion and finally his brow unfurrowed and a smile passed briefly across his face.

“You put a lot of faith in this Cernus, don’t you?”

“With respect,” the young man replied with a grin, “it’s because of the Stag Lord you found me. When you were wounded you wanted something to drink. On the way to the hospital tent you must had passed more than a hundred men; sergeants, engineers, archers, infantry and medics. How many of those men know Cernus?”

Varro blinked.

“Perhaps a handful,” continued Salonius. “And of that handful of men who’d heard of Cernus out of the hundreds around you, how many do you think had stood in his presence?”

“I never thought of that” replied the captain, blinking again in surprise.

“Fate. Gods. A path.” Salonius smiled. “Cernus blessed you because there is something you have to do. Something really important.” He grinned. “And because you couldn’t do it alone, Cernus blessed me and sent me to you. These events have been rolling forward since before I even joined the army.”

Their voices lowered a little as they entered the village square. The light still shone from the front door and window of the inn. It felt like midnight to the two men who hadn’t slept in two days, but in truth it was still only mid evening.

The two of them dipped into the alley beside the inn and Varro looked at Salonius and pointed to the body slumped over his shoulder.

“I’ll climb up to the roof and lift him from there.”

“Ok.” Salonius shifted the weight slightly and stood still, his legs slightly apart, braced ready. Varro grasped a wooden plank that projected slightly from the wall of the outbuilding and hauled himself onto the roof with a grunt. Salonius took the opportunity to study the captain’s side as he did so and was surprised to see no blood. Perhaps he was worrying too much about the wound. Bracing himself further, he lifted the body to the roof level and felt the weight lift as Varro grasped it and heaved it onto the roof. A casual whistle caught his attention and he ducked back into the shadows next to the outbuilding, his eyes darting to and fro searching for the source of the noise.

A figure, whistling happily and weaving a drunken path, wandered into the alley from the front of the inn. Salonius held his breath and watched in morbid fascination as the man entered the shadows near the alley entrance and fumbled with his trousers before urinating, mostly on the wall of the next house, but partially on his own feet.

“Bollocks” he muttered as he shook his foot, tying his trousers tight once more. Still shaking the piss off his foot, he left the alley without looking back and started to walk across the green. A moment later and he was gone from sight, the only sign of his presence a distant happy whistle.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Salonius stepped back away from the wall and looked up to see Varro convulsed in a fit of silent hysterics, rocking back and forth. Grinning, the young soldier grasped the plank and pulled himself up to join his captain.

Varro wiped his eyes, burst into muffled laughter again and the stopped with a deep breath. “Precious. Absolutely precious.” Clapping his hand on Salonius’ back, he reached across from the roof and grasped the windowsill. He hauled himself up, still facing Salonius, and braced himself in the frame.

“Alright. Pass him up.”

Salonius stretched with a grunt, thrusting the unconscious body towards the window. Varro grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him up, swearing under his breath.

“Heavy bastard, this one.”

As the body came through the window and Varro was suddenly relieved of the heavy weight, he fell backwards into the room, collapsing to the floor on his back to find himself staring up into eyes shining with curiosity.

He started suddenly and, as his eyes adjusted to the room’s darkened interior, found himself staring into the smiling face of Catilina.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Behind him there was a scraping noise as Salonius pulled himself through the window and dropped down next to the body where he crouched, staring in surprise at the lady sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Your father’s going to be furious with you. He’ll never let you leave Vengen again. Shit, he’ll have me pulled apart by horses when he knows you’re with me!”

Catilina sighed and her eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Let me handle father. You know I can. Besides which, he’s so busy with everything going on at Crow Hill, he’s probably not even noticed I’ve left yet.” She looked at Varro’s expression and put her finger on his lips as he opened his mouth, squeezing them gently shut again.

“Just don’t bother trying to dissuade me. You know it won’t work, so why waste both our time. If your cousin is alive, we’re going to see him. Besides,” she smiled at him, “if this is some military conspiracy, don’t you think I’m safer here than among thousands of potential enemies at the fort?”

Varro stared at her in a mixture of panic and admiration. He was used to dealing with conflicting emotions when it came to Catilina. He also knew that she was right. Once she’d made up her mind, nothing would change it. Not Varro; not her father; probably not even the Gods themselves. Besides, what would he do, send her back on her own? Safer to keep her with him until he returned from Saravis Fork. Safer. Safer away. “Cristus’ guard!”

“If the prefect’s guard are following me and killing farmers, then there’s a good chance the prefect himself is involved. And if that’s the case and your father’s investigating this, every day he stays in Crow Hill, surrounded by Cristus’ men, he’s in danger.”

Catilina narrowed her eyes.

“The men following you are Cristus’?”

“One certainly was. I know his face well.” He crouched down and rolled the unconscious body over so she could see his face. “This man had lost money to me in dice games. He’s definitely one of them.”

“I saw them leave the fort; four of them all cloaked up and secretive. I’ve been a mile or so behind them all the way. They’re not particularly observant.”