Storiesonline.net ------- Primus Pilum by Mack the Knife Copyright© 2005 by Mack the Knife ------- Description: Verus, a retired Abian Centurion, is called forth from his golden years to serve the empire on one last mission. Codes: MF fant slow rom cons het ------- ------- Chapter 1 The rain poured down upon the trio of men in purple cloaks as they walked from the carriage to the door of the villa. They ducked under the covered veranda and stood before the great carven double doors into the house's compound. "Quite a nice place for a retired soldier," said Prefect Mallius, eyeing the quality stonework and woodwork of the house. He tossed back his cloak's hood, revealing a handsome face and severely trimmed hair, military style. He looked to his companions. The man to his left tossed back his hood as well, Senator Flavin Marus, he was a pudgy man with a bald head, kept shaved once he started loosing his hair. He seemed the kindest of the men before the villa doors, though, and in truth probably was. The other man, standing to Mallius' right lowered his hood lastly, revealing a missing eye and a long scar running down one cheek from that wound. He was Sendrus, Prefect Mallius' advisor, and, it was generally known, enforcer and spy. He held the title of Senator, from a nearly peopleless portion of the empire, where he was the titular representative. Marus looked at the prefect. "I understand Verus built this home mostly with his own labor, and that of his sons," he said, eyeing the building with an equally critical eye, but with much less suspicion. Sendrus looked at it with his single eye, and with a very different set of standards than the other two men. He had already detected three ways to enter the home other than the door. Like most Abian homes, there were no windows on the ground floor. Likewise, there were only three entrances: The one they now stood before, a side entrance, and the servant's entrance. Over their heads were some narrow windows, but even they were meant to discourage footpads, with heavy wrought iron bars crossing them and dividing them into two. Having let most of the rainwater drip from their cloaks, Prefect Mallius reached toward the ornately carved oak door and to the massive brass ring in the middle of one. He let it fall against a brass plate and it hit with a loud thud. A moment later, the door opened silently on well-greased hinges, and a wizened old face peered around it. Upon seeing the purple robes and the face of the Praetor, he gasped and pulled it open hurriedly, standing to the side. "Welcome Praetor, to the home of Verus." "Primus Pilum Verus, don't you mean?" asked Mallius. "Lord Praetor, he has commanded we call him but Verus," said the old man, pushing the door shut behind them. "He says he is no longer a soldier." Marus cast a sidelong glance at the praetor but held his tongue until the old man had shuffled off, saying, "I will fetch Primus Pilum Verus now milord." When the old man was gone, Marus turned. "I told you this was unwise, he no longer seeks to bear the rod of command," hissed the senator. Mallius sneered at him. "You underestimate my resolve that he do what I wish of him," he said, pulling five small scrolls from his leather belt pouch. "He will pick up the rod, if I command it." Sendrus stood silently and moved back toward a corner of the antechamber they were standing in. He said little, even in comfortable surroundings. Long moments passed, and finally, they heard a heavy tread approaching them across the tiled floor of the villa. Verus rounded the corner, the very image of a Abian Centurion. He was tall and had broad shoulders. His hair was unkempt, and had streaks of gray now among the shining black it had been. His face was strong, though, and his eyes were keen, their brown piercing and backed by formidable intellect. He stopped when he saw the trio and regarded them, then forced a smile to his lips, it was not a very convincing one. "My lord praetor," he said, walking forward, and putting his hand to his chest, fist clenched and bowing his head. "Welcome to my humble home." The praetor said, "Your home is lovely, Primus Pilum, and I am honored to be allowed inside." Verus nodded. "I may ask, however, as pleasant as your visit shall, I'm sure, be, why you have come so far from Presium Prime?" "A man who gets to matters, which is exactly why I am come," said the praetor. He looked at the tall, retired Centurion. "Primus Pilum Verus," he said in a formal tone, "the empire needs you to return for one mission." Verus did the one thing that none of the three men expected, who had each expected something different, one had expected rage, one violence, and one quiet acceptance. However, what the retired Centurion did was laugh. They stood, blinking at the outburst of laughter and unsure what to do with such an emotional reaction. Finally, the chuckles subsided. "My lord praetor, but I am retired, and of little worth to the empire, regardless, being an old man." "Verus," said the praetor in a more friendly tone, "you are still the finest leader we have ever had, on the field and off." "I'm sorry, Praetor Mallius, but I refuse," said Verus. "I am a soldier no longer." He had served fourty years in the legions, and had earned his retirement thrice over. There was no law nor power in the imperium that could force him back into yoke to the state. The praetor looked at the old soldier levelly, "That is your final word?" he asked. "It is," said the former commander of the Eighth Legion, also called the Hammer of God. "Very well, Primus Pilum, I cannot force you," said Mallius, half turning, then he said. "As my visit is cut short, perhaps you could help me with a small detail of it." He turned back around and regarded Verus with hostile eyes. "I am required to deliver these unto some lads of the area." He held out the five little scrolls. "Perhaps they might be better given over to them by someone they love, like their grandfather." Verus' eyes widened at the sight of the five Notices of Draft. "You cannot be serious!" he said, his face growing pale. "They have never... " "Primus Pilum Verus, you underestimate our need, we have suffered great losses to four legions in the Windy Isles. Those pesky rangers and elves are tenacious. The legions are undermanned and need healthy young men to rebuild their ranks." The praetor's eyes flashed. "Unless we can broker a peace agreement with them, and soon, we will need reinforcements, it is that simple. And your grandsons would make fine legionnaires." "You want me to broker a peace agreement?" asked Verus. "Exactly," said the praetor. He saw he had won, already. Verus' eyes fell to the floor. "My understanding was that they were not even talking anymore," he said. "They are not," agreed Mallius, "but the elves have agreed to hear the words of one of their own, Lady Emogen." "She is but half-elven," said Verus. "It is enough in this case," said the praetor, "they have agreed to speak with her, and she has been authorized to lay out a peace plan." Verus nodded. "And the reason you need me?" "Simple," said Mallius, "to make sure she gets to the elves safely. You see, the men of the Windy Isles are not as keen as the elves to make peace. They will abide by an agreement, but they will play no part in helping form it, and officially, they have adopted a no quarter policy." Verus shook his head, "Why would they do that? The men of the Isles are reasonable folk." "It may have to do with the captured prisoners of war being shipped off as slaves to our lands here in Abia," said the praetor negligently, I do not pretend to understand their mind. The retired Centurion looked at him in disbelief. "You took them as slaves before the conquest was complete?" he asked. "Did you simply wish to incite them to resist more or were you planning on fighting to the last man of them?" "I plan neither," said the praetor, shrugging, "I plan on you and the lady brokering a peace deal with the elves." Verus sighed. "I have little choice, lest I wish to see my grandsons die in that meat grinder you call a war." "It would be so if you refused, for certain," said Mallius, I have a ship awaiting your arrival in Presium Prime on the morrow." With those words, the praetor turned and opened the door and left, followed closely by Sendrus. Marus lingered a moment, his face apologetic and his eyes refused to meet the old soldier's. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, then turned himself and left, pulling the door shut behind him with a last furtive glance at the hard eyes of Verus. ------- Back in the city, the capital of the Abian Empire, Presium Prime, the Praetor of the Senate, Mallius, stood on the balcony of his chambers in his palace. He looked back into the room, where Sendrus sat in an ornate padded chair. "Because, I do not intend either him or Lady Emogen to return, or even make it to the elves," he said. "Those rangers will cut the two of them apart in the jungles of those accursed islands." "That is far from assured, milord praetor," said Sendrus, taking a sip of wine from a silver cup. "If Verus is half as resourceful and skilled as they say, he may well get them across the island to the elves." "That, my old friend, is why you will be there already," said Mallius, "to make sure he doesn't get so resourceful." Sendrus smiled. "Ah," he said, "but why are you telling me just now?" "Don't you like surprises?" asked Mallius. "And the greater surprise is your pay." Sendrus tilted his head slightly, like a dog listening to his master. "What might that be? for you have already made me wealthy." "I know you have an eye for the Lady Emogen," said the praetor. The assassin nodded. "Indeed, she is an exotic, lovely creature." "After her mission fails, by her own betrayal, of course, I am confident she will be sold into slavery. I can assure you there will be only one bidder for her ownership." Sendrus' eyes glittered at the thought of not only having the lady, but owning her outright, as a personal slave. "And all I have to do is eliminate Verus?" "Yes, and make sure she gets out alive, to stand trial for the failure," said Mallius, "I will see to the rest, I have a justicar who owes me a huge favor in Remless." "You will try her in such a tiny port town?" asked Sendrus. "Surely, it will be appealed." "Justicar Ulanus' decision will not be overturned, he is too highly regarded," said Mallius. "And why, lastly, do you want this 'peace agreement' to fail to come to fruition?" asked the assassin. Mallius smiled. "This war has been unpopular from the start. When those barbarians in the Windy Isles kill one of our most beloved heroes, the people will become incensed. Especially since he was trying to hold out an olive branch to them, and had come out of retirement to do so, such self sacrifice. We will have all the resources we need to smash the Windy Isles under a decade of legions, rather than the undermanned four we have been forced to use." "Now," said Mallius, "it is time for you to take ship and get to the Windy Isles." ------- She was as lovely as the people had said, and Verus, though now nearing sixty, was not immune to that beauty. Lady Emogen was the darling of the people's eye in Presium Prime, she was always seen as kind, and was stylish, and most of all, beautiful and charismatic. As she stood on the boards of the dock, looking at the galleon that would take them to the Windy Isles, she radiated likability. Verus swallowed, and kissed his eldest son on the cheek, taking up his rucksack and walking toward the ship. As he approached her, the lady turned her silvern eyes upon him. "Primus Pilum Verus!" she exclaimed, a smile forming on her lips and radiating form her, making his heart thud in his chest all the harder. She walked up to him and put her hands upon his shoulders. She was a tall, slim woman, despite her half-elven lineage. She bent forward and kissed his cheek and a wash of sweet cinnamon flowed over him. "Milady Emogen," he said, stammering slightly. "You are as lovely as always, and that is only exceeded by your grace." She smiled. "A general of men and a sweet-talker of women," she said, tilting her gaze slightly up to him. "I see now I will have to keep my wits about me this journey." A crewman walked up to them and said. "They are ready for you to board, milady and sir," he said, bowing. Emogen reached out a slender hand and took Verus'. "Please, steward, show us the way to our cabins." Verus felt cool fingers in his hand, and despite that it very nearly burned him, sending spikes of heat up his arm, his breath was even short. She looked back toward him. "Primus Pilum Verus," she said, "do you think this parley will work?" "Please, milady, just Verus. And, yes, if you are brokering it, I feel it will be quite easily done," he replied. The steward showed them to their rooms, cramped cabins across the hall from one another. "We're neighbors, how delightful," she said. "I look forward to working closely with you, Verus, your reputation as a strategist and leader is legendary." She lowered the gauzy shawl that she had been covering her head with, revealing her golden hair and gently pointed ears. "Frankly, I feared they would send me with someone who surely would get me killed." "I will do all in my power to ensure that does not happen," said Verus, bowing. She reached out and took hold of the sides of his head, lifting him and kissing each cheek, her warm, soft lips brushing one, then the other. "I know, and I am immensely gladdened," said Emogen. He was breathing in small gasps as she released his head and he felt himself stumble a bit. She smiled brightly and turned about. "Will you come to eat dinner with me this night?" she asked over her shoulder. The long strips of cloth that made up her gown moved as she did, revealing tiny flashes of skin beneath them. "I will promise to wear something more appealing to the eye." "Certainly, milady," he replied automatically, though his mind was far from operating at full capacity. ------- He knocked upon her door and she opened it, standing before him in a short skirt that was slit high on the left and right sides. Her midriff was bare, displaying a tummy that had only the slightest hint of roundness to it. His eyes moved up, with effort, past her slim waist and to her sizable breasts, which were being held at bay by a halter top, that crossed over them then about her neck. He looked at her for a long moment, noting that she was showing a really impressive amount of skin. She smiled "I thought, perhaps, traipsing through the woods in a gown would be less than ideal," said Emogen. "This outfit is very elven in look, and quite easy to move in." As he shut the door, she demonstrated the mobility that the short skirt and half-top gave her by adopting a pugilistic pose that caused him to chuckle, which set her to giggling. "I hope that mobility of that nature will not be necessary," said Verus. "I intend to avoid all contact with the rangers." "A wise choice," she said, "I hear they are formidable fighters, especially in their own territory." He nodded, watching her long form as she moved toward the table that had been set for them. He noted standard fare on half the table and a wide variety of fruit and vegetables on the other half. "You do not eat meat?" he asked as he walked to the table and pulled out the chair on the fruit and vegetable side for her. She smiled brightly. "A leading question, Verus, but, yes, I do, but only in small amounts." She took the proffered seat and glanced toward his pants with obvious intent. "Except in certain situations, where I consume it voraciously." Verus sat across from her and regarded her with a smile. "Milady, you should not toy with an old soldier's libido, especially one who has been alone so many years." Emogen cast her eyes down and her face became less happy. "I apologize Verus, it slips my mind that you lost your wife seven years ago." "She lived a full life, but I do miss her," said Verus. His smile turned very wry, "I especially miss her touch." They ate in near silence, speaking only a little on their mission to come. Once they had finished, though, and the steward had cleared the table, Emogen said. "This mission frightens me." "It is dangerous, milady, I'll not lie to you," said Verus. She nodded. "My father was a Windir Elf," she said. "These are, in part, my people. It pains me to know we are at war with them and that they would kill me if they caught me and found out I was Abian." Her eyes welled with tears. "I fear dying a failure at the hands of my father's folk." Verus was unsure what to do, he reached out with a napkin and caught her falling tears and wiped her eyes gently. "Well, it is my job to see to it that doesn't happen, and if it is in my power to ensure it doesn't, it won't." ------- The next morning, the steward reported that they were nearing the Windy Isles. "I surely hope no trimarans come across us before we make the shallows," he confided. "Agreed," said Verus to the young man. Elven trimarans were alarmingly effective combat vessels, fast, though not maneuverable. They were large, and worst of all carried a ram prow, or more realistically, three, one at the leading edge of each underwater sponson and support boom. They could hole a ship easily, and with a good wind behind them, cut a ship in two. Their high maindeck gave archers a distinct advantage, and the elves were artillerists without peer, able to use the deck-mounted ballistae to inflict terrible damage to their opponents before they were even in bow range. It was indeed a good thing to not see one. As he walked onto the helmsman's deck, he looked about them, and saw Lady Emogen approaching. It was a windy day, but not poor weather, the ship moved along under her sails smoothly, despite the choppy seas. He peered over her shoulder intently, then walked to the helmsman. "Have you a glass?" he asked. The helmsman reached into his long mariner's vest and pulled out a collapsed brass spyglass, and handed it to Verus. "Be careful with that, it cost me four month's wages, sir," he said. Verus nodded and extended the barrel, then uncapped the lense. Lady Emogen looked at him oddly as he walked past her, with an immensely distracted look upon his face. She turned the direction he was staring and gasped. Her half-elven eyes already saw the source of his agitation. He raised the spyglass to his eye. Painted light blue to blend into the sky was a sail, and beneath that the distinctive triangular legs of the support pylons that held the trimaran out of the water. Judging form the immense roostertails that followed each strut's passage through the water, she was making good speed, and coming directly for the galleon. "Oh, dear," the lady gasped as he collapsed the spyglass and capped it. "Oh dear is right," said Verus and handed the spyglass back to the helmsman. He looked at the young man, whose face was just now beginning to register fear. "Turn the ship about." "Turn about sir?" he asked, his eyes flicking toward where the nearly invisible sail was growing closer. Had Verus not seen it, and pointed it out, obviously the crowsnest watchman did not. "Surely we should try to dodge them." "They are moving too fast, by the time we know how they plan to ram, they will have disabled our rudder with their bloody ballistae," Verus said in a rush of clipped words. "Turn the damn ship about and make straight for them." "But the captain,... " said the helmsman. "Is a fool if he tries anything else," said Lady Emogen, "This man is Primus Pilum Verus, and his tactical skills and judgement are not to be questioned. "On land, perhaps," said a booming voice from behind Verus and Emogen. "But this is my ship and we are on open water." It was the captain, and he seemed in no mood to listen to a land lubber regarding nautical matters. "Hold your course, helmsman." Several crewmen were watching the interaction of the two men as well as a dozen or more legionnaires, who had begun coming from below deck as word spread of the trimaran approaching. "Verus, if you attempt to issue another order upon my ship, you will be thrown overboard," said the captain. Inhaling deeply, Verus turned away from the captain, nodding. Then came back around with a roundhouse punch that would fell a mule. The captain's head snapped back and he fell to the deck with a thud. "I'll suffer not a fool, be he the right captain of the ship or not," Verus said. Crewmen began moving toward the old soldier, drawing long knives. Verus cast back his cloak, reavealing the golden trimmed breastplate of a Primus Pilum. The legionnaires on the deck acted immediately, drawing their short swords, and turning menacingly toward the sailors. "I am now in command of this vessel!" shouted Verus. "You sailors back to your posts, and tie that man up and place him in his quarters." He pointed at the fallen captain, who was just now beginning to stir. He looked toward the helmsman again. "Turn the ship about, now!" The helmsman began shouting commands to the rigging crew. Sails were thrown about and some furled. He then spun the wheel around, and the rudder complained as it was thrown hard over. The long, slim galleon heeled over in the water, as the wind snapped the sails into a new configuration and the ship spun about. Spray washed over the deck and misted into Verus' eyes. "Coming about!" yelled the helmsman as he centered the ship's prow upon the quickly-growing trimaran. Verus took the spyglass again and looked at the trimaran, he could make out elves and men in the rigging of the huge ship and saw that they seemed to be moving randomly. This move had confused them and they were trying to figure out how to adjust. Normal ships were supposed to run from a trimaran, not make as if to ram. "I sure hope you know what you are doing," said Lady Emogen as he folded the glass again. "So do I," said Verus, turning again to the helmsman. "Aim between the lead sponson and the left." "Sir?" asked the helmsman. "But we will slide under her main hull then, and have our masts sheared off." "I know," said Verus. "Clear the rigging at a hundred fathoms distance. Have the quartermaster issue arms." "We're going to board her?" the helmsman asked, incredulity filling his voice. "No," said Primus Pilum Verus, "we're going to take her." He walked down the stairs to the maindeck and gathered up several of the legionnaires, issuing hasty orders to them. The men listened automatically, knowing they were hearing the words of a legend made real. Most of all, they knew Verus had never lost a battle. They scattered about the deck to the tasks he had given them. The first officer of the ship walked up to him, though with much less bellicosity than the captain had. "Primus Pilum, you realize this current course of action will surely lead to the loss of this ship?" Verus nodded. "Of course I do," he said. "We're not going to finish this trip on this pile of logs. Now, issue your men weapons, and prepare for a fight." The first officer nodded and moved off, satisfied that he had done his duty in stating his case. He could die now with the knowledge that he had done so. Verus had no intention of more men dying than absolutely necessary. The trimaran began to loom ahead, growing larger quickly. The ship was many times the size of the galleon. Verus went about, issuing orders to various people and soon the crew was as ready as it would be, as well as the hundred legionnaires who were aboard. "You're getting your first taste of the battle a bit early," he told them as they huddled around him. He nominated five of them de-facto sergeants and divided them into five squads of twenty men. He looked at the trimaran now, and did some mental calculations. They had less than three minutes left. He went up to the helm deck and told the helmsman to get off that deck as soon as the ships started hitting, and to just get off, no heroics. The helmsman nodded enthusiastically. Two ballistae fired, hurling great bolts at the ship. A man fell from the rigging, impaled on one of the six foot spears, the other thudded harmlessly into the helm deck. The trimaran could bring no more of its main armament to bear on a ship directly ahead of it, and they could not ram a ship off to her side. Next would be the archers, though. "Clear the rigging!" shouted the helmsman. Men began bailing out of the rigging as fast as they could, clambering down to the deck of the galleon. The legionnaires took up their positions over the maindeck, standing in a large grid. Two legionnaires took up positions beside the helmsman. He looked nervously at each of them. "NOW!" shouted Verus as a cloud of arrows launched itself from the elven ship. The soldiers, as one, lifted their shields over their heads, like a wood and leather roof over the main deck. The two beside the helmsman huddled close to him where only one of his arms poked out between their shields, holding the ship's wheel. Arrows thudded down into the raised shields. Where there were gaps a few men fell, pierced by the falling shafts. A second volley flew forth, and had no more effect than the first, falling mostly onto the shields of the legionnaires. Then it was too late. The foremast sheered off as the two ships met. "HIT THE DECK!" screamed the sergeants, Verus and the helmsman in unison, and everyone on the ship dove for the main deck. Including the helmsman and the two legionnaires beside him, diving over the railing and landing on the deck painfully. The sound was horrendous. Shearing timbers and snapping ropes mixed with tearing cloth and the screams of men caught by the effect of one of these. There was a rending groan that moved his internal organs with its depth and intensity, then all motion stopped. They looked up and saw the underside of the trimaran over them. Peering over the gunnel, Verus confirmed that the pilum the legionnaires had set out the portholes had held, imbedding themselves into the wood of the sponson and anchoring them to the trimaran. The top two feet of the helm deck was gone now, and the masts over five feet from the deck. He grabbed a sailor. "Get the captain and release him, tell him if we win, he will be the first Abian captain of a trimaran!" he said, and the crewman shot off for the stairs down. "Abians, attack! Come hell or glory, we take a prize for the empire this day!" Shouted Verus. The crew and legionnaires moved in a surge, casting aside the heavy shields and swarming up the support pylon for the sponson on both port and starboard sides, where the galleon had wedged itself to the port and lead sponsons. The trimaran, now suddenly no longer symmetrical, began a long turn, the drag created by the galleon was slowing the trimaran greatly. The elves and human sailors on the deck were taken half by surprise as the Abians swarmed onto the deck. The sergeants had strict orders though, and it was not nearly the bloodbath that many had expected, on both sides. Many dozens of prisoners were taken. It seemed the crew was far smaller than first assumed. "Losses?" asked Verus, speaking to the captain and the first officer. "Twelve sailors and fourteen legionnaires," said the first officer, looking at a scrap of parchment. "A total of fifty wounded." Verus shook his head but smiled slightly. "Better than I had hoped, actually, but still painful to hear." "How did you know they would have few men aboard to fight us off?" asked the captain. "It makes sense," said Verus to the captain, who was now calm enough to speak to civilly. "They rely upon their superior vessels to do the fighting. They didn't expect to be boarded, and carry no marines for that event." "Shall we put them to death, Primus Pilum?" asked one of the defacto sergeants. "No, put them aboard our old ship and cut them loose," said Verus. "I've no mind to be a jailer and we are soldiers, not murderers. They fought honorably and surrendered in good faith. We'll not mar our honor by betraying that." The Windy Islanders and the elves of the crew were moved to the ruined, but still floating ship below, and the spears which anchored it were cut, letting it drift from beneath the trimaran. Two female elves were still aboard the trimaran. "You can swim?" asked Verus of them. They both nodded. "Then swim to the ship and release their bonds, you are no longer prisoners." The two elven women, with incredibly graceful motions, ran to the rear of the ship and cast themselves over the gunnel and down into the water, striking it with barely a splash. Verus turned to regard the crew and legionnaires. "I want to express my pride this day in being an Abian," he said in a commanding voice that all could hear. "You have done credit to your nation and to your families. Not a single prisoner was abused, and there were women among them, for that I am proud beyond words." It had not even occurred to the crew to do so, not with the famous Verus there, they knew honor was one of his main peeves, and they'd not besmirch theirs by earning his ire. Lady Emogen walked up behind him and touched his shoulder as the crew and soldiers dispersed and the crew began to try to figure out how to work the rigging of this peculiar vessel. "Captain," said Verus, "the ship is yours to command again, and I will accept whatever punishment you deem worthy of my crime of mutiny." The captain bellowed a massive laugh and struck his helmsman on the back. "No, I think you were reacting to me in a moment of my weakness of thought, perhaps I was simply having an attack of the vapors or something," said the captain. "I am glad that you took command in my moment of infirmity." Verus nodded and turned to the lady. "You wished to speak?" he asked, now that everything was set right for the moment. She smiled at him, a smile that would make iron glow red. It made Verus glow red, indeed. Lady Imogen took his hand and led him to a staircase down into the main hull of the ship. She was familiar with the design of elven ships, having ridden a few, and took him directly to the master's quarters. As they passed into the large, spacious room, she turned and kissed him. It was not a brushing of the lips on cheeks either, but a full on, airtight connection. He sighed out his air as she released him and stood back. "Primus Pilum Verus, I owe you my life already, and we've not even started the mission." He shook his head. "I don't think they would have killed you," he said. "I may not have given them a choice," she said. "If I appeared in Abia again, after an elf ship attack, my already rumored double allegiance would be confirmed and I would be enslaved as a traitor." "Are you?" he asked. "Allied with the elves, that is." She shook her head. "Only insofar as I have kinfolk among them," said Emogen. "I am loyal to the empire." He nodded and turned to the bank of windows that filled the back wall of the room. "Impressive," he said, looking at the receding water below and behind them. She put her slender hands upon his shoulders and looked at his straight back and military bearing. "Yes, indeed, it is," she agreed, her voice deepening noticeably and, unseen by Verus, her eyes darkening to the color of iron. ------- They had barely been out of sight of land when the trimaran had been sighted, and now the islands heaved into view before them. As they neared their destination, a tiny port called, of all things, Pigswillow, there was a intense flurry of activity on the shore. The commander of the village thought surely it was a Islander attack and was readying his defences. When the standard of Abia was hoisted up the mainmast, there was a cheering from the shore that could be heard even from the deck of the ship. Hundreds of folk swarmed to the docks as the massive vessel nestled in among them with minimal damage to the facilities. There was much rejoicing and people cheered friends and family as they debarked the ship. A Centurion forced his way through the throngs and walked up to the Primus Pilum. "I am Centurion Denthius, I have been ordered to act as your liaison prior to your mission, sir." Word was already circulating of how the empire had come to acquire a prize like a trimaran, the first known to be captured, to anyone's knowledge. "I see not a word of your legend is hyperbole," said the younger Centurion. "I am honored to meet you." Verus and Emogen were put up in quarters near the bay, in what must have been an inn before the war. She sat in what had been a common room next to Verus. "How did you know that they would have only a minimal crew?" she asked, sipping wine from a bottle they had recovered from the ship prior to leaving it. "The elves are a scarce people, and the Windy Islanders only slightly less so," explained Verus. "I knew they couldn't spare a great number of fighting men to man their ships, especially when their main tactic is to sink ours very quickly and avoid a direct fight." She nodded. "It makes sense. What if you had been wrong, and that one had been a troop transport?" Verus thought a moment. "I would have thought of something else," he said. She believed him thoroughly. "I've never done well with 'what if's'," he said. "I prefer to deal with what is." She handed him the bottle and he took a long pull. "And what 'is' the situation now?" she asked, leaning toward him and smiling, her eyes just a touch out of focus. The old Centurion thought again for a long moment. "I am in an inn, with a beautiful half elven woman, drinking fine elven wine from the bottle, and flush with yet another victory," he said, his mind almost visibly working through the situation. Emogen leaned closer and looked up at him through the bangs of her hair. "And what is your tactical assessment of it, is another victory looming?" Verus chuckled, taking another pull. "It depends on what you define as victory, milady." She put her hand on his bare thigh, slightly under the armored skirt of his uniform. "I believe there are clear rules to determine that," she said. He put his hand over hers and pressed it against his flesh. "Milady, you don't speak of a victory for me, for I would likely be made captive by what I think you are offering." "If you know what I offer, then why not reach out and seize it, as you did that cunning elven vessel out there?" she said, waving her hand toward the ship, still looming outside the windows of the inn in the bay. He lifted her cool hand from his thigh, despite his initial desire, and kissed it, then placed it gently into her own lap. "Milady, I claim no prizes. I serve the empire, and she, until I am free of this last mission, is my only mistress." Her expression fell slightly, but he quickly filled the void. "But, I will say this, beautiful Lady Emogen, when I am done with this, and we have peace with the Windy Isles and the elves. I would claim that reward happily then." She smiled up at him as he stood. "Then we best succeed, for I will be wroth if you never get your just deserts," she said. He walked toward his room, setting the empty bottle on the counter of the bar in passing. "Milady, if I miss out on a prize of that magnitude, I will have enough wroth to set the empire ablaze," he said over his shoulder. ------- Chapter 2 Verus awoke with the voice of Centurion Denthius in his ear. "Sir, you asked to be awakened at two hours past dawn," said the younger soldier. He slid out of bed and stretched, bones popping by the morning light. The younger centurion noted that he bore scars on every portion of his body, and embarrassingly, he also noted that Verus had only one testicle. A chuckle emerged from the old soldier. "Don't worry son, one works fine, ask my children and grandchildren." "How sir?" asked Denthius. Verus chuckled. "On the Mindian Isles, to the blade of a Dark Templar," he said. "Just cut it right off, those swords they use are terribly sharp." The younger centurion nodded. "I see. I hear they are enchanted, as well." "Oh, I'm certain they are," agreed Verus. "It sure felt enchanted, let me say." Denthius chuckled at the flippancy with which Verus relayed what must have been a terribly harrowing experience. "Are the Templars as good as people say?" "Better," said Verus, "they are probably the singly most deadly warriors in the world." The younger soldier swallowed. "How did you defeat him then?" "Who said I did?" asked Verus. "Well, it is said, that you never lost a battle," said Denthius, smiling. Verus thought as he pulled and fastened his armored skirt. "Well, I suppose I did beat him, but it was by sheer luck, I believe. After he slashed my left nut off there, his sword hit my horse, and sunk deep into the beast's flesh. It killed him, damn pity too, it was a good horse. Anyway, when the blade cut the beast's heart in two, it fell like, well, a dead horse, and the blade was yanked from the bastard's hand." "I was upon him like a legionnaire on a whore, blood flying everywhere, mostly mine, but he had no main weapon now. I basically poked and prodded that damn interlocking armor they wear until my short sword found a chink in it and then I poked some more. He finally quit moving." The centurion laughed. "Is that the truth?" he asked. "On my wife's grave," said Verus, smiling. "It took me a month to get my men to stop calling me Verus Hangsright." The old soldier was dressed now and strapped on his short sword. "I have need of gear, Denthius, where is the captured equipment?" Denthius said, "What there is of it will be in the quartermaster's warehouse. I will take you there." They were walking across the area before the inn and both stared at the large elven vessel as people were loading stuff onto it and other goods off of it. "You have been warring here for four years, Centurion," said Verus, "how is it there is little captured gear?" "It has been being shipped off by the Governor's orders, sir," said the Centurion. They arrived at the quartermaster's warehouse and indeed the pickings were light, but sufficient for Verus' needs. He asked Denthius to go fetch the lady and bring her to the warehouse. As the young Centurion brought her into the darkened warehouse, she gasped. Standing before her was a Ranger of the Windy Isles, in his green tunic and chain armor. He stood with his bow held low, and his broadsword's hilt gleamed on his hip. "Verus?" asked the lady. "What are you doing, trying to be killed?" The old Centurion chuckled. "Quite the opposite," he said, "The only way we can make it to Rondall." He looked down at his clothes. "We are going to blend right in." She nodded, "I see," she said. "Well, you've not led me astray so far, so I will go along with your idea." He walked over to a small box, much to the quartermaster's chagrin and picked up a brooch. He clipped it to the neck of his cloak. Suddenly he was speaking flawless elven. "Do you speak elven, milady?" he asked. She nodded. "Of course I do, Verus." "This gladdens me. You will be my elven 'advisor' for I hear such are used by the rangers," said Verus, smiling at the sound of his voice in elven. Emogen giggled at the sound of it, his words wrapped to form polite elven speech. "I serve." she said, bowing low, one leg forward and her check lowering to that leg and her hands crossing her chest. "I hope I am not expected to bow like that," said Verus. "It will make my bones pop like kindling." She was already wearing a passably elven-style outfit in the short skirt and half-top, but she was further clad out in a long woods cloak of brown and a hyandai and bow. She claimed she had no clue how to use the latter, but he asked her to carry it anyway, for all elves were said to. If she were to try to pass as a Windir half-elf, she would have learned it, as well. They sat outside the warehouse, attracting many stares from passing legionnaires. She looked sadly at the smallsword. "What troubles you, milady?" asked Verus. She looked up at him. "This weapon is a family heirloom for some elven clan or another." said Emogen. "I cannot read the name, but the date says that it is eleven hundred years old. She held the pommel out to Verus. He took it gingerly, examining the finely-wrought scroll work on the pommel and crosspiece, then slid his fingers over the edge of the blade. "Very sharp," said Verus. He held the blade out, and swung it a few times. "It is probably more deadly, even than our short swords. It is fast and nimble, but lacks parrying mass." He flipped it in his hand and held the grip toward Emogen again. She took it and sheathed it. "I wonder how many of these have been claimed as loot and shipped off by the Governor already?" she asked. Verus shrugged. "Such is war, though it does seem this governor is rather eager to turn all his booty into liquid assets," he said, "including slaves." She nodded. "They've already loaded several dozen onto the trimaran," she said, jerking her chin toward the massive ship. "They're naming her for you, you know: Veria Prima." "I don't know I wish a namesake of mine carrying slaves," said Verus, shaking his head. "I've never approved of the practice." Emogen smiled up at him as he extended a hand down to her and helped her to her feet. "You're a good man, Verus," she said, and kissed his cheek. "Your wife must have felt very lucky." The expression on Verus' face was unreadable. "I don't know about that," he said quietly. "She only spent maybe five years in total with me, I was away so much." "Yet in those five years you had six children," said Lady Emogen. "When you were home, you obviously loved one another." His stern face broke into a smile. "Well, we did do some good portions of loving, for certain," he said. His eyes were not focusing properly, and Emogen knew he was no longer speaking only to her, nor was he seeing today. "We leave after lunch, if you have any affairs to settle," said Verus, casting aside his reverie. She nodded. "I have already done so, well before we took ship." "Good, then best you rest, we will push hard once we leave this village." Verus walked to another tree nearby and lay himself against it. She saw he was soon asleep. With a smile, she sat next to him, and propped herself against that same tree and closed her eyes. ------- At some point Emogen dozed off. "Time to wake up," said Verus. She opened her silvern eyes and flicked them upward to regard Verus' cheek at very close range. She was lying upon his shoulder. Lady Emogen smiled weakly and sat up. "Sorry," she said. "For?" asked Verus. "You already told me your position on affection between us," said the lady, straightening her skirt and adjusting her sword. "I will respect your wishes." He stood up and stretched. "My wishes aren't the matter here, for if I had them, I would be playing chase with one of my younger grandchildren, or showing one of the elders of them how to shoot a bow or cast a hook for fish." He then turned his earnest brown eyes upon her. "As far as my wishes of companionship from a woman, you would exceed all I've ever had of those." The lady blushed slightly, for she had been complimented before, and with more clever words. But, somehow, she knew Verus meant them, it was said he never lied. "What is it like trying to live up to a legend in yourself?" she asked, trying to turn the subject away from her heart with a well-timed verbal parry. Verus picked up the elven bow and handed it to her, taking up an Islander bow himself. "I don't try to live up to anything. I simply do what I do, I guess." They began walking toward the gates, Denthius awaited them there, carrying two local-style rucksacks of food. "God be with you, Lady Emogen and Primus Pilum Verus," said the Centurion, and he saluted the old soldier with his fist over his heart. "Good luck." Verus nodded. "We'll need it, I'm sure," he said. At Denthius' command, one gate swung open. Verus and Emogen passed through to salutes from the men upon the battlement and a few quiet words of luck. The soldiers here were hopeful of a resolution of this neverending war, as well, and they hoped soon. The jungle before them was dense and sinister. He had never been in such an environment, but it seemed like any other woodland, only a bit more so. Great ferns covered the ground, and thick-trunked trees rose to form a tight canopy over their heads. Some of the trees had half their root structure above the ground. Most of all, he noted the smell. It was a rich, earthy smell, full of life, and death. He had never smelled such richness before in the earth and it was appealing to his nose, almost as much as the cinnamon scent he caught from the lady from time to time. Emogen followed Verus by a few feet, watching him and listening to the jungle about them with wary ears. Even half-elven hearing was more acute than human, and she knew she would hear anything before he. They walked for the better part of two hours before she reached out and touched his arm. Verus turned with a question on his face. "Voices ahead," she whispered. They took cover in nearby shrubs and lay silent for long moments before Verus heard the voices, as well. They were Abian. They ducked even lower into the cover. They were now dressed as a ranger and an elven advisor, they would not be treated kindly by their own troops now. Speaking Abian would not help them, as the Windy Islanders, like the Abians were descended from the Syrisians, and spoke a language that was similar excepting a few minor dialect differences. It was easy enough for one to imitate the other. The cohort passed, talking among themselves about this and that, but obviously not seeing the two earth-tone-clad people only a few yards off the path. No wonder they are having such trouble with the islanders, if they could not even see us, thought Verus. The two slipped from the underbrush and moved north-westward again, toward a river he had seen on the maps which would eventually take them toward the capital, as that city lay upon the river. Emogen seemed quite happy, and Verus asked her why. "It is in my blood, I suppose, to love the wood, even such jungle as this," she said, gazing about them. "Do you not find it lovely in the least?" He nodded. "It's very pretty," he said simply, "but it is too much, in my mind, it needs less undergrowth and more grasses." She nodded soberly. "You would like Windir itself then, Verus, for it is like that," said Emogen. "Somehow, I doubt I will ever see Windir, milady," said Verus. "This war has seen that I would be most unwelcome." They came not across another soul that day, and traveled almost until dark had settled upon the rainforest. True to form, as soon as the sun had set, the clouds opened up, as it did most every night, according to Denthius. The two huddled under a oilcloth canopy and Verus laid out his bedroll, just a blanket really, but waterproofed on one side. Emogen did the same. "I apologize for the lack of gentle accommodation, milady," said Verus, smiling as she twisted and turned on the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position. She smiled up at him. "I am actually quite used to these conditions," said the lady. "My father used to take me camping often into the wilds. It was the only real time I spent with him, other than when I had angered him and he punished me." Verus laid beside her, and turned onto his side, his knapsack forming a pillow for him. "What was it like having an elven father?" he asked. She looked at him. "Very different," she said. "I knew other children's fathers, and they had a totally different set of priorities. Their fathers sought wealth and property, and status. My father looked for knowledge and spiritualism. He became a Oneian, for a while. Until he learned that the Church condoned slavery." "Not all sects do, you know?" asked Verus. "The Blue Sect, and the Green, for example." He spoke of the sects that ruled the spiritual lives of the Western Realms to the south of their land of Abia, and of the Windy Islanders sect, the Green. The Abians followed the Silver Sect. As much as politics, the sect that led the spirits of the regions defined them. "Anyway, he made me study intensely, saying, 'You've not long to learn what an elf needs to know, being half human'." She imitated a stern male's voice as she spoke in what must have been her father's cadence. "Mother always tried to tell him that I was not an elf, and that he should not try to cram fifty years of learning into fifteen. 'Nonesense', he would say, 'no daughter of mine is too stupid to learn anything she needs'." "Did you learn everything he though you needed?" asked the old soldier. She nodded. "Yes, to please him, I did," she said. "When mother died, he and I moved to Windir, but it was too late for me. I was too human, and never quite fit in. There were even elves who thought that humans and elves should not intermingle, and their words were most unkind. I soon left, and moved back to Abia, and lived with my mother's family." "How old are you?" asked Verus. She gave him a mocking shocked look. "You are to never ask a lady that," she said. "But, since I pride myself on honesty I will answer, for a price." "What price?" asked Verus. "A kiss good night," she said. He smiled in silence a moment. "A bargain, then, I will gladly pay." He leaned toward her and she toward him. Their lips met and pressed together for a long moment. He felt her slender fingers moving over his close-shorn hair and moved his into her golden tresses, feeling the incredible softness of her curls. A long moment passed as they kissed, though finally they parted lips. "A bargain, indeed," she said. "For I would tell you anything for another." He smiled. "Just your age for now, milady." She laid back and looked up at the canopy over their heads and listened to the rain spattering off of it. "I am sixty-eight," she said. "Sixty-eight," he echoed, "and not even middle age." Verus sighed. "My mind boggles at trying to grasp what that means to one's perceptions." She laughed. "Oh, I am middle aged," she said. "Most half elven folk only live a bit more than a hundred years." "ONLY!" he exclaimed, then laughed. "Twice the life of man and you can say only?" She shrugged. "My father will likely outlive me," explained Emogen, "He says that is the pain of loving a human, to loose your mate and even your children before you pass." "I heard elves can share their longevity with their lovers," said Verus, "Is is not so?" "My mother wouldn't have it," said the lady. "When she found out he was feeding her days in their kisses, she became incensed, and demanded he stop, else she would not kiss him anymore." "It must have hurt to see her age and die," said Verus. "More than you can know, I think." Tears were falling from her eyes and rolling over smooth skin and into her hair. He felt the moisture of them, as his hand rested beneath her head, cradling it. "But he stayed beside her. Elves never leave their spouses, they will kill themselves first." "Or their spouse, if it is warranted?" the old soldier asked. She nodded. "I have heard of such happening, when one turns to madness or wickedness," she said. "But then they often still destroy themselves after the deed is done. There are many lenods to that effect actually." She nuzzled her cheek onto his palm, and then turned her head slightly and kissed it. "You know pain like that, though, don't you?" He shook his head. "Not truly, no," he said, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheek as they fell. "My wife passed in her sleep with no warning of it happening. She was hale and happy, and we even had made love that night. When I awoke, she was still sleeping, and never opened her eyes." It was now his turn to shed tears, and a few fell before he pulled them back. "It was a good death, perhaps the only one that truly exists," said Verus. "Soldiers may die honorable, and even glorious deaths, but not usually good ones." She reached out a slender hand and wiped away his tears now, and smiled at him. "I marvel to see a legend weep, Verus," said Emogen. "I would never have guessed you could." Verus chuckled then said, "I have cried almost after every battle, milady. I've never been able to divorce the man from the body, and I see the potential lives in each fallen soldier, my own and the enemy's, too." She leaned forward and kissed him again. "You are a magnificent leader Verus," she said. "If only our Praetor was one such as you." The lady stopped and thought a moment, "But you would never be Praetor, even if asked, would you?" The old soldier shook his head. "Such is beyond my vision," he explained. "Pity," she said. "We should sleep, milady, we have two more days of travel ahead of us before we can even hope to reach Rondall," said Verus. She nodded. When he tried to pull back his hand, she grabbed his wrist with both her hands. "No, please, leave me this much of you," she said, her voice soft. He left his hand under her head, and they both drifted off to slumber. ------- Verus was awakened rudely by a foot kicking his booted foot. "Get up and run, they're coming!" a man yelled. He had a Windy Islander accent. Verus sat up and looked toward the man as he ran northward. He heard drums to the south, Abian war drums. There was a legion marching toward them. They clambered up and quickly folded and crammed their bedrolls into their packs. They could hear the marching feet now, and knew that soon they would be seeing the forward phalanx. He grabbed the oilcloth tarp and they ran. It ripped free of the ties that held it to branches and he rolled it up as they fled. He flashed that they had forgotten their bows, but the lady had both of them in her hands, much to his relief. She handed his to him when his hands were free. The man who had awakened them was ahead and turning to see if they were behind him. He was a tall, slim man, clad in the green of a ranger. As they ran toward him, his face took on a look of alarm. Had he figured out they were not Windy Islanders? In a motion that was almost too fast for Verus to see, the man had raised his bow and knocked an arrow and was aiming it directly for his chest. Verus shoved Emogen to the side and dove for the ground himself. The arrow whistled over their heads by mere inches as they fell. There was a muffled scream and Verus looked behind himself to see a Abian scout falling, his own bow dropping an arrow to the ground. They got up and began running again, passing the man with the bow, another arrow knocked. She was breathing hard and he was panting for air. They came around another bend in the path and the ranger, who had been sprinting after them grabbed Verus' arm, yanking him to the side of the path. Verus followed, and Emogen followed him. They ducked under some low shrubs, then the man virtually dove into a hole in the ground. Verus looked at the hole dubiously only for a moment, before they heard marching feet again, and the drums began to roll in an attack call. He urged Emogen into the hole, then dove in after her. It was a long crawl down a very narrow passage. Verus was never claustrophobic, but this almost became his first opportunity to gain that particular phobia. Finally, as a bit of panic was beginning to set in, the tunnel opened and he found himself in a cave. It looked natural, but had been worked partially by the hands of man. The man who had alerted them sat on the floor, looking up at them and laughing. "You two need to find a better trysting place than the path from Pigswillow, sir." he said, then he stood up and dusted the dirt from the tunnel off his clothes. Verus adopted a smile and tried to imitate the Windy Islander's accent. "We weren't aware that they came this far afield," he said. "Well, they used to not, but they've been pressing in farther since we pulled all the villagers back," said the ranger, walking over to a barrel in the corner. "We've denied them more slaves, and they have to reach out farther to get them." In a tone that tried to sound casual, with an edge of hostility toward the Abians, Verus asked, "They raid solely to take slaves?" The man nodded. "Yes, they razed Wicket's Patch last week, and it's got no tactical use, what else is there, when they take every man, woman, and child captive and drag them off?" The ranger looked at him oddly. "I'm surprised you don't know that, commander," he said, eyeing the badge of rank upon Verus' cloak clasp. "We have only two days ago come back from Windir," said Emogen, interjecting herself. "He was commanding a training company for a period." The ranger looked at her. "You're a half elf," he said, "don't see many of you about here. What clan are you of?" She nodded. "We are rare enough," replied the lady, "and I am of clan Velithar. She put her feet together and put one hand over her breast, her palm touching her chest. I am called Lemovaur." Her head bobbed in a short bow. "Velithar?" he asked, "Never heard of them." Then he grinned. "Then again, I've never heard of a lot of the different clans." He turned to her, and executed a similar bow, with his hand open upon his breast. "I am Lucas Crusus," he said. The ranger then looked toward Verus, one eyebrow raised questioningly. "I am Critus Tanverus," said Verus, using his full name that few knew. Crusus laughed. "There used to be an Abian Centurion named Verus, long before the war. I wonder if you were named for him?" he asked. Verus shrugged. "Maybe, my father was very into the study of military things," he said. In truth 'tan' as a suffix meant 'akin to' and he had been named for an uncle name Verus. It was also often used to mark a child named for someone whom a parent wished him to emulate, where 'tan' would mean 'like'. "Do you two have some food?" asked Crusus, eyeing their rather heavy looking packs. Verus nodded and unlimbered his knapsack, and opened it. He drew out a large hunk of salted meat and a chunk of hard tack. "Do you need some?" The man's eyes said everything Verus needed to know. He was very hungry and he even saw the ranger's tongue poke out and lick at his lip. "Please, have some, we have plenty," he held out the meat and hardtack. Crusus didn't need to be told twice, few soldiers did. He took the food and sat down immediately and began to eat as if famished. "It's been five days since I've had real food, other than nuts and berries," he explained. "With the Abians burning the crops and driving those who they don't take as slaves from their homes, I'm amazed anyone's eating." He eyed the full knapsacks they both carried. They all sat and ate, drinking water from the barrel in the corner. Verus walked Emogen over to the far corner as Crusus ate. "What is this place?" he whispered. She shrugged. "I've never heard of such before, I suppose it's a bolt-hole, put here for just what we are doing." He nodded. "I thought as much, I cannot ask him about it, for I guess I should know." Lady Emogen smiled. "It seems you have rank no matter the army you choose," she said, eyeing his silver pendant. The old soldier winced, "I can see that, I had hoped it was a junior command rank, I should have asked about it," he said, looking down at the pendant unhappily. "We could take his," she offered, nodding toward the ranger. "No," said Verus, "I'll not hurt or kill a man for a bauble to further a disguise. If we come across a dead man, perhaps, but I'll not murder for it." "Plotting my untimely demise?" asked Crusus, having finished off the salted meat and hard tack. He laughed at their odd expressions. "Just kidding, hell, you two are pretty shaken up. Been away from the front a long while, eh?" "It has been a while," confirmed Verus. The ranger put his head to the wall of the cave and listened. "I think they've passed," he said. "Give them another half hour and they'll be well away, then we can sneak past and get ahead of them." "Get ahead of them?" asked Emogen. "Why would we want to do that?" Crusus blinked a couple of timed, his blue eyes dark in the candle light. "To help defend Rennik, of course," he said. "That's where they're going, to sack Rennik." Verus nodded. "Its poorly defended?" The ranger laughed. "They really must leave training cadre out of the news," he said, "Rennik is our BEST defended town for miles. We're hoping to hold stop their incursions there." He smiled brightly. "And I'll be damned if I will miss the Abians finally getting their backsides served on a platter." Verus and Emogen looked at one another then back at the Ranger. "I see, well, then we truly woudln't want to miss that, would we?" said Verus. Imogen nodded enthusiastically. A while later, they emerged from the 'rabbit hole' and moved east a mile or two, then north again. "We'll work around them easily enough," said Crusus, "they move slow, those Abians, with all their formations and marching." Verus chuckled at that, nodding. "They do at that," he agreed. It was a walk of about five hours, moving at a pretty good speed, before they sighted the town of Rennik. Verus was appalled. The defenses were shoddy at best, suicidal at worst. As the three of them walked into town, people came out of the half-ruined houses and haphazardly thrown-up tents to greet them. Another ranger came out of one tent, wearing a bronze-colored pendant. He saluted Verus, in the familiar fist over the heart salute, though a head bow was added, like Emogen had done. "It is a relief to have one of the High Command here to see to it the situation is in hand, sir," said the officer. Verus blinked a moment, then realized he had just been given command. His first thought was to order a general retreat. Then he looked about. The emaciated state of many of the civilians, and some of the soldiery told him that many would not survive a forced march out of the town. He sighed and asked for a place to speak with his 'advisor' in private. The officer vacated his tent with no fuss, leaving Verus and Emogen alone. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he asked after the offer had gone. She shrugged. "You could simply leave," she said. "And leave these people to the slaughter that will happen in about four hours?" said Verus. "Not to mention a tale of a commander who showed up and fled at the last minute, someone who needs to be watched for? That's all I need to commit treason on a nation I am not even part of!" Lady Emogen looked at him levelly. "You could lead them, then," she said. "And commit treason on the empire?" said Verus. "Verus, look around!" she said, her voice rising. "This is no war of reunification, as the Praetor's speeches say, it is a war of acquisition. They are taking slaves as they go and stealing everything of worth not secured to the ground." She was crying. "They're killing anyone who they think might be a problem, and sending the rest to slave as whores, gladiators, or miners." Verus' expression grew peculiar. "You are on their side," he said quietly. "Tell me truthfully, do you wish the islanders victory in this?" "I do!" she said, narrowing her eyes. "But barring that, I will settle for the war to stop, I want the slave taking to end, and the destroying of homes and families." Verus nodded. "Worthy goals," he agreed. "Lead them, Verus, stop the massacre that is about to happen," she begged. Her face was now red and swollen with tears. He looked down at the floor for a long moment. Thinking on what he has seen on the islands and what he has heard, and lastly, the underhanded means to get him here. "Please." He looked into her eyes. "If I lead them, you will speak the whole truth to me after. I want to know everything." His eyes were accusing. "You've not told me the half of it, elven woman, and I would have it, for I will not betray my nation for less than a better cause." "It is!" she said, her face flush. "It is worthy." Primus Pilum Verus nodded and then went to the tent flap. "Commander, a word?" he said out the flap. The young ranger came in at a trot. "Sir?" he asked. "Resources?" asked Verus. "What have you at our disposal?" The officer blinked then said, "We have a hundred and twenty four rangers, two-hundred and fifteen armed militia and eighty two improvised." Verus stared at the officer. "And you intended to take on a group of how many cohorts?" "Five," said the officer, "but we have the defensive position." "You have a damned mud pit!" shouted Verus, slamming his fist down on the small table that sat in the center of the tent. "Cavalry?" he asked. "None, sir." said the officer, with fear quavering his voice. Verus sighed. "We need cavalry," he said, very slowly. "Assemble all the rangers, we've not much time." Fifteen minutes later Verus was looking over the rangers, they were a motley assortment, but seemed to know their drill and were presumedly good in a fight. They were mostly equipped with bow and sword, though some were carrying staves or spears. He walked up and down the ranks of them. Just over a cohort worth of trained soldiery and two of semi-trained. "How many of you can ride a horse well?" asked Verus in his 'command' voice. Twenty seven men raised their hands and were pulled from the mass and stood aside. He walked to the officer, having learned his name was Thurus. "How many horses in town?" "Thirty five, sir. But many of them are nearly useless," replied Thurus, worrying his long black hair with his fingers. "Get the best twenty eight, and get them saddled, even if it's just a blanket and some rope for a bridle and stirrups." The officer jogged off. An hour later, there were twenty eight horses ready, and the rangers who could ride were picking from among them, with Verus selecting the best-looking steed for his use. He surveyed the defenses. A low palisade wall around the village, breached in three spots by flimsy gates, with a catwalk for archers and defenders. He set the militia and civilians to making stakes as fast as they could and planting them around the outside of the wall, to at least slow down footmen a little. He had one gate rigged to fall when released from ropes. The entire body of the militia was positioned behind that gate. The rangers would man the walls to either side, covering with bow fire. The civilians with improvised weapons would be among those rangers, to help with anyone who came over the wall. Lastly, he positioned the cavalry near the left gate. The first cohort marched onto the field before the gate, stopping two hundred yards out and forming up into a long battle four deep. They were soon joined by the other four cohorts. Five hundreds now stood out there. One full cohort was made up of archers. He peered closely at the command groups of each cohort. "Emogen, do any of those commanders have gold trim on their breastplates?" asked Verus. She peered at them each in turn with her keen elven vision. "No, none of them," she replied. He dropped off the low catwalk and went to Thurus. "You hold this wall, come hell or glory, you understand?" "Yes, sir!" said the young officer. "When I give the horn call, you drop that gate and send the militia out, then the rangers." "Yes, sir." replied Thurus. Verus mounted his horse and rode to the mounted rangers. "This is going to be dangerous, men," he said. "But, if you keep your wits about you, you may live to see the morrow," he said, eying the horsed rangers. The men nodded. "I will issue commands, and they need to be obeyed immediately, even if it means turning your back to an opponent, you understand?" Men nodded and murmured assent. "I asked if you understand?" repeated Verus in a louder voice. "Yes, sir!" came the shouted reply from the twenty-seven improvised cavalry. Verus feared some of the horses wouldn't survive the initial charge, their hearts would explode. He ran through some hasty instructions on what to do in some limited situations. So much was all he could do. As he finished the last of these, he heard the drums roll from toward the south wall and heard the march of feet. "Men, you are to distract and challenge, you are not to try to win the victory!" yelled Verus. "Do that well, and your comrades will win the victory and you can toast them their glory and both can drink happily. OPEN THE GATES!" The twenty-nine horsemen sallied forth and rode in a wide circle about the village behind Verus. The horses were quiet on the loamy soil of the wood. Two fell out quickly, as their horse collapsed from beneath them, the beasts dying almost as they fell. The men jumped free and ran behind the horsemen to provide covering fire with their bows for the charge. The Abians were scarce touched by the archers on the wall, as Verus had feared, but they were moving slowly and cautiously, as was standard procedure for a situation like this. He was about to throw all that to the wind and set things on the path of chaos, and when chaos struck an Abian formation, withdrawal was the only option. Unless you were Verus. Few noted their approach from the rear right flank, and they struck the Abian formation hard, plowing deep into it and causing a great many casualties with only a couple of losses. For the most part, the horses did the majority of the damage, as the riders were only partially competent at fighting from horseback. His order to charge indirectly was working, the horses were not warhorses and would not willingly charge a man. However, they were, for the most part, well-trained and would obey directions. It was a simple matter to ride as if to go near a person and change direction at the last second and plow the horse directly into the poor target. He called for a regroup and the rangers responded admirably. If nothing else, they were trained to listen for commands well enough, and they seemed decent swordsmen, as well. As they pulled away from the Abian formation, it tried to regroup, and face them, only to start losing men to the archers on the wall, and had to divide their formation to face both ways. Verus smiled. One cohort already confused and four remaining. A few arrows now zinged past his head, from the central cohort, the archers. They were next, he rode the company of horsemen around to make as if to charge the archers, and set them in readiness. The whole of the Abian formation was rather close to the walls and had to keep at least one back rank bearing shields to prevent archers on the wall from having easy targets. Spurring his mount, he rode around, again, giving him distance and coming around the other flank now, forcing the end cohort to wheel about to face the cavalry. The archers in the center were concerned, as well, a few had fallen to arrows from the superior longbows on the wall. Now, however, he was garnering far more attention than his little cavalry company deserved, by far, and aimed to use that to the utmost. The bugler called the full charge. The gate came crashing down, nearly catching the leading ranks of the central cohort, over the wooden platform charged the militia. The spearmen in the front rank were overrun in short order and the militiamen ran amok among the archers. It was quickly seen that the archers could not stand and the formations wheeled again to crush the militia, when the rangers cleared the gate and started raining arrows into the cohorts not in melee. Verus charged the remaining cavalry into the only full-strength cohort left, which was still trying to decide which force to face. A few moments later the horns of the Abians were blowing and a retreat was called. He sent forth his own commands, and the Militia and Rangers disengaged, letting the Abians retreat and yield the field. He went about and made sure the wounded were tended with due speed, drafting the half dozen elven folk in the village to healing duty with their miraculous breath. He also further ensured that wounded Abians were not abused and were taken prisoner honorably. "But, sir, they started of the killing prisoners and slave transporting!" protested Thurus. Verus looked at him and glared. "And we're better men than they, else we are also animals. The prisoners will be treated fairly and their wounds tended. See to it, commander." He looked at Emogen. "Lady Emovaur, you're with me." With that, he spun on his heel and entered the village and then the command tent. Lady Emogen walked in quietly behind him, moving slowly and hesitantly. "Now, milady," said Verus, turning toward her with eyes that burned with anger and pain, "you will explain what the hell is going on here, and what your game is. Else, I'll tell them we're Abians myself and wait for them to tear us apart." She cringed from his vehemence. "Verus, I... " she said. "You what?" shouted Verus. "You simply have made me commit treason on my own nation and not only aid the enemy, but lead them to victory?" Her silvern eyes hardened, turning to the color of gleaming steel. "You have seen what is happening here," she said. "Can you abide your own vaunted empire slaying hundreds of folk simply because they had not enough guards to watch them adequately?" "What are you saying?" asked Verus. The pointed at a map upon the table. On the map was a town and that town was scratched out. "Palliman," she said. "Six months ago, there was a town here. There is nothing there now, save ruins and shallow graves. A cohort went there and the people surrendered, as there were no rangers among them. Two days later, half the cohort was ambushed near the village and slain. The Centurion in charge sent word to the governor and received word back three days later, to slay the villagers and return to their base. Simply because they could not adequately watch the villagers for a slave drive to Pigwillow." Verus gaped at her as she spoke. "This cannot be true," he said. "It is against all accepted laws of war." Emogen looked at him levelly. "Really?" she said, her voice icy, "I would never have known that their actions were beyond barbaric, had you not said so. But, trust me, it is true. This war is not about reunifying the Children of Syrisia, it is about taking slaves, and lining the pockets of the governor and some of his flunkies." "How has this happened?" asked Verus. "How can we have fallen to such dishonor." "Perhaps the Praetor can shed light upon it," she said, "I understand that he himself selected the governor and most of the Centurions over these cohorts." "You're saying that he is profiting from these actions?" asked Verus, his anger sublimating away from himself and her and redirecting itself to the Praetor. The lady's eyes widened as a section of the shadows near the wall detached itself and seemed to move in a blur, coming into focus an instant before the blade slid across Verus' neck. The old soldier half turned toward his attacker as his hand reached toward his neck and he collapsed. Emogen's scream was cut short as the shape blurred once more and the pommel of the dagger came down upon her skull. Moments later, two men, one of them the commander of the rangers came charging into the tent. Thurus knelt beside the fallen leader, pressing his hands to the free flowing blood. "Get my scribe!" he yelled at the other man, who bolted from the tent. The ranger looked about the tent and saw only a slit on the back wall to mark the passing of the assassin. Had the Lady Emogen done this? "Spirits protect," said the soprano voice of Morlani, Thurus' elven scribe and advisor. She leaped over the fallen soldier and knelt beside him. With almost no delay, she pried Thurus' hands from the wound and leaned in close, nearly touching her lips to the freely-flowing wound. The ranger watched in awe as the wound closed, first stopping the flowing blood and then sealing the rent flesh. As the wound finally closed, she collapsed over Verus' chest and gasped for air. Thurus gently lifted the petite woman off of the commander and laid her upon a desk. Other men came stumbling into the tent, worried looks upon their faces. Verus lay still, breathing, but only barely. "Morlani has stopped the bleeding, Verus may live," said Thurus. Two of the men came forward and they lifted the old man onto the central table. "What happened?" asked one ranger. The commander looked at him. "I don't know, honestly," he said. "But Lady Emogen is gone." The other rangers all looked at the cut cloth at the back of the tent. "Shall we give pursuit?" asked one. "No," said Thurus, "those abian legions will be near, regrouping, even if only to march home. We need not a run in with them. Tanverus will awaken, and we will await his guidance." The rangers nodded, all of their eyes turning worriedly toward the man who had just handed them victory over a superior army. ------- "What is the meaning of this?" asked Lady Emogen as she was thrown into the holding cell on a small galleon. Sendrus looked into the cell. "The meaning, milady, is your treason," he said. "In aiding the Windy Islanders in the defeat of two cohorts of the legions of Abia, and the murder of Primus Pilum Verus. "You murdered Verus, you bastard!" she screamed, grabbing the bars of the cell. "Now, do not deepen your crimes by slandering a senator of the empire," murmured Sendrus. "It is most unbecoming a lady to stoop to mere insults." The slender, dark man touched her hand, gently. "I will dearly love owning you as my personal, most personal slave, milady," he hissed, his eyes locking onto hers. "I will enjoy you in every way I can imagine. I am most fortunate, as one of half-elven blood, you will remain fresh and beautiful for a very, very long time." With an incoherent screech, she flung herself away from the bars and curled into a protective ball in the corner. "Go away, you'll not have me, you twisted freak," she said, covering her head. "I'll kill myself first." "No, milady, you will not die until I decide it is time for you to die," said Sendrus. "Even that shall be an exquisite experience for the both of us." ------- The healers watched over Verus, tending to his needs for water. He was very frail, it was said. His heart had almost pumped too much of his blood from him and he hovered upon the very steps of the Tower of the One. Morlani reentered the tent, now containing a cot and several worried folk. Her husband was with her, a strong-looking elf named Emorianel. He released her hand as the two entered. "Leave them," he said in a crisp voice unused to speaking the tongue of the Windy Islands. The worried healers and rangers shuffled out of the room, casting last glances back toward Verus as they exited. Lastly, Emorianel turned to his bride. "You are sure?" he asked. Morlani reached out and stroked his golden hair. "Yes, beloved, I am sure," she said quietly. "I am but a scribe, and he is a leader of many men, and a great one, from what I have seen this day." Emorianel nodded. "Then, my wife, do what you must," he said, kissing her. She returned the kiss, and the two of them embraced for long moments before she turned away. "Go now, Emorianel," said Morlani, pulling her auburn hair back into a pony tail. "I will come forth when it is completed." With a worried look toward his wife, Emorianel walked out, carefully closing the flap behind him and standing outside of it with a solid look that radiated immobility. Morlani settled to her knees beside the cot and lifted Verus' hand. "Tanverus, I will give to you something few men receive," she said in a hushed tone. She placed one hand behind his neck, lifting it slightly. As his lips parted, she kissed him. She breathed into his mouth, filling his lungs. Years slipped from his features, and wrinkles smoothed themselves. His sunken, darkly ringed eyes brightened, and he looked the very picture of health. It was but an illusion, the energy did not go to that cause. Soon, Verus' breathing deepened. The wrinkles returned, and the darkness about his eyes came back. However, now his skin was rosy pink, and he seemed to be only sleeping. Morlani sat back on her heels, observing the man before her. "Be worth it human," she said. "I give my essence for no small reason." The silver streaks in her hair shined in the lamplight of the tent. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creased as she closed them, and the smile lines at the ends of her generous mouth deepened as she turned them up. The elf rose from her knees and walked to the tent flap. With a slender hand, she pulled it aside and touched her husband's shoulder. "It is done, beloved." He looked at her, and his eyes showed pain. His wife had just surrendered many years of her long life to help a man live. Now Emorianel would be denied her that much sooner, it was as if part of her died then, and needed to be mourned. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he embraced her. "You are too wondrous for any man," he murmured into her now silver-streaked hair. ------- Chapter 3 "What do you mean he isn't one of the command cadre?" asked Thurus, eyeing the newly-arrived commander. They stood over Verus as he lay in the cot, sleeping soundly. Morlani had said he would sleep a day or two but would awaken mostly well and ready to rise. Ghurian stood beside Thurus and shook his head. "I've never seen him before, and at his age, I would have met him long before now," he said. The old ranger rubbed a hand over his balding skull. "This man is NOT one of our commanders." Thurus blinked a few times. "Then who is he?" "You said his name is Critus Tanverus?" asked Ghurian. "Yes, sir," replied Captain Thurus. "He had a half-elven aide with him, named Lemovaur of clan Velithar." The old ranger pondered this for long moments. "You are certain the aid was of clan Velithar?" he asked. "Yes, sir," repeated Thurus. "Is that significant?" "It may well be," said Ghurian. "Clan Velithar was a clan that left Windir eight centuries ago to live in a deeply forested section of what was then the Northern Extents of the Western Realms." "What is it now?" asked the captain. Ghurian paused a moment. This was a thing that he did, which drove Thurus, and other junior commanders quite mad - his theatrical pauses. "The Senmarch region of Abia," he said. Thurus quickly forgave the theatrical pause, as it was quite called for, in this instance. "His aide was an Abian half-elf?" he asked. He then turned toward Verus, sleeping on the cot. "That means, he's Abian?" "It would seem," said Ghurian, a hardness coming to his old gray eyes. "Still," said the captain, suddenly perplexed, "why, then, did he deliver to us a victory over the Abian legions?" "Are you certain he did?" asked the commander. "Yes, sir, he did. Believe me when I say: Without his leadership, we would be routing toward the capital right now with three cohorts of legionnaires on our heels," pronounced Thurus. "His plan was genius. We even had a good laugh when he arrived, that his name sounded like the old Centurion from Abia, Verus. I'll be damned if he didn't deliver us a victory like Verus would have, were he an Islander." The commander thought a long moment again. Command was reinforcing the garrison even now, by more than a hundred rangers and two hundred more militia. It was in the best defense that the High Command could manage for it, presently. "Load him onto a wagon, one with a decent ride, and prepare for us to remove him to Rondall, we will sort out his identity there." In under an hour, soldiers transferred Verus to a wagon, with an attendant healer, and Commander Ghurian's contingent left Rennik, bound for the capital. Verus slept through the trip, the wagon, true to Ghurian's request, rode smoothly, even over ruts and muddy road. It was one of the wagons formerly used by merchants to haul fragile goods and fruits. A suspension of leather straps, which reduced the movements to those similar to a ship on water, supported it. Sea sickness was a possibility, and the healer succumbed to it twice, but the ride was smooth enough to allow a recovering, wounded, old soldier to sleep. On the eve of the second day, they rolled into the beleaguered capital of the Windy Isles. A city of fewer than ten thousands, now swelled to nearly thirty with refugees and military units drawn from throughout the islands and even beyond. Elves were in great evidence, dozens of them, as they felt, in large part, responsible for this invasion, and were freely giving of themselves to reinforce the troubled and invaded nation. They formed the core of the healer cadre, as their natural ability to mend wounds could well count for more during a battle between men than even their keen aim and skilled swords. Every Islander military unit had at least one elf with it, attending to the duty of being the commander's aide and, secondarily, as the unit's healer. Some units, those expected to see more activity, had many elves in their ranks, both bolstering their numbers with skilled scouts and provided added insurance of healing. However, the war was going poorly. It seemed that no matter how many galleons the valiant navies of the Isles and Windir sank, more legionnaires were constantly streaming forth from their three beachheads on the Isles. In the last week, the Abians had taken one of the precious trimarans, further demoralizing the Islanders, and terrifying the elves. Until then, the trimarans had represented a form of invulnerability to the Abian threat. They were bulwarks that, while not utterly a wall, represented a massive hindrance to the reinforcement of the Abian camps. The remaining trimaran captains were now cautious, and the number of ships they were sinking reduced. Scouts reported that the Abian legions were reinforcing strongly now, and they would soon be at full strength. Rumors from spies within Abia also confirmed that four full legions were in the west of the empire, near port cities. The fear was that these legions were poised for a massive assault upon the Isles and all indications were that this was true. Commander Ghurian meant to find out who this man was, this Critus Tanverus, and discover his part in things. His mind dwelt upon the unpleasantness that an intense interrogation might involve, and looked at the wagon that contained the old man. He did not wish to do what he knew he would probably have to. However, the decision was not his to make, he discovered. As his company moved through town, they were stopped by a, for elves, massive formation of elven troops. They wore the silver and green livery of the elven king, and were the guards of the ranking elven representative on the Isles, Lord Ambassador Levethan. "What is this about, commander?" asked Ghurian as the leader of the elven company stepped forward, a grizzled elven soldier named Rethas. Rethas stood tall, despite his rather diminutive stature, and his presence was palpable. He watched as the old ranger dismounted, and then said, "The Lord Ambassador believes that you are escorting a prison to whom he wishes very much to speak." His Syrisian was clipped and precise, and it carried the unmistakable accent that an elf was speaking. There was some murmuring among Ghurian's company, but the commander silenced it with a mere glance. He then turned back to Commander Rethas. "He holds no official jurisdiction within the Windy Isles, Commander Rethas. This is my prisoner, and I will not yield him up to a foreign dignitary to be spirited away to sovereign land within my own nation." The elf considered his words for a moment, though Ghurian could see him controlling a small measure of wroth with care. "Then, Commander Ghurian, honorable veteran of many battles by mine own side, will you not consider a joint custody on your own terms?" The elves had been prepared for his refusal, and this worried Ghurian more than their mere insistence on taking the captive for their own holding. He put one of his great hands on Rethas' shoulder, in a traditional greeting among warriors of elves and men. "Let us speak in private, my old friend, and perhaps we can make a more reasoned decision," said the old ranger. He looked toward his second. "No one moves until we return." The captain nodded and began issuing orders. Rethas and Ghurian walked to the side, and, spying a tavern, they walked inside. The innkeeper cleared a side room for the two of them and brought them a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Now, Rethas, what is this about?" said Ghurian, taking a small sip of the wine. He winced at the sourness of it. The wine had been poor since the start of the war as most of the best vineyards were in the south of the isles. Two of the best areas were now beachheads for the Abians. A minuscule narrowing of the eyes was the only reaction the ever-polite elf granted to the poor quality of the wine. "The man you are carrying is more important than you know, friend." "I know he is a very accomplished spy, is what I know," said Ghurian. "One so highly valued that the Abians very likely suffered a major defeat to simply to allow him to gain trust." The old elf, and he was an old elf, bearing gray hair and many lines on his face, very unusual for elves in general, focused his silver eyes upon Ghurian. "We do not believe that was the case," he said. "We believe that the man you transport, and mean to interrogate is none other than Verus, the retired Abian Centurion." Ghurian barked out a laugh. "I believe the much-vaunted elven spies have, for once, failed you, friend," he said. He took another sip of the sour wine. "Verus retired ten years ago from the service of the Empire, it is well known, for most of their enemies breathed a deep sigh of relief. Hell, I studied his battles at the academy, under your own tuteledge, I might add." "Be that as maybe," said Rethas, "we believe that you bear him now into Rondall." Commander Ghurian blinked at him a few times, then asked, "Why do you believe that?" "I tell you this only as a friend, and it may sour that friendship," said the old elf. "The Lord Ambassador was secretly working on a peace agreement with the Abians to get them to leave the Isles in exchange for certain concessions from the elves." "What sort of concessions?" asked Ghurian, suddenly very worried. "We were to agree to training a legion of their forces to ranger status, for the agreement of peace and withdrawal from the Isles and two hundreds of years of non-agression," said Rethas. "You were going to train rangers for them?" asked the old ranger, stunned. "And you believed they would abide by their half of the agreement?" "No," said Rethas, "we did not." He looked out the window at the two companies standing, and facing toward one another in the road. "But we figured they would at least withdraw for a while and give your people the respite needed to rebuild and train your own defences." "Then be set upon by rangers under the enemy's banner!" screamed Ghurian, slamming his fists down on the table. "The proffered agreement is now moot, friend, please calm yourself," said Rethas. "There will be no training, and no peace. As a matter of fact, there will only be our ultimate defeat, if that man is Verus, and you try and execute him as a spy." "Wait a moment," said Ghurian. "You never explained why you thought this particular man was Verus. So far, you've only shown me that elves can be as sneaky and foolish as men." "Old friend, I am not certain if that was an insult or a compliment," said Rethas, chuckling. Ghurian's expression softened a bit. "Okay, I apologize," he said. "But why do you think that was Verus?" "Our spies reported that Verus was to escort the Abian negotiator for the cause, a half-elven noblewoman from a clan living in Abia," said the old elf. "The Lady Emogen, who is still regarded as trustworthy by our folk." He sat back and regarded the wine still in his glass dubiously. "We have heard that a half-elven aide was at the side of this 'commander' when he arrived in Rennik. She matches the description we have of Lady Emogen." "I heard her description, as well, and it would cover about a quarter of all the half-elven women who have been on the Isles," said Ghurian. "You must have more to go on than that." The elf shrugged. "There is also the matter of the trimaran," said Rethas. "We only recovered the crew that was set adrift two days ago, and they say that it was Verus who bested them." "Well, a crew would at least hope that a worthy opponent was victorious over them, for certain," said Ghurian. "But it was bound to happen that a trimaran would eventually be overwhelmed by superior numbers." Rethas laughed. "That is exactly the point, friend Ghurian," he said, "they were bested by a single galleon, and not even a troop transport, at that." "What?" asked the ranger. "One galleon?" "One," repeated the elf, holding up a single digit to reinforce the concept. Ghurian peered out the window again and stared at the wagon with the man aboard. Was that man Verus, the terror of all who faced Abia for nearly thirty years? "Why would they send their most treasured commander, ever, into harm's way like this?" asked the old ranger. The elf looked at him levelly. "So we would kill him," he said. Ghurian blinked a few times, then shook his head. "That makes no sense," he said after the pause. "Think, if you will, like the Praetor, commander," said Rethas. "You are conducting an unpopular war. Your armies are only barely following your orders, and they refuse to commit further legions to a cause you need at least two more legions to complete. Your finest commander, who would hand you victory easily, refuses to help, and stays in retirement. So, what do you do? You find a way to get the armies to fall into line. Conveniently, that same obstinate leader is also unbelievably popular with the legions. You talk him into a mission to the enemies land, a peace mission, a treaty offering. When the enemy treacherously kills him, your legions immediately fall into lockstep and are more than willing to extract revenge upon the offending nation." The old commander sighed. "You get four legions, which are conveniently positioned to move quickly, to attack a few days later," he said hoarsely, almost wheezed. "Seven legions, friend, would crush us like a vintner would crush grapes," said Rethas, setting down his glass. "Though I wager we would be a finer vintage than this rotted fruit." "I will release the prisoner to you," said Ghurian. "On condition that I can remain with him at all times." "You, of course would have unlimi..." started Rethas. "At all times," the commander restated, interrupting the elf. "I do not leave his side." The elf smiled. "Acceptable," he said. ------- "You, sir, had better damn well be who we think you are," said Ghurian as Verus blinked at the dim illumination in the room. He looked around slowly, taking in the surroundings. Wood-paneled walls and finely wrought tapestries met his gaze. He immediately saw the hands of elves in the decor, the delicate scrollwork on the moldings and the intricateness of the tapestries attested to fingers far mor nimble than those of men. Lastly, his eyes fell of Commander Ghurian, sitting in a chair nearby, sliding a war sword over a whetstone. "If you are not Verus, then you will be very dead shortly." Verus gave him a weak and resigned smile. "I am Verus," he said. The wave of relief that overcame the old Centurion was like a ton of lead ingots being lifted from his neck and shoulders. He was no longer skulking and was himself again. Verus was a soldier, not a spy, and he discovered that he would rather face death than be deceitful again. "Good," said the old commander, who looked to be about the same age as Verus, himself. "Though you will excuse me if I seek proof of that claim." Verus sighed and laid his head back onto the pillow. "If I can prove it, then I shall," he said. He was not even trying to project the Islander accent onto his Syrisian anymore, and spoke plainly. "Right, then," said Ghurian and stood. He walked to the door and poked his head out, then returned to his seat. A few minutes later, Commander Rethas entered the room, with a adolescent elven girl with him. Verus blinked at the two of them and could not help but smile at the girl, who looked very nervous and exceedingly tiny. "He says he will submit to proving his identity," said Ghurian. The old elf nodded. Verus noted the war sword on the elf's hip, so he was another soldier. The young girl, obviously, was unarmed. The elf spoke to the girl in his own language, a melodious babble that soothed Verus' ears with its softness and beauty. The girl answered in a soprano reply, the sound even more soothing than the old soldier's. She smiled weakly and turned to Verus. "I am called Revandis," she said. "I am the means by which you will prove yourself." Her face was nervous, as was her body language. However, her golden eyes were steady as she regarded him. "You will have to trust me." "I do," said Verus, his mind drifting to two of his granddaughters, who looked to be this girl's age. He had to remind himself that she was elvenborn, and was probably in her forties. She nodded again. "Then relax your mind, and think of that trust," she said. Verus was not quite sure how to do that, but did what he thought was relaxing his mind. A moment later, he felt something inside his head. It was as if part of his psyche had become like clay, and was being molded. Her eyes dominated everything that he saw. As a matter of fact, her eyes were all that he now saw. A small place in his mind was now empty, his own thoughts pushed aside from that area. Then there was something there. She was there. He could feel her soft and warm mind inside his skull. It was not as if he were being invaded, though, and a part of him felt ashamed to have such intimacy with such a young woman. His breathing grew short as she filled the void she had created. Her own breathing was short, as well, and her face was shining with sweat. He thought, incongruously of his mother's cooking, of cinnamon-spiced biscuits. The scent came from the girl, from Revandis. Her smile grew broader. "I am within him," she said, finally. "Ask what you will." Verus found he could break the intense gaze now. She had left a part of herself within him, he could feel her peering through his mind. It was not enough of her to make him feel occupied, if felt more like a stray thought that was not entirely his own. Is that you, Revandis? He asked the thought. There was a brief pause as he felt part of his mind being prodded, then he heard, it is a part of me, Verus, yes, it said. "Are you, indeed, the Abian Centurion, Primus Pilum Verus?" asked Ghurian. "I was," Verus replied. Revandis nodded at the same instant. Not only was part of her mind within his, part of his mind was within her. The old commander's eyes widened a bit at the confirmation. A few moments passed as he thought on this. "Primus Pilum, why have you come?" he asked. "I came to assist the Lady Emogen in reaching this city to negotiate with the elves for peace," said Verus. The young elven girl nodded agreement. "You aren't spying?" asked Commander Ghurian. "No," said Verus. "If anything, I've committed treason upon my own nation, by aiding Windy Island forces in the defeat of three cohorts of legionnaires." Again, Revandis nodded, a smile upon her face. "He thinks we should win," she added. Verus turned quickly toward her. "Revandis!" said Rethas, then began speaking harsh words in elven. Gone was the soft, melodious tones, and tears welled in the little girl's eyes. "Stop it!" yelled Verus, with such vehemence that both Ghurian and Rethas took a step back and the elf even reached for his sword, so sure was he that the human would attack him. "She didn't mean to read past my answer, It was my thought, not her doing." Revandis smiled at him and her golden eyes glittered. "Thank you, Verus, but Commander Rethas is correct, I betrayed the trust you gave me in letting me into your mind, I will try to refrain from doing so again," she said. Her voice was amazingly reasonable for coming from a little girl. She turned to the elven commander. Her auburn hair caught the light and reminded Verus of Emogen's hair. "Continue the questioning, and I grant Revandis permission to repeat any thoughts I have, even if they do not directly pertain to the question asked," said Verus, straightening again and placing a hand upon the young elf's shoulder. "Very well, and noted," said Rethas. "Did you intend to aid in the victory in Rennik? If you did, why?" Verus smiled. "I did intend it," he said. "And the why of it is simple: I've never lost a battle, and did not intend to start there." Revandis looked up at him with worried eyes. "He did intend it, but he is being evasive about the reason, sirs," she said. Verus' grin broadened. "I wanted to see how good she is," he said. "I gave them the victory because the Abian cause here is unjust, and the Abian governor over this travesty is a criminal, even by our loose standards." The young elven girl grinned playfully. "He speaks the truth now," she said. Her eyes then flicked over his features again. "He wishes to help us defeat the Abians, he thinks that they killed or kidnaped a woman he loves." The words were pouring out of the young woman she relayed his thoughts, thoughts he placed there for her to repeat. "He does not trust his own people anymore, especially the Praetor. He only asks that we get his family to safety and that we retrieve Lady Emogen, if she lives." The expression on the two commanders' faces were stunned. "Can her interpretations be trusted?" asked Commander Ghurian. The elven commander nodded. "So far as we know, one can only evade a mental joining, they cannot lie to it," he replied. "Unless this man is insane; the mentally unsound oft deceive themselves. I do not think this is the case." His wizened elven face was encroaching on a smile without quite achieving one. "We must think on your - offer - Verus," said Ghurian. "Can they stay joined?" he asked Rethas. The elven commander, in turn, turned to Revandis and asked her a question in elven. The elven girl nodded. "We can easily stay joined if we stay within a few paces of one another," she said. "The connection will fade if we go farther from one another." "We cannot leave a young girl alone with a man we are not sure of, Rethas," said Commander Ghurian. Revandis looked at the large man with an even stare. "He will not harm me, I trust him," she said. She held up her hand and placed it against the palm of Verus. "Just as he trusts me." Verus wrapped his still powerful fingers about her tiny hand and held it gently. "Do not leave the elven compound, then," said Rethas. "Revandis is unused to humans, and is only here because her entire family is on the Isles. They will be wroth to hear how we have abused her gift, but I will weather that storm when it comes to me." The young elven maiden smiled gently at Commander Rethas. "I offered it, commander, you did not force me," she said. Verus was again startled by the remarkable maturity in the girl's voice, despite his knowing she was far older than she appeared. He could not shake the automatic assumption that she was less than thirteen years of age. The two commanders left the chamber and left the door open. "Would you like to take a walk?" asked Revandis. Verus was very tired, but wished to humor the girl. "Yes," he said. We really don't have to talk in words do we? He said mentally. She shook her head. And you do not really wish to walk, but you will serve yourself poorly if you lie abed, she said reasonably. You will need to exercise to regain your vigor. Her tiny hand tugged on his and he followed her out the door and into a forested meadow. He had expected the elven embassy to be beautiful, but had no idea how well they could blend the landscape and the various things needed into a harmonic whole that formed a work of art, when viewed from almost any angle, when looking any direction. Great, green trees towered over the low buildings, which seemed to emerge from the earth like boulders, rather than built structures. The stonework was cleverly contrived to look akin to the strata lines found in jutting rock outcroppings. There were many elves about, wearing either short skirt suits like Emogen had worn, or, in the case of men, loft, tailored pants with open-necked shirts. Revandis wore a skirt set, which he thought rather revealing for a girl so young. I am thirty-eight years old, Verus, she thought, smiling. You're still a little girl, responded Verus. Another voice pierced his thoughts: If you only knew, Primus Pilum, what little girls were made of. The expression on Revandis' face was one of shock and upset, and she cringed at those words. I am sorry, that will not happen again, thought the young elf to him. Verus had a distinctly unclean feeling in his mind when that thought, with the more powerful voice, had finished rebounding off the inner walls of his skull. He turned his wide eyes to Revandis. "Just what was that?" he asked, suddenly very uncomfortable with their mental link and desiring to use it as little as maybe. "It was nothing," replied the elven girl, "please forget it happened." "I'm not sure I can, but I will not pry into your mind," said Verus. She giggled. "Unlike other folk you know?" she asked. Verus shrugged. "If the shoe fits..." They walked the glades of the elven compound. It was surprisingly large and spacious, though he suspected much of the sense of space was created by careful use of the landscaping. As they neared the wall of the compound on the south side. She asked, "Why do you say the governor is a criminal?" "He breaks even our laws, much less those of honorable battle," replied Verus. Revandis blinked at him. "Laws of battle? I thought all was fair in battle," she said. The old Centurion laughed. "In some ways, it is, but there are certain rules that must be adhered to, unless you seek genocide on one side or the other." The girl nodded and pointed out a flowering bush. It had massive red blooms upon it and he could smell it even at ten paces. "That bush I planted, three years ago," she said. "It was a gift of the ambassador of Niliwan to me." Verus sniffed it softly, "It has a distinctive and powerful scent," he said. The girl giggled again. "That is what the ambassador said of me," said Revandis. Verus sniffed the air again and could definitely smell the young elf beside him. "You smell of cinnamon," he said. She nodded. "Most elves do, but my odor is said to be a bit more powerful, because of - well - because of my abilities." A warning tripped in his mind that she was lying, so the link is two way, he thought. She gave him a pleading look and he knew it was to not pursue the truth in her words, so he did not. There was far too much of his granddaughters in this young and peculiar elven girl. Something in his heart told him that the answer would be more painful for her than the lie. He also knew, instantly, that this poor, young, nearly-woman was already something of a pariah among her own folk. He would not further her alienation by adding his name to the list of people who judged her. In an infinitely sad state of mind, Revandis said, yes, it works both ways. They walked the perimeter of the compound, which, as Verus had suspected was smaller than it felt. The entire time, Revandis did not let his hand go. "Where are your parents?" asked Verus. Revandis said, "You may have seen them, they are in Rennik, aiding in the effort there." Verus nodded. "I spoke with a few elven folk there, perhaps I did speak to them," he smiled. "I will know when I meet them again." Heavy footsteps sounded from behind them, and they turned to see Commander Ghurian approaching with Commander Rethas. "We've decided to trust you, Verus," said Ghurian. Verus' expression did not change at all. "And my terms?" he asked. "If they can be met without compromising our military actions, then they will be met," said Rethas. "We will need a complete listing of your family to be extricated." It did not surprise him that they would comply with that request. Having his family here, by his own request, would effectively make them hostages, against which his loyalty could be leveraged. It was funny, in a way, how he was willing to give his family into such a state with these folk, but not with his own native land. He looked down at Revandis, standing beside him and giving him an odd look, which, even without the joining of their minds told him that it was right to trust these people. He envied her simplicity of thought in good and evil. Then he was inordinately proud of the fact she thought him good. "I will compile one immediately," said Verus, nodding. "What of Lady Emogen?" Rethas looked at him sternly. "We may not be able to retrieve her," he said. "She is already en route to Abia, under heavy guard." "You have good intelligence," said Verus. Rethas walked part way into the glade, examining the trees across the open field of green. "We use magic to communicate with many of our scouts," he said. "It is how we found out about your coming to us." Verus chuckled and looked at Ghurian. "The Abians suspect that, in all honesty, but they've never been able to confirm it." "The Abians? They?" asked Ghurian. "You say that as if you are not one of them." "When I commanded Islander forces against Abian legions, I ceased being one," said Verus. The self-loathing in his features was obviously echoed in his mind as Revandis cringed away. "He hates what his people have made him do," said the elven girl. The two commanders nodded. "We've all done things we wished others wouldn't make us do," said Ghurian, closing his eyes. "That may well be the epitaph of all soldiers." "The ambassador and the Island High Command are being summoned, and you will speak to them before this is finalized," said Rethas. "Have your list of relations ready, and be sure to have your wits about you." Verus nodded and looked down at Revandis. "Show me to the library, please, Revandis," he said. She nodded immediately, and pulled him into motion, leaving the two commanders standing on the path. She showed no inclination to release his hand, until they had entered the library. "Hello, Revandis," said the elven woman who was sitting near the entrance, obviously the curator. "Who is your tall friend?" She spoke in Syrisian, out of deference for Verus, no doubt. "His name is Verus, and he is here to help us drive off the Abians," said the elven girl unabashedly, smiling up at the elven woman. The librarian adopted a wide-eyed expression. "THE Verus is here to aid us in our fight?" she asked. She looked at the old Centurion for a moment. "Surely, this is one of the Isles who bears his honored name." The librarian did not wait for an answer, and moved to along the long rows of books. For an embassy library, this one was a well stocked, thought Verus. Verus and Revandis looked at each other for a moment and exchanged a smile. They, however, let the librarian go to what it was that she thought she was doing. The elegant elven woman returned a moment later, seeming to glide in the cream-colored silken gown she wore. She bore a sizable tome, which was marked plainly in Syrisian script. "I will show you a picture of the Abian Verus, Revandis, so you will know who is who." The elven woman flipped through the heavy parchment pages and finally came to what she sought. Laying the book upon the desk, upside down to her, so that the elven child could see it. Revandis looked at it for a moment, then looked up at the librarian. "As I said, This is Verus, and he is here to help us." The librarian's expression shifted to one of mild annoyance and she looked down at the book, Verus also examined the hand-penned illustration of himself. It was a good likeness of him, twenty years ago. A half a moment passed and the librarian looked up at the tall man, her jaw somewhat slack. "By the Spirits," she said. "You are the Primus Pilum." Verus smiled. "As the Lady Revandis has said, ma'am," he said, bowing his head slightly. The elven girl flashed a thought into his mind: How did you know I bore a title? I did not, until you just told me, replied Verus through his thoughts, though I should have guessed with such a well-mannered and intelligent young woman that you were someone special. Revandis blushed slightly at the compliments. In a traditional elven way, she replied in kind with a compliment of her own: You are a good man to help us, Verus, we sorely need it. Then her mental voice changed slightly, again deepening: You are a very dignified and handsome man, as well, Primus Pilum. The blush on the little girl's face deepened, but she kept her mouth still. "What brings you to the Isles and specifically to my library, Centurion?" the librarian said, now recovered from the initial shock of meeting someone straight out of the pages of her texts. "I need parchment, a quill, and ink. I've been asked to make a list," said Verus, as Revandis nodded. The librarian quickly provided the requested items and stood quietly at her post, watching the pair as they walked to one of the writing desks. "I will pen it for you, if you wish, Verus," said the girl. "I write well." Verus nodded. "Very well," he said. An image flashed in his mind of the time he had spent teaching his own grand daughters to write, and a warm feeling came over him. Revandis sat upon the seat and Verus seated himself upon a stool beside the desk. She took a moment to carefully arrange her materials and then looked at the old soldier expectantly. Verus listed off the names of the family members he felt needed to be evacuated from the empire, prior to his defection being known. His sons, daughters, their spouses, and their children. He also listed his surviving sister, all his other siblings were now dead, as was her husband. He watched as Revandis wrote out the words he spoke in flawless script. It was a marvel how fast her little fingers could move, and with such precision. She made no mistakes as she wrote out the thirty six names, and their locations, so far as Verus knew. He, once again, was forced to remember that she had probably been writing for fifteen years. They walked from the library, having returned the writing materials to the keeper. The girl guided him back to the building in which he had been housed. Around from the entrance to his room was a long, low-ceilinged room, which she said was the dining hall. This caused Verus to chuckle, as it looked more like a root cellar to his eyes. A long shelf was covered in fruits and vegetables. Only a very few cured meats were present, in clay jars. "We do not partake of much meat," said Revandis, responding to his thoughts and selecting a small platter of fruits, vegetables and one strip of cured deer meat. "Not that we do not like a good steak, when one is offered," she amended, smiling. Verus assembled a platter for himself, as well, trying to follow her lead, and only taking one strip of the meat. They sat at one of the long tables. Few others were in the dining hall, he noted, scanning the half-dozen or so other occupants. It is not really a mealtime, Revandis thought to him. Most have already eaten, and we will probably be having a cooked supper, this night. "Is that unusual?" asked Verus. The girl nodded. "Only one or two meals a week are usually taken warm," she said. "Except during cold months, where a chill needs be warded off, and then stews are the standard meal." Verus nodded. The elven ways were surprisingly easy to comprehend, and he had thought they might be a bit - well - odder. Revandis fetched them each a large mug of some sort of mild ale and they sipped it. It had a spicy taste, but was not strongly alcoholic. "Normally, we take water with our food, so as not to dull the inherent tastes," the girl informed him. "But drinkable water is scarce in Rondall these days, from the overcrowding of men." The old man understood completely. In many of the larger Abian cities, the water was unfit to consume without boiling it. Most folk made do with beer and wine. As they worked their way through the meal, Revandis kept up a steady stream of innocuous questions about Abia. How many people lived there? What was the climate like? Things of such a nature as to be non-informative from a military standpoint, but enough to sate a child's curiosity about a place. He suspected that she was intentionally avoiding asking him any questions which he might be inclined to skirt in answering. After a dozen such questions, he began to think that these were simply the things a little girl would be interested in, and chided himself for thinking too much like a old soldier, or worse, a politician. I am avoiding asking you some things, Verus, she said into his thoughts. I do not want to be an interrogator - do you mind telling me the disposition of troops on the western coast? This last thought caused Verus' eyes to widen. He stared for a moment at Revandis, who was stuffing a large hunk of melon into her mouth and studiously looking toward the doorway. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye, though, and she could not keep up the charade for long before she broke into giggles that set his heart to weeping at sheer joy in them. She looked at him and said, "I once heard one of the commanders ask that of the ambassador, and thought it sounded superbly military." Verus noted, unlike the other elves in the dining hall, Revandis ate with a energy and fervor that rivaled that of Abian legionnaires after a hard march. Now that he was watching, he noted she had an appalling tendency to stuff another mouthful of food into her mouth before fully swallowing the previous. Do all elven girls eat so hastily? The girl stopped and looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry, I do not mean to bolt my food," she said, shame creeping into her thoughts. "I usually have something else I simply must get to, and cannot wait to get to it." Verus nodded, having only learned the art of more sedate dining in the last ten years of his life, himself. "I won't hold it against you," he said. "To a young person, the world must seem as if it is in dire need of exploration, and the sooner the better." She nodded sagely, and smiled at him. "You are a very wise man," said Revandis. A young elf, only a few years older than Revandis approached them and bowed to the table. "The ambassador seeks your presence, Primus Pilum Verus, and asks that Lady Revandis accompany you," he said formally. ------- Chapter 4 Revandis guided Verus through the large structure. It was deceptively small on the outside, or so it seemed, forming the edge of a hillside. But the building ran in wide tiers down the hill, forming dozens of chambers and large open courtyards. They would pass elves in ones and twos as they moved down short corridors, or crossed a balcony. It was like a maze, but open, somehow. Finally, they came to a large set of double doors, inset with ceramic plates, which were each shaped as a small bass relief sculpture. Each depicted a small scene of elves and men working together, and one, near the top, showed a man and elf standing side by side in arms. The young elven girl looked at the enameled ceramic tiles. "The Lord Ambassador is very wise, and quite insightful of men's hearts," she said, her face once again reflecting a maturity which her youthful appearance belied. Verus nodded and examined the various tiles, taking especial note of the one with men and elves joining in arms. "Let us hope he finds my heart not lacking," he said, smiling down at her. The doors swung ponderously open, they were obviously quite heavy, by their thickness alone, even if not inset with massive slabs of tile work. In silence, they swung away, though, and admitted the pair into a darkened chamber, where the only visible light was the far end. A long table was there, spanning most of the width of the room. The walls of the room were paneled in dark wood. Verus assumed it was arnthalon, for few other woods were nearly black. It made the great chamber seem small and stifling, forcing a person entering the room to focus upon that single illuminated table. An elderly elf was sitting in the middle of the table. Verus had never seen an elf who was outwardly old. This wizened figure must be ancient, indeed. To either side of the smaller shape, but larger aura, were six figures. Seven were older men, like Verus himself. Two were aged women, though stern of face, just as the men, and advanced of years. One younger woman, in her early forties, and two more men, also younger than the rest. Ghurian was one of the older rangers there, sitting directly to the right of the ancient Lord Ambassador. Verus also saw Rethas standing just behind Levathan, and a bit right, between the ambassador and Ghurian. The others he did not recognize, though he knew them instantly, or their sort. Most of them were competent-looking officers, both the men and women. Thought he Abian legions did not allow females in their ranks, Verus was not a supporter of that policy, thinking that many women made fine warriors. He had faced enough on the field to have learned to respect female soldiers. The younger female officer, though, especially interested him. She was pretty, in a very stern sort of way, and her expression was far less hostile than most of the other's. She sat to Ghurian's right, and the old Centurion wondered if there was significance to that. Revandis guided him into the chamber at a slow walk, letting him have time to size up his interrogators. Her little hand squeezed his as she held it, and she smiled up at him when he flicked his eyes down at her. The ambassador spoke a word in elven and Revandis stopped. It is a formal greeting, she explained in his mind. The elven girl then bowed, repeating the word and extended one leg. Her torso pressed to that leg, nearly folding her double. A simple normal human bow will suffice, she said into Verus' mind as his old body balked at trying to emulate that rather limber motion. Verus bowed as low as his old bones would tolerate without creating a chorus of pops and snaps that would have been comical, but not quite appropriate for the solemnity of the event. He noted that there were twenty guards lining the darkened walls of the room, hugging the shadows, trying to be unobtrusive. Ten men and ten elves, near as he could tell from their heights. All were armed heavily, with spear, sword, and bow. These were no mere ceremonial guards. If nothing else, they took Verus very seriously, as a possible threat, in any case. He supposed, given his reputation, he could not blame them. It was interesting, he thought for a moment, that despite his rather mediocre skills in personal combat, he was always assumed to be a master. The ambassador rose from his ornate oaken chair and put both his hands upon the table before him, which was strewn with papers and a few books. "Primus Pilum Verus, you come before us applying for asylum?" "I no longer use that title, Lord Ambassador, but yes, I seek asylum from the Abian Empire, for myself, my family, and a friend," said the old Abian. There was a murmur among the officers, as they whispered curt words to one another. A few of the faces grew less stern, having now heard him speak. A few others, however, grew more suspicious of him, their eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you intend to serve the people and needs of the Windy Isles, the nation that may offer such asylum?" asked Levathan. Verus nodded, "I intend to do so, to the limits of my abilities," he said. Another rumble of quick murmurs ran through the members of the High Command. Most of the faces had softened somewhat, excepting one. The man to the ambassador's immediate left. His face had now reddened, and Verus could tell he was chomping at the bit to loose his wroth upon Verus. Revandis spoke again in his mind: That is commander Melakis, he is generally regarded as something of a firebrand among the High Command. He will seek to have you put to death. Is his hate that consuming? Asked Verus in thought. He felt the girl squeeze his hand slightly. His wife was transported as a slave to Abia. When scouts found her, she had been forced into a slave-brothel for over six months. The girls eyes were moist looking as she thought these words to Verus. She slew herself as soon as they freed her and got her on a ship for the Isles. Rather than face her husband, thought Verus, his own eyes saddening, for the sake of the woman, and the husband that was wronged twice by her misuse. "We, naturally, have a few questions, Verus, regarding this change of heart," said the ambassador, speaking carefully and referring to notes upon the table. "Will you answer them fully, and without equivocation?" Verus nodded again, "I will," he replied. "All indications are that you are a man of high honor, and your word is good," said Levathan. "I will take your word as fact, but some among us may protest that. Do you object to the continued use of the mental abilities of Revandis to maintain proof of your Veracity?" "I don't mind," said Verus. "She's good company." He smiled down at the pretty elven girl standing beside him, with her tiny hand in his. A small round of light chuckles and quite a few smiles moved through the assembled commanders. The face of Melakis reddened slightly more, and Verus realized he would be unable to sway this man, despite any action or word he might take. Blind hatred was now this man's bed partner, and he would brook no other lover. One of the commanders to Ghurian's right stood up. "Why did you take command of the company in Rikken and lead them in a victorious battle against your own people?" he asked. "They ceased being 'my' people when they leveraged my own grandchildren to force me, illegally, into performing the mission I was sent her upon," said Verus. "As far as why: I do not wish to die any more than anyone else, and leading the unit was the surest way I could see to continue not dying." A low murmur ran through them again, with many nods dispersed in the conversation. Melakis rose and looked at Verus with hateful eyes. "You say you were there to aid them in a battle, by commanding them and guiding them," said the old officer. "What would you say to the fact that Rikken was overrun by Abian forces, not ten hours ago?" "I would say, Commander Melakis, that it is a tragedy, and I hope as many as possible escaped and are on their way to safety," said Verus. Something in his mind had changed, and it took Verus a long moment to figure out what it was. Even when Revandis was passive, he cought random little flickers of thought from her. She was now trying to mask something from him, and those little thoughts were being obliterated by both the strength of the thought and her attempt at masking it. Then the realization hit him. Oh, dear lord, your parents, thought Verus, his mind racing. He looked down at Revandis, with her lovely golden eyes filling with tears. She stared directly ahead of herself, her face now a mask of worry and pain. "I regret to say," said Melakis, with far to little remorse in his voice, and far too much relish, "that few escaped. It seems that they found a weak point in the defenses and exploited it before an effective response could be organized. We only got word of the city falling by courier, we have no subsequent reports, yet." Verus thought furiously for something else to think about, but his mind kept wandering to Revandis' parents, though he had never met them. Tears were streaming down the young elf's face, though she stood stoically by his side. "I believe you might have been more circumspect in the revelation of that information," said the younger female officer, sitting next to Ghurian. She leaned forward and cast her eyes toward Melakis. "You know, as well as the rest of us, that Revandis' parents are in Rikken." Melakis looked a tiny bit taken aback by her words, but soon his hostility reasserted itself. "You will excuse me if I forget a girl's emotions for a moment when faced with deceit," he said. There was another round of the murmuring that seemed to form the consensus under which the command of the Windy Islanders operated. Verus was frankly amazed that they held the nation together, ruling by committee, much less mounted a defense that was tying up three entire legions. A smile cracked on Revandis' face as this thought went through his head and she read it. Even we elves understand that only one can lead in time of war, she thought in reply, and we are a strategically inept folk, when compared with you humans. "Melakis is correct," said another of the commanders, one of the younger males. "How do we know that Verus did not gather information and betray us to the Abians after the supposed victory?" Revandis stepped forward, dropping Verus' hand and standing before the long table. "Because I have told you that he did not, because I vouch for his honesty," she said. "I, more than anyone in this chamber, would turn on him, in an instant, if I even suspected that he did such a thing." She looked down the long line of officers, her golden eyes lingering on each a brief moment. "Of anyone in this room, I am the most aggrieved party, and the one most deserving of justice." The elven commander had been preparing to silence the girl with a word, but the Lord Ambassador stayed him with a slight motion of his hand, raising two fingers. "Your little committee of twelve is fine and democratic, and we elves toyed with such a thing in the past," she said, her soprano voice gaining power as her confidence in her words and their hearing of them grew. "Democracy is a poor bedfellow for war. War calls for harsh choices and clear decisions." She turned those frightfully intelligent eyes upon Commander Melakis. "Vengeance is also a unseemly mate, is she not?" she asked, rhetorically. "Do we always seek one-for-one redress of each loss in battle?" The faces of the various commanders were moving through mixed emotional and thoughtful states as the girl spoke. "If you wish to kill Verus, then get on with it, charge him with spying and be done," she said. "If not, then utilize his talents and win a war for yourselves." She held up a small hand to the audience of fourteen. "But with this man, I fear you will not have your sought-after victories by half measures. He does not partake of half measures. Some of the wine he offers will be bitter, indeed, and some among you may not have a stomach for such fare." Revandis walked up to Verus and once again put her tiny hand into his. "I say I trust him, and I say that anyone who does not is either blind or a fool. If the former, then open your eyes to the truth. If the latter, then step aside and let the wise make decisions." Melakis' eyes widened, and a deep crimson rose into his face. However, whatever rant he seemed about to rain down upon Verus and Revandis was cut short by the words of the Lord Ambassador. "I am but an advisor," he said. This was technically true, Verus thought, but patently a lie, "and I say we have much, now to discuss about this resource we find in our possession." He held out a wrinkled, slender hand. "You have the list I asked for, of your family members?" Verus stepped forward and handed the folded parchment to the old elf. The elf took it and peered at the long list of names. "Revandis' penmanship is quite good, don't you think?" he asked with a gleam in his eyes. "She is a wonder, Lord Ambassador," replied verus, meaning it fully. He and the ambassador understood one another, even if no one else did. There was much talk around the table, and several of the commanders were rising to walk to others and speak quietly. "We have much to debate, I think, Verus," said Levathan. The old elf turned to Revandis. "Please show him to his quarters and then go to your own, dear, this has been a day of sore trials for all." Revandis nodded. "Yes, Lord Ambassador," she said. She then guided Verus out of the chamber, and the massive doors cut off the rising level of the debate within. They would be long hours discussing this matter, he felt sure. They walked out onto one of the balconies that overlooked the other terraces of the strange, step-like building. "That was impressive, what you did in there," said Verus. The girl smiled out into the open air. "Not very, really," she said, then turned her eyes toward his. "I cheated." Verus thought for a moment. "How can you cheat in such a thing?" he asked. A smile played on her lips, and a blush rose to her cheeks. The glanced up at him, then turned her eyes away. "I used some skills of yours to make the speech. In a way, I made you think of what I needed to say, then used your ability to command to say it." "And you did so without me being able to tell you were doing it?" asked Verus, impressed immensely. She shrugged. "It is not difficult, you, yourself often separate parts of your mind to clear your thoughts of extraneous things, or to shield off a part of thoughts while other parts continue," explained Revandis. "I simply utilized the mechanisms that were already there to do what I thought needed to be done." He squeezed her little hand gently. "You did very well," said Verus. "You are an amazingly clever little girl — young woman," he amended. She flashed a brilliant smile up at him. I WISH I were a woman, the deeper-voiced version of her thoughts said into his mind. A brief flash of skin on skin went through his skull, only to be blasted apart by Revandis' other thoughts, as she fought to regain control of herself. Verus pulled his hand gently away from hers and stepped back a pace. "Perhaps it's time to sever this link," he suggested. "At least for now." She nodded miserably. "I think it best as well," she said. "Can we walk to the main compound first, though? I can control my thoughts so long." He nodded and she once again took his hand. They walked through the complicated building, rising a flight of stairs here, and crossing an open catwalk there. Finally, though, they reached the main compound, and were walking across the main courtyard, near her bush, in fact. He could smell the cloying scent of the plant as they walked toward it. Verus noted an increase, or change in Revandis' scent as well, it mixed with the bush's, creating a new, subtle odor. The Niliwander ambassador had chosen a complementary scent well. He felt a momentary twinge of something feral move through him, something which must not be given in to, but which was undeniably there. Then it was gone. Revandis smiled up at him. That will suffice me, she thought into his head. Then he felt her moving out, long tendrils of her thoughts and senses pulled from around his, and she slipped out of his mind like a breeze. As his mind expanded to fill the void she left, he felt a stark sense of loneliness in his own mind, a new experience for him. She continued to hold his hand, and they walked past the bush, then toward a door. "This is your chamber, Verus," she said, her eyes glinting in the failing light of the late afternoon. "I will see you on the morrow?" she asked. "I often break fast at dawn," said Verus. "Assuming I can find the dining hall." She smiled. "I, too, rise early. I will collect you and be your guide for the morning meal," she said. The amazing formality of her speech struck him, but she still had that gleam in her young eyes. He now wondered immensely what thoughts were buried there, under that molten gold. She turned and walked away from him, then around the corner of the stone-covered building. He entered his chamber, and sat upon the chair, where Ghurian had sat before, sharpening his sword. A weariness descended upon him and he felt his many years deeply. He had not realized how much his mood had been buoyed by the contact with the young girl. He now understood better many men's desires to take a younger woman as a lover. They were seeking that support, though the only means their minds could divine. ------- A gentle knock from his door in the morning, as he slipped on his tunic. Revandis' gentle voice came through the wood. "Good morrow, Verus," she said. He smiled and rose from the chair, and opened the door for her. She stepped in, smiling, and carrying his gear, which he had worn from Pigwillow. "They trust me with a sword?" he asked. "They trust it will avail you not to try to use it," she said, grinning. "Most of them trust you, insofar as they can," she said. "Your former reputation as an honorable man has served you well." Verus nodded. "I hoped it would help at some point to not be a scoundrel," he murmured. "Scoundrelling seems much more fun than being circumspect." She giggled at him. "Scoundrelling?" she asked. "Is that truly a word?" Putting on his boots, and only strapping on the sword, Verus shook his head. "Not really, no," he said. "But it's a true occupation, by some folk," he added. Revandis nodded. "I see," she said, as she held open the door. "Let us go break fast, I am hungry." They did not hold hands this time as they crossed the yard, and Verus was slightly disappointed by this. As they walked near the plant, he noted the scent again, and even the mixture of the plant and Revandis. It did not repeat its odd effect on him again. There were quite a few elves in the dining hall, this morning, and not a few humans among them. Taking up several fruits, a few biscuits, and a boiled egg. They found a recently-vacated table and took seats. Almost immediately, Revandis was inflicting grievous damage upon the foodstuffs upon her platter, an activity that raised several nearby eyebrows, and not a few corners of mouths, as well. Verus ate more reservedly, wondering what this day would bring, by way of news, and decisions by folk both important and trivial. "Refugees from Rikken are arriving," Revandis said quietly, her eyes down upon her platter of food. She was eating slowly, something Verus knew surely foretold of ill. "No one bears word of my mother or father." Verus sighed. "You fear for them?" he said. The elven girl nodded. "Greatly, Verus, they are not soldiers, though all elves know the rudiments of fighting." She looked out the open archway onto the lawn of the courtyard. "They should not have been so close to the front lines of the war." Verus nodded at that, thinking it as she said it. "War is no place for gentle hearts." She giggled at that. "My mother and father are that, for certain," she said. "Though my mother can be quite sturdy when called for. She has headed our clan for almost eighty years." "I wish I knew them," said Verus, honestly. "To have reared you, they must have been fine folk." She smiled again. "Are you certain there is no elven blood in you. You speak very cleverly, complimenting them and me in one turn of the phrase." An aide walked up to Revandis, speaking quietly. Her face took on a look of shock, then she rose. "News of my mother," she said, following the aide out the door and into the courtyard. Verus trailed after her, worry lining his aged face. There was a tight knot of elven folk gathered around one who was speaking, he was bloody and muddied, obviously fresh from action in combat. A horse, in much the same state, stood nearby, its coat covered in the froth of sweat and breathing heavily. He was speaking rapidly in elven and Revandis stood near enough to hear. Automatically, her small hand went out and took Verus' again. She began translating for him, rather in a dead and unfeeling tone of voice. "He was with the rear guard, trying to get as many of the civilians out as they could," she said. "The Abians beset them in sudden attack. Streaming in from the west, where the woods came closest to the Pallisades. By the time an effective defense could be mounted, the gates were breaking." Her face was a mask of non-emotion as she spoke. "Hundreds were slain out of hand. Any who raised a weapon against the Legionnaires. Those who tried to surrender were taken captive and hauled off." The soldier looked about, seeming to seek for someone. His eyes fell on the young elven girl. "Revandis," he said simply. She let go Verus' hand and walked toward him. The press of elves and men parting effortlessly for her movement. She walked right up to the wounded warrior and looked up at his beautiful, haggard face. He knelt before her and held up a small sword. Her eyes widened, and tears burst from them. Many of the other elves wept as well, several even more than the young girl being presented her mother's hyandai. Verus felt tears stinging his cheeks and knew well what this all meant. Her mother, at the least, was dead. She asked the soldier something, in what seemed a rather calm tone, for one in grief. He nodded and dug into a belt pouch, producing a very plain-looking silver bracer. She took it and put it in her own purse, bowing to the warrior. She then turned, her face stony and her back very straight, and walked from the circle of people. Every eye watched her until she walked up to Verus and took possession of his hand again. "Please, I must walk," she said. Verus immediately set off toward the farthest corner of the elven enclave, with Revandis walking beside him. She was clutching the weapon to her chest and tears streamed freely down her smooth cheeks. They arrived at the outer wall and she stopped. Strapping on the sword belt, she stood and looked to the north. "Can you stop them?" she asked. "I don't know, Rivandis," he said, truthfully. "I can beat them in individual battles. I am, after all, one man." She nodded. "Will you truly try, for the sake of people who may well never fully trust you?" "Yes," said Verus. "And for you." The girl turned toward him with those frightful, gleaming eyes. "I ask it of you. Drive these invaders from the Windy Isles before you, and destroy those who have violated your 'rules of warfare'," she said. Verus smiled and said, "I will do my best, milady." She grinned at him. "I am not the lady of the clan, that will be my sister," she said. They joined hands again and walked for another hour, speaking little. At nearly midday, Verus caught sight of Ghurian moving toward him with his cloak streaming behind him, very nearly running. Behind Ghurian was the younger female commander. "They have decided to use you, despite Melakis' objections," said Ghurian as he neared. "We must move quickly before their combined wills fail them." "Quickly to what?" asked Verus. "We go to the northern port of Hemdan Bay, and collect the forces we have gathered there," said the old commander. "We must strike and win a quick victory, else the council seeks to sue for conditions of surrender." Verus blinked a moment. "And my status?" he asked. "You are a commander now," said Ghurian, holding out a silver pin, perhaps even the same one that he had worn before. "For all intents and purposes, however, the men cannot know your origins, and we will not speak of them. At least for now." Verus nodded. The woman stepped forward and bowed her head in a form of the elven greeting. "I'm Commander Undria," she said. "I am your third." "A commander is my third? Then who is my second?" asked Verus, blinking at the tall, strong-looking woman. "I am," said Ghurian, "At least for all intents." "Why do you put yourselves subordinate to me?" asked the old Centurion, extremely alarmed by all this. Undria said, "The men may question your orders, if you were simply another commander. We cannot afford that, so we have made you, at least between Ghurian and myself, our superior. Consider it a 'time in grade' promotion, for you have been a leader of men far longer than we." She gave forth an uncomfortable giggle. "Up until two years ago, I was the mayor of a small fishing village." Ghurian nodded and put his hand on the woman's shoulder. "She's right, we can't have the men thinking somehow you might be just another commander. I'm no natural leader, myself. I was just a foreman of a logging camp before this all started." Rivandis' hand squeezed Verus as he thought on this and he met her smile for him. "I will go tend to my grief, Commander Verus," she said. "I must find my sister and brother and tell them what has befallen." He appreciated the contrived excuse to let him engage fully with the two commanders. "I will speak to you later, Rivandis." She nodded and headed toward the central building of the compound. Another elf was proceeding toward them, moving briskly with flowing robes flying behind him. "Your elven advisor," said Undria, "his name is Vendithan." Vendithan bowed low as he stepped within three paces, "Commander Verus, the Lord Ambassador has assigned me to be your advisor, as per the agreements of the Windy Isles and Windir," he said formally. His Syrisian was marked with a very heavy clipped accent. This elf has spoken the language little outside of his studies of it. He rose from the bow. "I understand that your tactical and strategic knowledge are without peer, so my advisory role will be purely ceremonial, I assure you," he said. Vendithan was a slender elf, even for that slender race. Ghurian coughed. "He's more of a bodyguard, actually," he said, rather quietly. The elf regarded him with silvern eyes. "Yes, Commander Verus, I am mainly attending to ensure your safety." "Oh?" asked Verus, still rather taken aback at the pace of events. Undria leaned close to Verus' ear. "Vendithan is a wizard," she said, "a damn fine one, from what we've seen." Vendithan smiled slightly, and rather lop-sidedly. "Thank you for your kind words, Commander Undria. Yes, there are those who consider my skills to be of use on the occassion." The afternoon passed in a whirl of activity, at least to Verus' eyes. Within three hours, they were forming a company, made up of Windy Island Ranger and even half of the Elven High Guard, under the ambassador's control. To add to Verus' perceived stature, the elven commander, Rethas, would also be going. Again, reporting to Verus. They were to set out at nightfall, so that any Abian spies or scouts would not be able to easily guess their numbers. Once all was redied, and the troops were allowed to rest before the march, Verus sought out Rivandis. He found her sitting on the bench they had occupied before, regarding her bush. He walked up to her, noting she still wore the sword. "Will you forever go about armed?" he asked her. She smiled as he approached, then looked down at the hyandai on her hip. "Until I am home in Embalis, yes," she said simply. "Do you know how to use it?" he asked, sitting beside her and smelling the heady combination of her and the bush. Rivandis drew the weapon from its ornate sheath. "I know the basics, as most elves learn," she said. "And my father taught me a few tricks in its subtler uses." The old soldier nodded. "Never draw it in a fight unless you mean to kill," he said. She smiled at him. "Thank you," said Rivandis. "It wasn't that good of advice," said Verus. "Not for that, silly human," she said, grinning at him, "but for helping us." "Oh, that?" he said, "Bah, it's what old soldiers do." He looked toward the bush. "We do what needs doing." She looked at him with those powerful golden eyes. "No, old soldiers are supposed to sit at their farmstead and watch their grandchildren grow up," she said. "Or so it seemed you thought was your lot before." Rivandis' eyes took on an added gleam. "Heroes come forth to aid those in need." Without warning, she turned and hugged him, squeezing him as tightly as her slender arms would permit. As Rivandis let him loose, he looked to her. "What was that for?" She stood up and stared toward the setting sun and the red clouds about it. "That was for avenging my mother," she said in a cool voice. "I thought it was not about vengeance?" asked Verus. Rivandis' eyes were bronze in the setting sun. "I used to think that, as well." Vendithan was approaching from across the clearing. "It is time," said Verus. "I will see you in a few weeks, perhaps." The elven girl nodded. "Sprits be with you in victory," she said. ------- Pigwillow was the nearest port to Rondall, but Hemdan Bay was a close second, only it was not nearly as good a port. It was craggy cliffs with only a narrow inlet to a small bay with equally sheer sides. It would not be a port at all, were it not for extensive use of floating docks. Even the buildings of the port were on boat hulls. Only one small trail led from the upland down into the bay itself. The trip took two days, and they arrived at nightfall of the second. It had rained most of the trip, but the broken seashells that the Windy Islanders used for paving seemed to hold up well enough, only becoming slightly muddy with the passage of the small army of five hundreds. They crested the cliff and began their descent on the steep path. Horses had to be led down it, and men could only walk two abreast. Below, in the dark pit of the bay, Verus saw many lights. It seemed that the bay was filled with stars. As they closed on the bottom, some of the clusters of stars resolved themselves into the shapes of elven trimarans and galleons of various sizes. It seemed an impressive fleet, if not a great one. He slept that night on board one of the trimarans. Verus was again impressed with the relative comfort aboard the roomy elven ships. At dawn, Vendithan woke him with a soft rap upon his quarters' door. They walked out onto the deck of the Amathvannin. Immediately, Verus' eye was drawn to the other trimaran, moored beside their ship. "That boat looks familiar," he said to Vendithan. His advisor looked at it for a long moment. "That is the Rethallin, he said. "She is the sister ship to the one you captured for the Abians, the Amthallin. "Sister ship?" asked Verus. "Most trimarans are build at our port in Er'latha," explained Vendithan. "However, the Rethallin and Amthallin were built in Ren'thua. The engineer was a bit off an odd character, and demanded they be built simultaneously. They are fine ships, though not as large as the Amathvannin. Verus knew that they intended to try to take, at the least, Pigwillow, by sea. He agreed with that plan. However, he was about to change things slightly. "I want that as my flag," he said. "Commander?" asked Vendithan, his expression curious. "I am to command this expedition, yes?" asked Verus. The wizard nodded. "Yes, of course," he said. "Then I want the Rethallin as my flagship." "Yes, commander, it will be arranged," said Vendithan, signaling toward an elven crewman. ------- "You want us to prowl about and try to catch the Amthallin?" asked Ghurian, sounding incredulous. Verus nodded. "Yes," he said, "we cannot afford her to come upon us in the bay while we try to take the town. You need not engage her in earnest, only keep her from gaining the bay, or retreating back to Abia. Her crew is still probably learning her ways, and will not wish to directly engage a fully crewed trimaran." Ghurian nodded. "I don't like splitting up the forces we've worked so hard to gather," he said. "You said you trusted my judgement, if that is not so, then relieve me of my command and be done with it," Verus said, cooly. "No, Verus, I don't question you, sorry," said Ghurian. "I never knew you were so temperamental." The old Abian chuckled. "I'm a mean bastard of a commander," he said. "You may well regret promoting me over your head." He took a pull from the elven wine which the captain of the Rethallin had mercifully provided them. "Look on the brighter side, at least I'm giving you the larger ship." Commander Ghurian laughed. "And knowing you, the reason for that will not be apparent until well after the battle," he said. Undria entered the cabin, smiling. "The men were annoyed, but they finally figured out how to billit all four hundreds on the Rethallin." "Thank you commander," said Verus. "All these ships, and you want only the Rethallin for the actual attack?" asked Ghurian again. "The rest will be prowling along with you for the Amthallin, she must be tied up at sea, and taken down if possible," said Verus, with a very obvious tone of finality. "We sail in an hour." The other two commanders got up and they all made a quick toast, filling wooden cups with the sweet elven wine. Verus held up his cup, smiling at the two commanders. "We go to war, a thing I have avoided for many long years. Come hell or glory, I will put an end to this," he said. The clunked the cups together and drank their wine. Ghurian tromped across the gangplank to the Amathvannin, which was pulled in as soon as he was aboard. Verus turned to Undria, "Ready?" he asked. "No," she replied, "but that never stopped me before." The ships began leaving the port. The smaller galleons first, over a dozen of them. They slipped out the narrow channel to the sea and hugged the coastline east. The Amathvannin launched next, her massive sails filling with wind and she veritably flew out of the bay, her width so great that barely ten paces were spared to either side as she went through the narrows. Verus was, as always, impressed with the skill of the elven sailors and pilots of the vessels. They soon had the Rethallin moving toward the opening to the sea, by the time they shot past the high cliff sides, the rocks were a blur to either side. Banking, the ship turned east to follow the rest of the fleet around the island. It felt good to be doing something. It felt even better to be doing something Verus-like. He quietly stood beside the pilot, watching the elf turn the mighty wheel that steered the trimaran's rudders. He had studied the ships somewhat now, and knew of the many control surfaces beneath the water that gave the trimarans what maneuverability they had. The most impressive feature, he thought, was their ability to brake quickly. A trimaran could be moving at full sail, and stop in the water in a few hundreds of feet. For five hours, they followed the coastline of the jungle island. The galleons now far behind the two elven ships. They would catch up eventually, and their role in this was to form a picket, anyway, and try to ensure that the Amthallin was sighted and intercepted. They were not to actually engage, unless they happened upon Abian galleons. The ship was crowded. Trimarans typically only carried three hundreds of souls. The Rethallin was carrying four hundred troops and her normal crew of almost a hundred and fifty. Tempers would grow short, but it was unavoidable. Verus had a plan to put an end to this war quickly. More quickly than any suspected. He called for the ship's navigator. A young elf with bright eyes and a quick wit. "I need you to plot a course for me," said Verus as the young elf entered his cabin. The elf blinked a few times, then said, "It is a simple coastal trip, commander, would not my abilities be better served, as a magician, in tending to the troops?" "The itinerary just changed," said Verus. "Bring your maps." ------- "The scouts say that there was an elven male among the prisoners," said the aide to the Lord Ambassador. "We believe it to be Emorianel, of clan Yavanaur." Levathan looked at the document before him. "It would be him," he said. "No others would have withstood capture and the enslavement that capture would mean." The aide asked, "How does that follow?" "The reports for Rennik say that Emorianel saw Morlani die. He would not wish to leave his children orphaned," the ambassador said. "That is why we normally do not allow parents to go to dangerous areas together. However, the war has grown desperate indeed, and such may be the new tidings from this conflict." The aide nodded, seeing the good sense in such a policy and the unfortunate needs of war. "What of Rivandis?" she asked. "We will send her back to her siblings and other family in Windir as soon as we know the waters are safe," said Levathan. "This news should be broken by someone who knows her well." The aide bowed and left the chamber. Sadly, for the old elf, he was the only one about now that knew Rivandis more than casually. He gave a mighty sigh and stood up, and went to find where she might be. After asking about, he found her at the training ground. She had been insistent, despite the trainers telling her that her skills were adequate for her age, that she learn more. They humored her as best they could, sparring with her and even teaching her optional skills that complemented swordplay. Levathan watched her sparring with one of the instructors for a short while, until they were finished. The trainer came to him as Revandis went toward the storeroom to replace the training weapons. "How does she fare?" asked the old ambassador. "The Hyandai is a good student, she is simply too young and small to learn more advanced forms," said the weapon master. "The Hyandai?" asked the ambassador. A weak smile came to the trainer's face. "The rangers have taken note of her being the only armed child in the elven compound," he said. "They started calling her that when they learned of the sword's name." The ambassador grinned. "I hope such nicknames do not catch on, I would hate to think of the poor girl going through her life called Hyandai." "I am certain it will pass, milord," said the instructor, and bowed as Rivandis approached them, then moved away. "Well, I hear you have a new name," said the Lord Ambassador as she walked up, smiling at him. He could still see the hint of sadness in her eyes, though, and dearly wished he was not about to add to her worries. Rivandis nodded. "The humans are calling me the Hyandai," she said. "They give everyone nicknames, did you know that?" Levathan nodded. "Have they told you what they call me?" A deep crimson came to the girl's cheeks. "I should not repeat the one I have heard," she said. "Old Woodenarse is not such a bad name, I think," said the ambassador, chuckling. "Near as I can tell, the more they like you, the more base the nickname they append to you." The Hyandai nodded soberly. "They must respect you greatly, then," she said. The ambassador chuckled for a moment, then his face grew serious. "It is my father, is it not?" asked the Hyandai. "Sometimes being very perceptive is not a blessing, Revandis," said Levathan. "Yes, we have news of your father, he lives." She looked at him oddly, "That is good." She did not, however, smile or show pleasure in any other way. "But there is something less good, else your mood would be fairer." Levathan said, "Your father is made captive by the Abians. He is surely on ship to their lands, even now." "But elves do not allow themselves to be enslaved, or so I have been told," said Revandis. "Such is true for most elven folk. But your father is a man of great will," said the old ambassador. "He will abide, so that you and your siblings are not without both parents, even if the one is a slave." Tears marked cheeks and she looked disbelieving. "Such is worse than death," said Revandis. "So many say," said Levathan, "but it may well be less final. We will attempt to ransom or recapture him from them, as soon as his whereabouts are known." The Hyandai nodded. "I understand, I will await his return, then," she said. "No," said the old elf. "You are going home. A trimaran will be in Hemdan Bay in two days, and you will take ship to Windir. All elven folk, not critical to the war, are to go in the next week. We fear this war may be lost, and we cannot afford to have more captives made than necessary. Especially young women." She had heard vague tales of what happened to women humans made captive, and elven women would be doubly cursed. Having to endure the agonies of slavery for thrice the lifespan of a human. "What of the Islanders?" she asked. "We will evacuate as many as we can, of course, and bring them to Windir," he said. "Our homeland may soon be something else than we remember. Even a fraction of their numbers will leave us a minority in our own lands." The idea of humans in Windir did not bother her as it seemed to many older elves. Perhaps it was simply her youth and naivety. "I hope Verus wins," said the Hyandai, looking at her weapon-namesake. "We cannot abide loss." The old elf patted her back. "This is the truth," he said. "Pack your belongings, and be ready to leave come nightfall." ------- Chapter 5 Lady Emogen stood in the accused's box facing the Judicator. Her chin was held high, but her eyes betrayed the anger and resentment she felt. The Praetor sat in the high throne, watching the proceedings, not speaking. His eyes ever moved over the assembled crowd. They were here to witness the trial, to see a noble brought low. Such was great entertainment for the commoners. Even if that noble was one very popular with most folk, always some few wished to see someone else's misery. Vultures, he thought, one and all. How I love you fine folk. Sendrus, despite his shortcomings in personal integrity was a fine orator, the Praetor had to admit. He presented his case against Emogen eloquently, and with much emotional impact. Several times, the crowd, enraged at the accusations and proofs he provided, rose up, screaming obscenities at the lady. A few even hurled rotten fruit and had to be removed from the courtroom, though they were usually let back in after a few minutes. "Go on, Senator," said Justicar Ulanis, leaning on staff and eyeing the lady warily. Senator Sendrus smiled, "Thank you, Justicar," he said. "As you can see, Lady Emogen used her position, as well as considerable mystical knowledge to manipulate the Senate and our illustrious Praetor into sending Primus Pilum Verus, into harm's way under the guise of an offer of peaceful resolution. A resolution neither she nor the Windy Islanders wished. They aimed to make Verus captive and use elven means to rip the knowledge from his mind, such a great leader of men he was. However, his heroism thwarted them and he fell fighting them to his last breath." He glared at Emogen with hatred and disgust. "He died a Hero of Abia, due to this vile woman's machinations." The crowd growled again, the volume rising to the point that the Justicar had to pound his staff on the flagstones to silence them. "Severe charges, indeed, Senator," said the Justicar. He turned toward the accused as she stood stoic and silent. "Have you words to say in your defence, Lady Emogen?" asked Ulanis, glaring at her. She simply returned the hateful stare and set her jaw defiantly. "An indefensable position, I see," said the Praetor, playing to the crowd. There was a ripple of laughter in the mass of people in the gallery. The Justicar walked around from behind his podium and regarded her. "I have little choice, Lady Emogen," he said, with what sounded like true regret. "Despite the good works that have been done by your hands, deeds, and words, we must punish treason. Even if it be inspired by noble goals, such as you saw them." He was now feeding into the rumors that she was subverted by elven spies. "Therefore, I must pass punishment. As you know, a noble cannot be simply put to death, as we do commoners who commit a crime of such immensity. You are stripped of title, to be sold at the first opportunity in closed auction. You will live out your life the sole property of another, and live and die by their whim." At those words, two guards stepped forward and ripped the gown from her back, leaving her nude before the crowd. Her lovely, slender body was exposed to the catcalls and more hurled fruit. A tomato splattered over her breast, red fluid sliding down her body like thin blood. She was then draped in a gray tunic that covered only to mid thigh, with no ornamentation and only holes for the arms and head. A collar was snapped about her neck, with a chain, like a vicious dog might be collared. She was then led, with a sharp jerk of the chain, from the courtroom, the jeers of the crowd chased her down the narrow stair to the slave pens. Emogen was hurled, unceremoniously, into the women's holding pen, rolling onto the dirt floor. Her chain was fastened to a loop outside the cell, then the cage closed. Other women were huddled in the room, some collared as she was, others not. After a moment, she looked up at one group of them. They eyed her dubiously for a moment then one approached, walking upright, rather than the slouch most slaves adopted in the cells. "You are among friends here, firstborn, " the woman said, in elven. She knelt beside the disgraced noblewoman and held a wooden cup to her lips. It was stale water, but after many hours in the courtroom, with nothing to wet her lips, she welcomed it heartily. The woman, a tall, heavyset Islander, from the look of her, led Emogen back to the knot of women she had been sitting with. "I am Aresia, " said the woman, still speaking accented, but passable elven. She gave a curt elven-style head bow. "I was a ranger, and these others were militia." That the elven-speaking woman was a ranger was little surprise, they would be the most likely among men of the Windy Isles to speak elven, as most were trained in Windir. "I am named Emogen, " said the noblewoman. "But, I am not elvenborn, I am half-elven, " she explained, giving her own head-bow, with a small hand gesture indicating humility in her introduction. It was an older form of communication, and probably lost on the humans, but she felt she should do it. "Your ears have points, and you are very beautiful. You are an elf in our eyes," the muscular woman said, and then laughed. Emogen forced a smile onto her lips. "You honor me, " she said quietly. One of the Other slaves moved to their group from another and murmured a few words to the large, strong-looking woman, then scuttled off, casting furtive glances back at Emogen. The large woman looked at her a moment. "She said you were a Syrisian noble," said Aresia. "I was, but now they have branded me a traitor, and turned to your side of the war," explained Emogen, suddenly very much more worried than she was before. "Did you?" asked Aresia, looking rather dubious. Emogen decided that she had little to lose, the worst that could happen was that the slaves turned on her and killed her before that animal, Sendrus, could take possession of her and destroy her. All in all, I would rather die at the gentle hands of these folk. "I am on the side of ending the war, which was what I was doing when I was betrayed by the Praetor and Senator Sendrus, " she said. The woman digested these words for a long moment, the other slaves just gave her hard, rather unkind looks in the meantime. "I believe you, " said the large woman, finally shifting to a smiling visage. "Anyone who has earned the ire of the Praetor must be someone I can trust." She reached out a meaty hand and patted Emogen's shoulder. ------- Verus stood next to the pilot's position on the Rethallin, he was receiving rather odd looks from the crew about the deck, human and elf alike. He supposed he could not blame them. He had issued a dozen odd orders since they had sailed around the eastern tip of the Island. Undria and his aide, Vendithan, were even looking at him a bit askance, but so far, they were willing to humor him. Primary to their continued cooperation was Undria's confidence that he knew what he was doing. She had read extensively of his exploits of years past, and was confident, in her heart, that he was up to something clever. He only hoped he had not yet run out of cleverness, or more to the point, that his enemies had not come into a large supply of it.Rethallin They were cruising under full sail, every yard of cloth on the masts, and making amazing time. The sliced the water like a sword, leaving roostertails behind the main pylons supporting the ship out of the water. When they had caught a bit of a tailwind, they had even done something called 'hydroplaning' as the elven crewmen announced, which was apparently something of a good omen among them. For a few hours, they had flown along, skimming the waves with the sponsons above the water, skittering like a hurled stone on a lake. It had felt terribly unstable to Verus, but the elven crew was exhilarated by it. Less thrilled were they when they started being fitted with sailcloth slave outfits, designed to go over their mail vests. He had discovered Vendithan could maintain illusory disguises over about a score of men, but needed far more than that for what he wanted. The elven guardsmen would work well for that, were ideal, in fact, due to their innate speed and the shock value alone. The score of illusory disguises would be used on their 'guards', to make them appear as Abian Legionnaires. These would be played by rangers. Another twenty rangers would be among the elven 'prisoners, ' also dressed as slaves. Undria approached him from across the broad deck. "We near Remless," he said to her as she approached. "How went your conversation with Ghurian?" "He says that they have challenged and defeated two galleons, and that one of our galleons reported sighting the Amthallin moving southwards, they converge in the morning to intercept her as she nears port." She rattled off these words in a short tone, as if she were eager to discuss other matters. Verus ignored her apparent urgency. "Do you think he suspects we're up to something?" he asked. "No," she said, "he trusts me." Her hazel eyes turned to him. "I damn well better be correct in trusting you." Verus' eyes grew distant, as if he could see Remless on the ribbon on coast to their right. "You are," he said. "Unless betrayed, my loyalty does not falter." She sighed mightily then turned to follow his rightward gaze. "This is about more than just ending the war, isn't it?" she asked. "Yes," he said, "it's about justice, too." "Will the price be great?" she asked. "To our men, I mean." "Perhaps," said Verus. "But for this price, justice will be served, and she's a woman who deserves men's loyalty even more than the honorable Ghurian." Undria nodded. "Less than an hour, Commander Undria, please ensure the men and elves are ready," said Verus. "Yes, sir," she said, giving him one of those modified Abian salutes that he found so difficult to duplicate before trotting off the main helm deck. Over the next hour, men were replacing the elven crew in the rigging and about the ship. The hastily-trained rangers were not nearly the sailors, and the ship slowed considerably over that period. Much sail was pulled in and she was only making a speed slightly greater than a galleon normally did. Verus expected this, and figured that the Amthallin probably sailed like this, or only slightly better. An elven artisan murmured something to the captain of the Rethallin, and the captain relayed that the name had been changed on the prow and aft ends. A hastily but well-crafted Abian banner was hoisted up the mainmast to flap bravely in the quickening breezes. Soon, no elves were visible on the decks of the ship, only men, dressed as closely to sailors in homespun and borrowed garments as they could manage. All of them were rangers, and their gear of war was near to hand. This plan would not work if they did not achieve near total surprise on the forces defending Remless. ------- The Praetor sat at the long banquet table with the justicar, Ulanis, and Sendrus. Sendrus was standing near the massive bay windown that overlooked, of all things, the bay. "The lady is being coddled by the other slaves, much to my chagrin," said Sendrus, glowering out at the glimmering waters of the scenic little bay. "Don't begrudge her some last moments of comfort, Sendrus," said the Praetor. "You'll disabuse her of any notion of comfort, soon enough, I warrant." Sendrus grinned at the reflection of the Praetor in the glass. "Yes, yes I will," he said, a distant and very unsettling gleam growing in his eyes. "I want to thank you, justicar, for a very well-run courtroom." Ulanis shrugged. "It is how my courtroom is run, Senator," he said, humbly. "I trust this balances the ledger between us, Praetor?" "Of course, Justicar Ulanis," replied the Praetor. Until I need your services again, anyway, he thought. There was a lot of activity down, below on the streets of Remless, a ship was coming in, apparently. Watchtowers down the coast were signaling, using mirrors and fires, to the town's port master, and he would relay messages to those who needed informing as to what was approaching. Apparently, a large ship was inbound. There was near silence in the room as they ate and drank, each tending to his own thoughts. "Ah, the Veria Prima makes her trips hastily, to be sure," said Sendrus, watching the captured trimaran slip into the port. "We will be able to move those legions in mere days with her, she but left day before yesterday, and already she returns." Out in the bay, the Veria slid through the water toward the docks. People on the docks milled about, preparing for the unloading of booty from the Isles. Eagerly, slave traders were moving toward where the slaves would be marched past, to get a first look at the morrow's wares for the auction block. The massive ship slowed, and nuzzled up to the longest dock, dropping her mighty gangplanks and slaves began to be hustled off the ship, over a hundred of them. The Praetor nearly drooled in excitement over how much money he was about to make. The palace was barely a hundred yards from the docks, situated to give the governor or his guests, as now sat in the chamber, a commanding view of the port facilities. Sendrus smiled as well, watching the prisoners being prodded by their legionnaire guards and hustled into a long double file. Verus stood on the deck, watching the elven High Guard being herded into ranks. The long slave shifts concealed their armor, and their warswords were tucked up underneath, tied to their armpits. He just hoped that no one grew bold enough, too soon, and grabbed one of them by hand, and felt the mail. "As soon as they enter the slave compound next to the palace, you are to loose the hounds," said Verus. "Come hell or glory, we shall free those slaves AND capture that bastard of a Praetor." Undria nodded and moved off to where she could see the remaining three hundreds of rangers, waiting just belowdecks. Her second, Nolduro, was delaying the dock workers from boarding, explaining that some prisoners had to be killed and there was gore everywhere that was being cleaned up. It would not hold the eager folk on the docks for long. Verus walked over to the three ballistae amidship. "Aim for the palace, I want men able to slide those cables directly into the palace itself." A clever system of pullies and gears would hoist the near end of a mooring cable to the top of the main mast, and allow boarders to slide down them and onto captive ships. He aimed to make good use of that feature to avoid the crowded streets between the ship and the palace, just as soon as the battle started. Four legions were posted near Remless. One of them within the town itself. It would take time for the other three to get into town, and he hoped to be long gone before that. However, he had to stop the one in town overwhelming or pinning them down before they did. That was Undria's job. She was going to lay siege, in an instant, to the small fortress south of the palace, using her small army of rangers. At least, she was going to make the legion in that fort believe they were under siege. With Vendithan hurling fireballs, it should be an easy convincing. The crowd pressing to the procession route of the slaves was going insane. Elves had been captured, in numbers. This was a first and very noteworthy. They cheered and clapped the legionnaire guards on the back as they marched past. The slave traders veritably salivated at the thought of having elves to sell tomorrow. A few of them were women folk, as well, and most men in the crowd salivated at that idea alone, much less selling them, or more importantly, owning one. The bidding on the morrow would be legendary. The column reached the slave pens and moved under the arched entry gate. As the huge oaken doors closed behind them, one of the slave pen guards, excited by the appearance of the beautiful and exotic elven slave girls, stepped forward and looked at one closely. "The tides of this war finally have changed, for sure," he said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He aimed to pull this one to the side and sample her wares immediately. His fingers closed on hard metal chain, and the elven girl, turning cold eyes to him said, "It has changed, human, but not in your favor." A razor point was beneath his chin. She had magicked a sword from thin air and held it at arm's length, backing him to the wall. He looked about, panicked, all the elves and the men among them had weapons. He turned to the legionnaire who had been standing near him only to see a Windy Island ranger standing there, wearing a amused expression. The ranger shrugged just before the elven girl knocked the slave guard out with the flat of her blade. The turmoil in the slave pens reached the ears of the three men in the banquet hall. "What is going on down there?" asked Sendrus, trying in vain to find a good vantage point out the bay windows to the pens. The flicker of uncontrolled fire could be seen coming from below and to the north. The Praetor adopted a look of boredom. "Probably a little riot among the new slaves," he said. "They've not learned their place yet, the legionnaires will have them subdued quickly enough." Sendrus turned from the windows, but what if Emogen gets killed?" he asked, worry on his face. "Then I'll not have my prize." Both the Praetor and the justicar chuckled in amusement at his predicament. "It would be a shame if she died before you could kill her, no?" asked the Praetor. "Damn right it would be!" yelled Sendrus, truly agitated. "I have many, many plans for that love..." His words were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. An eight-foot barbed spear, cast entirely of cold iron, shot through the bay window. It smashed through the table, then skidded on the floor. The three noblemen looked at it agape for a heartbeat, but then it sprang open, long spikes of iron extending in four directions, then it shot back toward the window. Sendrus was quick enough, as was the Praetor. The justicar, Ulanis, however, was not. He was pinioned between the iron spikes and the wall, the spike across his thick legs. A moment later, he fell to the floor, in three pieces. He groaned on the floor for only a moment before laying still. The other two men just looked at him with varying levels of interest. "They're firing on us!" screamed Sendrus, stating the obvious to the Praetor. Out in the bay, more grappling harpoons sailed out from the ship toward the palace, there was screaming in the building. The Praetor looked down out of the broken windows and saw an organized force of rangers moving through the streets, driving a crowd of panicked people before them, toward the small fortress of the Fifth Legion. He ducked back as an arrow shattered against the stonework just inside the window. Sendrus ran about the room, agitated to the point of near mania. "Not right!" he screamed and his hands clutched his head. "They're ruining my plans." The Praetor shook his head and looked out again. Two legionnaires ran into the banquet hall. "My lord?" one asked. "Stay with me," said the Praetor. "We are attacked by Islanders." The two legionnaires looked at him oddly, but stayed put, as told. Sendrus, however, said. "I'm taking my prize," and ran into the corridor. Fool, thought the Praetor, glaring after the errant Senator. More arrows zinged off of the stone ceiling of the chamber and ricocheted from the stonework around the shattered windows. He peeked around the window frame to see shapes sliding down the cables now, heading toward the palace. Some fell to arrows as they slid, while others were, just as assuredly, making it to the palace. They moved too quickly to be hit easily. Sendrus skewered a man wearing ranger livery as he descended the narrow stair from the courts to the slave pens. He reached the bottom of the stairs and looked about himself. In his hand, he clutched a long, narrow blade, unlike most seen in this land. It had belonged to a Niliwander assassin, and was a very fine sword. Sendrus had long had the weapon and loved the feel of it. He cut down a slave as she ran screaming past him. Unsure which way to go, he headed where she had come from, thinking that she may have been held in the same area as the Lady Emogen would be held. The sounds of fighting was all about, and there were bodies of guards and legionnaires everywhere he went. He came to a narrow doorway with a barred door. Peering into the shadowy cell he saw several women on chains tethered through the door to the wall behind him. He fetched the keys from a dead guard and opened the door, stepping into the cell. The women cowered away from him, pulling to the end of their chains and slinking aside as he neared. One, however, did not. She rose from among the others and stepped forward. "Come to take me early, have you, little man?" asked Emogen from the shadows. She stepped into the light coming in from the doorway. Sendrus grabbed her chain and yanked, hard. She fell to her knees and grabbed the chain with her left hand, yanking it back somewhat. "You've lost, Sendrus," she said, sneering as she took to her feet again. "They've already freed most of us, and will be back for those of us with collars when they find a key." The Senator glared at her and stepped forward. "You shall not live to enjoy that freedom, bitch," he grated out between clenched teeth. He raised the narrow straight sword and leveled it at her chest. "I wished to enjoy killing you slowly, but will take much pleasure, anyway, from doing it quickly." There was some murmuring from among the other women. "Fear not, ladies, I've time to tend to all of you before anyone returns," he said, smiling at them. Yanking the chain again, he lunged for Emogen's chest. A look of shock spread on his face when his blow was deflected. In her right hand, Emogen held a slender hyandai. The blade glowed faintly blue with magical energy. The lady smiled at him, a small smile. "Sendrus," she said, "I've wielded blade for nigh sixty years. You may wish to sit this dance out." He lunged again. Emogen slipped nimbly aside, wrapping her chain around the point of his blade and twisting it from his hands. In the same motion, she sliced a deep rent in his shoulder, forcing his hand to open. The blade skidded across the dirt floor of the cell, at the feet of a small knot of women. It disappeared amid them. As he gaped, she moved behind him, and almost as if pirouetting, she flipped the chain about his neck, once, twice, three loops of chain. His peril was suddenly very obvious to him. Three women took hold of the chain as she danced away. Pulling it taut. He stepped a few clumsy steps until the chain was bouncing tightly in both directions from him. He felt pressure in his skull as the links around his neck bit into the meat. Then he started to see black creeping into the corners of his vision. Two minutes later, the women loosed the chain and Sendrus collapsed to the floor. The keys jangled to the floor as his left hand opened. Undria stood across the parade field from the little, compact fortress. The rangers rained arrows at its stone walls, and Vendithan would casually hurl a fireball from time to time, a small one, just large enough to make a scorch mark on the stonework. It was also enough to keep everyone behind that wall ducked down for cover. The panicked civilians in Remless had all fled the city, or at least to their homes. Right now, the streets belonged to the rangers. Hundreds of slaves had been released from the pens and were filing back toward the Rethallin. Many were cheering and singing as they went, and not all were Islanders. No one bothered to ask if someone belonged on this journey, it was freedom for all. In the palace, the Praetor was packing a few of his valuables in preparation for flight. The two legionnaires stood guard over his doorway, across the hall from the banquet hall. There was a soft cough from behind them. Both turned to see a dozen rangers with drawn bows, with an old man standing before them. "My name is Primus Pilum Verus," he said. "I recommend you drop your weapons and surrender." The guards looked at him a moment, then one dropped his spear. The other followed suit a half a heartbeat later. The rangers moved forward and hustled them off into the banquet hall. The Praetor glared at Verus. "You old fool, you've truly raised the ire of the Empire now," he said. "You think so?" said Verus calmly. "I think we've just won the war." Two rangers moved up and grabbed the Praetor, binding his hands behind his back. "You are made arrest, Praetor," he said. "So far as I know, I still hold the rank of Centurion, and declare you a enemy of the people of both the Empire of Abia and the Windy Isles." "You cannot arrest me!" screamed the Praetor, trying vainly to pull free of the two strong young men. "I am the Praetor of the Abian Empire!" "You are a prisoner of war," said Verus, "and you will be tried for crimes against the peoples of the Windy Isles." Verus looked to the two rangers. "Get him to the ship, make sure none harm him." They both nodded and all six of the rangers moved out of the room with the Praetor in tow. Verus moved to the other side of the banquet hall and watched as the rangers who had been holding down the fort were pulling back, leaving only a few behind, ready to retreat should the legionnaires within discover the siege lifted. Elves were moving in the rigging of the Rethallin, making ready to sail. Now that the actual fighting was over, the town did not look much worse for wear. It had been Verus' intent for as few as maybe to die in this attack, and he felt confident that he had succeeded. One of the legionnaires in the corner, hands and feet bound, said, "Are you truly THE Verus?" Verus turned to him, smiling slightly. "Yes, legionnaire, I am Verus." The legionnaire smiled back at him. "I don't feel too ashamed then," he said. The other legionnaire nodded in agreement. "You should not, soldier," said Verus. The rangers returned to the chamber and Verus left with them, making for the ship. A column had been sighted, marching for town from the nearest encampment of the legions. It was time to go. As he walked up the gangplank, it was rising from the docks. Every other vessel in the bay was listing or under the water, only their masts poking up out of the placid surface of the bay. Undria walked up to him as he took to the main deck. "We rescued more than a thousand slaves, Commander Verus," she said. There were many people crowding the deck, and, from the general volume of the murmuring belowdecks, many, many more down there. "I'm frankly amazed we're afloat." Verus chuckled and watched as the elves in the rigging began playing out sail. The massive ship began to slip away from the docks. The watchman at the top of the mainmast announced that the column had reached the northern gates even as they slid out of the harbor and added on more sail, making for the Windy Isles. Vendithan approached soon after they had reached open water. "Commander, the Praetor demands to speak to you of terms." "I am just a soldier," said Verus, "he'll have to discuss terms with leaders." Vendithan nodded. "I thought you would say that," he said. "There is also another matter. One of the freed slaves requests audience." "Oh?" said Verus, raising an eyebrow. "Well, those honorable folk, I will take time to speak with." The elven wizard smiles. "They were shown to your quarters. I also anticipated you would say that." "You are truly foresighted, Vendithan," said Verus, patting the aide on the shoulder and turning for the stairs down to his quarters. He entered his chamber and found no one in the conference area. He had expected the slave to wait at the table. He looked about, then toward the sitting area. "I took the liberty of getting comfortable," said a feminine voice from his bedchamber. A broad smile formed on Verus' lips as he walked to the doorway. "Milady, you are always welcome to be comfortable." Emogen sat upon his bed, wearing a gauzy bit of cloth, obviously something that she had retained from an elven crew member. She looked at him with large silver eyes that were slowly darkening to iron gray. "I believe you owe me something," she said. "I rescue you from certain doom, and I owe you?" asked Verus, removing his chain tunic and sitting in a chair. He noted a filled glass of wine on the little end table next to it. She rose from the bed in a slow, graceful motion. The Lady Emogen was no young woman, even as a half-elf, but she was very well formed. Her curved body was accentuated by the flattering cut of the elven gown and her red hair gleamed in the lamplight of the chamber. She walked up to him, moving far slower than normal. Apparently much motive power went into the sway of her hips and back. He put out a hand and touched the inward curve of her waist. Emogen put a hand over his, and gently moved it over the swell of her hip. "You promised to claim a reward from me, should we end the war." He looked up at her. "And have we ended it?" She giggled then said, "You well and truly ended it. The Praetor was behind the war's beginning, the legions will not press it to rescue him." She thought a long moment. "They may well bribe you to keep him." His other hand joined the first, on her opposing hip. Then I think I should claim my prize. Verus pulled her into his lap, where she curled with a happy sigh. She drew her legs up and folded herself into a compact bundle on his lap, kissing his neck and chin. "I am no young man, Emogen," he said, by way of warning. "I hope you won't find me a lacking lover." She grinned up at him and stroked his stubbled cheek. "I am no spring chicken myself, dear," she said. "I won't ask any acrobatics of you." Verus laughed. "That is well, for I barely was able to slide down that damnable cable to the palace." Emogen's eyes widened. "You slid one of the boarding cables?" she asked. "Well, yes," he said, looking down at her. "Though I think I wrenched something out of socket." She cooed and moved up in his lap to where she could rub his shoulders. "You should exercise more care, Verus," she said. "You've a older woman to keep up with." Her long, slender legs moved to the outside of either of his legs and she scooted up and around to where she was straddling his waist. She felt him stiffening beneath her bottom as she wriggled about and massaged his broad shoulders. "Even old soldiers stand to attention for a lady," he explained at her curious look of interest. She wriggled her rump a little and smiled. "Glad to see the old ways don't all fall to the wayside," said Emogen, and then kissed him. Her arms went about his neck and his about her slender waist. He picked her up as he stood, holding her tight against him. She clung to his shoulders, kissing his ear and neck to goad him on. He laid her gently upon the wide bed and moved atop her. Emogen welcomed his weight and she caressed his strong arms as he held himself up from her. "You've done both the Empire and the Isles a great service, Verus," she said, with a tender smile on her face. "I worry more to ensure doing the same in my personal dealings," he retorted, pulling at the cords holding his boots to his feet. "Damned Islander boots, they lace completely up to my arse." A beautiful peal of laughter came from the lady as she watched him struggle with the obstinate footgear. She then helped him remove them, using her nimble fingers to unlace the complicated knotwork that held them. As they came off, she urged him to sit upon the bed and helped him with the much simpler breeches, though her own fingers seemed to fumble at the simple draw cord and belt. His hands were not idle, however, while she busied herself with her pleasant tasks, he stroked her hair and neck, trying to memorize by touch every sensation that touch fed back to him. Her pointed ears garnered much attention during this exploration, and she did not mind that in the least. With a sigh of triumph, she managed to unfasten the knot holding his pants in place. Verus slipped from beneath her and stood, letting them fall to the floor. "Hope you're not terribly disappointed," he said. She glanced down. "I heard about that, but thought it a legend," she replied. "When did that happen?" He looked down at his single testicle. "When I was but in my twenties," he replied, "on the Mindean Isles." She smiled and reached out a delicately thin hand and caressed his scrotum. "Does it bother you these days?" she asked. His prick, already stiff, twitched at the touch. "Only when beautiful women touch it," he replied. "Then it feels heavy and full." She giggled at him. "Well, I know of a very efficacious treatment for that ailment," she said. "An old elven healing technique passed down from mother to daughter." "I'm thrilled to hear it," said Verus. "For this malady has been brewing for some weeks." Her cool hand gripped the shaft of his cock and she pulled him toward her. "Then let me tend you," she whispered as she laid back. He moved quite willingly enough, and was again atop her. Her thighs parted and he moved between them. With deceptive ease, he slid into her, and she groaned in pleasure at the feeling of being entered. "It has been too long," she moaned as he settled their pelvises together. "Yes, Emogen, it has," he replied as he began thrusting gently and slowly. In truth, they were not young, zealous lovers, but both were mature, gentle lovers, now. Their bodies moved with a singular lack of haste, though with decisive intent of purpose. Toward the end, however, as her back arched to meet his thrusts and her toes curled tight, her body moved as if half its age, forcing her pelvis up to meet him and goading him into a youthful exuberance, as well. Her climax was a slow, grinding thing that, while lacking some of the fire of her youth, more than made up for it with a lingering warmth that allowed it to hold for many moments. She held him tight as he grunted his own orgasm out, nuzzling into her thick hair and biting her neck as he came. She could feel his seed filling her and the warmth that came with it. He lay there many moments afterward and she stroked his back and sides with her fingertips. "My soldier," she whispered to him as he continued kissing her neck. After many minutes, he moved to the side and propped his head on his elbow. "Would it be rude of me to wish to go to sleep?" he asked. She grinned at him. "Lest you seek doing that again, then no," she replied. "I'm quite tired, too, Primus Pilum." They cuddled together on the bed, warm breezes wafting over them from the open windows of his stateroom. About them nigh on fifteen hundred people packed the ship, crowded together, uncomfortable, but nearly just as happy with themselves. Beneath them the waves slipped silently past the streamlined pylons, white foam flowing in the little-disturbed wake. Far above, sails flapped and bellied in the wind, speeding the ship along toward home. For all of them, home. ------- Undria came out of the scrying chamber of the ship, shaking her head. "Ghurian wants your balls on a platter," she said to Verus as he raised an eyebrow at her. "He'll have to settle for just the one," said Verus. As Undria turned to raise her own eyebrows curiously, Lady Emogen interjected, "That man will have to go through me to get even that one." "I suppose it's spoken for, sorry, will half my arse do instead?" asked the old Centurion. "I'm sure he'll settle," said Commander Undria, shaking her head in mock frustration at the banter from the two. "They allowed the Amthallin to make landfall, and now she's trapped in Pigwillow Bay. They've blockaded it" "Good, how long before we arrive to the main fleet?" asked Verus. "According to the navigator, five hours," she replied. "The freed are ready to move to the Amathvannin, once we get there." The term 'slaves' had been dropped within hours of the ship leaving Remless, much to everyone's pleasure. ------- Ghurian moved from the Amathvannin before anyone else did, he stormed across the perilously swaying gangplank even before it could be stabilized for crossing. "You crazy old fool!" he screamed as he neared the Rethallin's gunnels. Verus stood impassively amidship, near the mainmast. He waved a hand casually at the nearly smouldering commander. "Welcome aboard, Commander Ghurian, I see you are in good health," he said. The commander stomped up to him, his face nearly red with anger. "You hogged all the glory, you old bastard!" he then turned toward Undria, "And I trusted you, too, Commander Undria. Yet the two of you go off and win the war for us, just when my back is turned?" She shrugged. "You said for me to trust him sir," she said, her voice rising in mock tones of apology. "Not to the point of making me look a silly get," said Ghurian. "We'll all have words about this later." He turned back to Verus, and cracked a massive smile. "Well done, Commander Tanverus." "Thank you, Commander Ghurian," replied the old soldier. The freed started transferring to the larger trimaran and were moved over in a surprisingly short time. "You're sure the governor is in Pigwillow?" asked Verus. "As sure as we can be, his ship is there," said Ghurian. "We even sent a squad of scouts to confirm it to be so." Verus nodded. "This ends this day then," he said. The two massive trimarans, backed up by the flotilla of galleons sailed for the port of Pigwillow. On the shores, panic ensued as the legionnaires prepared to mount a desperate defense against a perceived attack. The ships drew up short, filling the bay, but not landing. It was probably quite an impressive and worrisome sight to the people in the port village. Twelve hours later, the agreements were formalized. Two weeks later, there would be no forces of the Imperium on the Islands. The Veria Primus would be surrendered after that date. And until then, no action would be taken against Islanders or the Isles. Once all Abian presence was known to be removed, and all the slaves taken from the Isles were returned, then the Praetor would be yielded to the Empire. ------- It came to pass just as planned. There were a few minor skirmishes as the Abians withdrew, but those were minor and quickly over. The Empire dethroned the Praetor less than a month after he returned and sent him off into retirement, with a threat of trial, should he get out of line and do more than irrigate the ditches around his estate. The governor of the Isles was assassinated less than two weeks after he returned to the isles, reportedly at the hands of the legions, though this was never confirmed. Verus and Emogen wed in the fall of that year. Though he was a hero, he had disobeyed direct orders of the High Command, and was forced into retirement, and required to promise to never assume command again. He was happy to do both. He and Emogen moved to a small estate outside of Rennik. Emorianel came by to see them after he was freed from Abia, with Revandis. The two men closeted for long hours before it was decided that Revandis would serve as the handmaiden to the Lady Emogen for a while, and act as Verus' scribe. Emorianel had much to tend to, and would stay in the home, when he was not abroad with his duties. Though he was no longer the ranking male of a clan, there were many social and legal loose ends to be repaired from both the war and the deaths it caused. In those days, he took up, at the urging of the Niliwander ambassador, origami, the shaping of paper into various intricate and interesting shapes. It consumed him when he was not busy with his memoirs. Verus was obliged to write a text on warfare, to become the primary training manual for aspiring officers in the Islander militaries. Revandis did the penning of these tomes, her flowing hand being kinder to the reader than Verus' rather unappealing scratchings. It was a major work, and took nearly three years to complete. Soon, Revandis took it up as well, and the two would wile away hours folding rice paper into various shapes, always trying to outdo one another with the most intricate and interesting designs. To her advantage were her small and unbelievably nimble fingers, to his was a mind that thought in many tracks at once, able to come up with solutions that did not readily make themselves apparent. When they collaborated on a project, the results were so stunning that several made the ambassador of Niliwan blink with amazement and immediately box up the product to be shipped off to his homeland for study and interpretation. During those years, Verus aged, as happens to men, and his mind began to slip from him. It was a painful sight for both Revandis and for the lady. Revandis, now called Hyandai by most everyone, save Verus and Emogen, came into his chambers one day to find he did not recognize her. "Hello there, my young elf," said Verus as she entered, a rather blank smile upon his face. She returned the smile. "Good day, Verus," she replied, the blank look in those once alert eyes broke her heart. "Verus, I wish to try something." "You're such a pretty lass," he replied, "and always so nice. What do you wish to do?" She locked gazes with him, her golden eyes boring into his mind. There she felt the slippage. It was painful to behold, the physical structures in his brain were failing, and she found pieces of him trapped behind the broken connections. Like a faerie flitting through spiders' webs, she flitted through his mind, moving a strand of thought here, and repositioning a packet of Verus' mind there. After a few moments, she was exhausted, but the old man blinked, and she saw his mind was whole again. "One's praise, Revandis," he said, "what did you do?" "I moved your mind about to make use of unused portions to reinforce that which has failed you," she said, as if that made perfect sense. Verus supposed it did. "How long?" he asked, his face growing saddened. "Months, perhaps years, but I will need to continually do that to keep things whole," she replied. Revandis neglected to tell him that the movements and repositioning also relied on her leaving a small portion of her mind within his to bolster the changes, to keep things from reverting back to their original patterns. They continued work on the texts. A year later, Revandis was having to perform the repairs almost every week, and they did not always help on the first try. Finally, she moved a larger portion of herself into his head, and it worked. He stabilized for a few months. Finally, though, Verus took her aside one evening. "Revandis, it is nearly over," he said. "I can even feel it now. You are giving too much of yourself to keep me going. You have given willingly, but I would have you stop, dear. You are young, and deserve to be out enjoying your youth, not tending an old man whose mind is failing him." He sat in a comfortable chair. "How much of your mind is in me now?" he asked. "Almost a quarter," she replied. "I can feel much of what you feel, always." He nodded. "I feared that much. When the texts are finished, so ends that, as well," he said. Revandis' eyes grew round and tears welled in them. "But you'll die," she said. "I'm a human, Revandis, we do not live so long," said Verus, smiling gently. "I've lived more than many men, and lived well, I deem." It had truly become a chore by the time the last text was finished. She could feel her personality beginning to slip from her from time to time, replace by his. Too much of herself was within him now for too long, and it was imprinting his mind atop hers. Almost half of her mind resided in his at any given moment, to keep him thinking normally, just to make running repairs on his pathways of thought. "I would have one night with Emogen," he said. "Alone." Revandis nodded slowly, and made the eye contact. However, she did not withdraw her mind from his, she knew that doing so would leave him a gibbering lump of flesh, though he did not. "I have set you for that night, Verus," she said, looking at him levelly and keeping her mind closed, so that nothing of her slipped to his thoughts, revealing her deception. That night, she lay in discomfort, their passion wracking her mind. She was not a little girl, and knew of love, but to be inside the mind of a man as he did so caused her to flinch and her mind tried to recoil. She was not so much disturbed as felt she had betrayed Verus more than he could ever know, and the lady, as well. When his passion fully gripped him, she found herself doing things normally reserved for the most aroused of her states, and her inner mind twitched and rejoiced and, for the first time in her life, fully awoke. The next morning, Verus called for her. "That was the last time, dear Revandis, and I know it hurt you mightily to help me." He gave her a long, knowing look, staring at her deep emerald eyes. "I'll not allow such a thing again, young woman, and I feel shame that it happened the once." She burst into tears, covering her face in shame at the lies she had wrought and the hurt she must now have caused a proud, honorable man. "No, Revandis, I thank you for what you did, but I cannot allow my passions to become yours, nor, I fear yours to become mine." "Mine become yours?" she asked, peeking through her wet fingers. "Your attempt to mask your presence did not work very well, and when your passions flared, I felt them. I have to say, the passions of a young elven woman were much stronger than I thought they possibly could be," he said as his eyes took on a distant glint. "They reminded me of the ones I had when I was a young man." Revandis smiled a little at that. "I am glad you are not wroth with me," she said. "I could not bear your anger." "And I wouldn't give you such," he said. "But it ends today. Can you take my knowledge of things military into your mind without harm?" he asked. "I know you can take parts and pieces, what about the whole?" She blinked for a moment. "I can," she said finally. "Then take them, before they are lost," he said. "Show me in my mind what I must do to give them to you." They locked gazes, for the final time. You know this may kill you, she said into his thoughts. Yes, he replied, I would prefer it did, actually. Revandis nodded and showed him what he needed to do to organize his thoughts. He shooed her off to the side of his mind and began to do what he sought to do. Verus plowed through his knowledge and through other pathways, finding what he sought tucked away here and there. Soon, he realized that what he needed to impart to her may well be the whole of it. No, he thought to himself, shielding that from her, it has to be there, but she cannot be subject to it. Then it dawned upon him. It took a long while to prepare for the transferral of knowledge and learning, but in reality, it was but a few minutes. Okay, Revandis, said Verus into his thoughts. Take it. She reached out with her mind, feeling a smooth sphere. No, not a sphere, a spherical gemstone, cut with millions of tiny facets. Each face was a thought, or a tactic, or a scheme used once, with possible applications elsewhere. The fingers of her mind slid over the smooth surface. It is almost beautiful, Verus, she thought as she pulled on it. For a brief moment it resisted, and she felt something of it shift oddly, like it had opened for a moment, then snapped shut. It came free of his mind and slipped effortlessly into hers. She had created a place for it as soon as she felt it, and it fitted perfectly there. It nestled amid her girlish elven thoughts, her childish thoughts. Dark and sinister was much of that knowledge, the rules and ways of combat and war and death. However, it glittered in her mind and did not interrupt the flow of her own thoughts and feelings. They slid over it without impediment. She opened her eyes again and looked down at Verus. He lay peacefully and in utter stillness. The Primus Pilum had passed to the Portal of Forever. Tears welled in her emerald eyes and she began to wail out a grieving song for him. It was not a dirge, as elves are wont to sing for their fallen. This was a personal wail of pain and fear. The Lady Emogen came in and looked at her passed husband. She gently pulled the coverlet over his sleeping face and touched Revandis' shoulders. "Come Revandis, let's go speak in the parlor." The young elven girl looked over her shoulder at the shape on the bed and sniffed a last time. Forever the lore of you will be recorded, Primus Pilum, she said, the elven words sliding gracefully from her tongue. ------- Epilogue The next evening, he was buried, as was the Abian way. The Islanders cremated their dead, as do elves, but the Abians lay them in the earth and erect a small memorial stone to them. A six foot obelisk was erected over his grave, his visage carved into the top of one face. Below that in the languages of Syrisian and Elven were the words: "A man of peace, forced to war, in peace now, and forever more." There were literally hundreds of folk at the funeral, and many mourned his passing. Much discussion was made of what would be done without him in the future. The general consensus was that, while they might not do it as well as with him, they would do what they always did - Manage. The Lady was in mourning for six months, another Abian tradition. It conflicted with the elven way of moving to a new partner sooner, but none begrudged it to her. For she had not lost an elven mate, but very much an Abian mate. During the fourth month following Verus' death, Revandis and she were seated in the common room of the small cottage. Verus' daughters, sons, and grandchildren had adopted the elderly half-elf as their own, despite their father's death. She supposed that without a matriarch or patriarch, they needed someone to be the head figure of the family. She was honored for it to be her. Revandis was trying to make a trimaran in origami, but could not get the sails to look or feel right. She growled from time to time in frustration, a habit that had been Verus' and she now had adopted. Emogen was knitting, which was her passion for passing time. She had been making coverlets of knit for all the grandchildren of Verus, a project that promised to be nigh never ending, which suited her just fine. Their nearly silent afternoon was interrupted by a forceful rapping upon the front door of the house. Revandis bounded to the door, smiling as she yanked it open. Six armed and armored men stood outside. By reflex, Revandis leaped back a step and was halfway through drawing her hyandai before she recognized the livery of the rangers and the mark of the watch of Rikken. "Woah, Hyandai," said one of the rangers, the leader, apparently. "We only wish to speak, no sparring today." She giggled at him, her eyes glittering golden. Revandis loved that she was called by a weapon's name by the men of the Isles. It had grown quite common over the last years, enough so that most of the Elves had adopted it, as well. Only her father and the lady called her Revandis anymore. "What is it," she peered at his badge, "sergeant?" she asked. "We are again beset by the cursed Ghantians," he said, a massive sigh in his voice. "This time there is a threat to Rikken, we need to evacuate you and the lady inside the city walls." Revandis noted that the lady's horse and her own, or at least the one she used, it used to be Verus', were already saddled and ready to ride. The soldiers, out of respect, had taken care of that before disturbing the lady. Emogen slipped past her, belting on her own hyandai as she walked. "We can go," she said as she took to her saddle. "Do you not wish to pack?" the ranger asked. "The mercenaries may raze your home out of spite." She smiled sweetly at him. "The only things of this world I truly care about can flee fire on their own," she said. Hyandai had only a small pack, the original manuscripts of Verus' books. They had long since been copied and returned to her. Revandis clambered onto the back of Blackhoof, Verus' old horse, and they rode toward town, only a fifteen minute ride. As they came into town, by the sunset's failing light, they saw smoke rising from the north side of the city. The rangers spurred their horses in that direction and the two women moved after them. As they moved through the town they came across a pair of Coghlandish mercenaries, the small contingent of rangers dispatched them hastily, but they now knew the enemy was within the walls. A troop of rangers ran past, as well as a company of militia. Undria commanded them. "Don't fight them in formations, you can't win," said Revandis quietly to her at the greeting from Undria. "What?" said Undria, blinking at her. "What did you say, Hyandai?" Hyandai's golden eyes locked onto the commander's. "Don't fight the Coghlanders in formations, you can't beat them that way, it's their strong point." Undria's smile was brittle, but she humored the young elven girl. "What should we do then?" she asked, her tone somewhat sarcastic. "Fight like rangers," said Hyandai. The commander barked out a laugh. "If you've not seen, we fight in the city," she said, waving her hand around her to indicate the buildings. "I damn well know you're fighting in the city, commander," snapped Hyandai, her voice moving deeper down the tonal scale a few notes. "Fight from the buildings and the alleys and the rooftops, they're your forest." she shouted. "Attack and fade, it's your way, and the only way to beat the Coghlanders. In hand to hand, they'll crush you, they're too skilled and strong." Undria finally got the idea, and barked out some orders. The nearer captains looked at her like she was insane for listening to a young elven girl for strategic advice. Hyandai rose up in the stirrups and looked toward where another fire bloomed to the north. "If you don't change your plan, come hell or glory, you'll loose your damned city!" she screamed. Undria turned toward the confused-looking captains. "Do as she says, she was the student of Verus!" she yelled and began issuing orders. Hyandai seemed to calm much after the captains had begun to move off to implement the new tactics. She looked at the elven girl who glanced down at her from the high perch of the horse. "Verus?" she asked. "Keep this city safe Undria, I can't do it now," said Hyandai, her voice further deepening. Hyandai nearly fell from the saddle then, her eyes shut and blood ran from one nostril as she fell forward onto the neck of Blackhoof. Two soldiers helped her down and they laid her to rest in a shelter. One of many in the city to house the wounded, elderly, and young. The battle raged for the remainder of the night, and well into the next day. The rangers held the town by the tactic that Hyandai had forwarded. The struck at the Coghlanders in quick, deadly raids, then disappeared among the familiar buildings of their home. Only to reappear a while later elsewhere. To the Coghlanders, the city was suddenly crawling with defenders who could not be caught and who seemed to be playing with them, giving themselves sport with the mercenaries' very lives. These were paid soldiers, not zealots and they soon tired of the quickly diminishing returns this contract was bearing to them. When they withdrew, the minority of Ghantian regulars withdrew with them. Emogen hovered over Revandis, tending to her in a state of near feverishness. She mumbled and occasionally cried out. Finally her golden eyes shot open and she looked up at Emogen's silver. "I cannot speak to you again, beloved," she heard Revandis say, though it was not her voice, "I will retreat now and leave this girl to her life." Then the girl clutched herself to the half-elven woman and kissed her, hard and on the mouth. A passionate kiss of a passionate man. Then she fell back and slept normally. ------- Hyandai moved the rook and looked at the chessboard. "Check and mate," she said. Harlen looked down at it and sighed. "Five moves?" he asked, his voice rising to nearly a whine. "I am sorry, but yes, five moves," she said. "Does she ever lose?" asked Wendy from the table, where she was pouring over books of elven text, trying to decipher it. "Not that I've seen," said Harlen. Hyandai shrugged. "I used to lose regularly to Verus," she said. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2005-09-07 Last Modified: 2005-10-22 / 01:34:48 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------