Corda sat in the cohort’s small and austere command office within the headquarters building. Behind him, the unit’s raven and boar standards and pay chest sat, protected by a thick iron-grille gate to which only three people had a key. There was only one seat in the room, positioned behind a sturdy table commonly used for maps, charts, unit strength reports, rosters, casualty lists and the like. The commanding officer’s chair. Corda would habitually, as the cohort’s second in command, stand slightly behind and to one side of the seated Varro while the other various sergeants and lower non-commissioned officers would stand at attention while briefed. It seemed wrong to be sitting in Varro’s chair. He considered resuming his usual place but quickly put that aside. As temporary commander, he had to be seen to be acting as such, with full authority.
He leaned forward across the table with a sigh. This was not how he had pictured the victorious return from campaign. This morning was going to be difficult for everyone.
A knock at the heavy wooden door was followed a moment later by a click, and the door swung in to admit one of the two fort guard stationed permanently outside this important room.
“Your visitor’s here, sir.”
Corda nodded solemnly. “Show him in.”
The sergeant scratched his full beard and glanced down at the empty desk. It still seemed wrong.
The solid, stocky, youthful figure of Salonius appeared in the doorway, saluted and stepped inside.
“Close the door,” Corda said quietly.
As the portal clicked shut, the two men waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior, lit only by the two small windows high in the outer wall and an oil lamp burning in an alcove opposite.
“You’re Salonius.” A statement; not a question.
“Yes, sir. Formerly second catapult torsion engineer, currently attached to the command guard,” Salonius replied with a clear voice.
Corda’s brow furrowed.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Sir?” Salonius seemed genuinely surprised, Corda noted. Youth with all its innocence.
The sergeant cleared his throat slowly.
“You had been seconded to the command guard for all of an hour when you became involved in a fistfight with three of your fellow guardsmen. This is not the sort of behaviour we expect from the command guard. What do you have to say?”
Salonius straightened, a hard look flattening his features.
“With respect sir, that was a matter of personal principal and was before I had officially reported for guard duty on my first parade.”
“Regardless,” Corda pressed, “I want to know what happened. Who initiated the fight?”
Salonius raised his chin and fixed his eyes on a spot high on the rear wall.
“I forget, sir.”
Corda sighed.
“I’m not on a witch hunt here, lad, but I can’t have the command guard involved in that sort of thing. They are supposed to represent the highest quality of soldiery in the cohort. Tell me something. Just something.”
“Sir, I was promoted from a basic green engineer to one of the most prestigious posts in the cohort. There would have to be some ‘settling in’ if you see what I mean, sergeant.”
“Yes,” Corda growled. “You settled one of them into the medical tent.”
He sighed.
“So you do want to stay in the guard, then?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why?” Corda leaned forward over the table and steepled his fingers.
“Because it’s an honour, sir.”
The sergeant frowned and closed his eyes for a moment.
“The problem is, Salonius, that the other guards don’t like you. They’ll never like you because you came from the engineers, not through the infantry ranks. They will always consider you a young upstart, and the fact that you stood up for yourself could just as easily turn around and make them hate you as make them respect you.”
Salonius nodded. “With all due respect, sir, I’m willing to take the risk.”
“Well I’m not.” Corda sighed and leaned back in the chair. As the young engineer stared at him open-mouthed, he cleared his throat once more.
“Salonius, the captain selected you specifically for a role close to him. There are any number of more qualified men for the post, even if we were short of guards, which we’re not. And while he’s an exceptionally fair and good man, the captain is not soft in the head and he wouldn’t promote someone unfitting without having a good reason. So there seems to me to be an excellent solution presenting itself here.”
“Sir?”
“I am temporarily, but for as long as is necessary, assuming full command of the cohort.”
Salonius’ stiff stance faltered for a moment, and Corda nodded.
“It’s true. I don’t like it any more than you appear to. But for the time being it’s necessary. The captain is currently unable to resume his position, and so it becomes my job. This means that I will now have the command guard assigned to me. In theory I should post a detachment of them to assist and protect the captain, but that’s not going to happen.”
Corda watched the young man with sharp eyes. He may be little more than a boy, but there was something about him. He was short, but strong and brave enough to take on three bigger and more experienced soldiers and now, as he stood in the low light of the headquarters, Corda could see the lad’s mind racing, piecing things together. He smiled.
“Go on, lad…”
“Well sir,” Salonius said quietly, “the captain’s wound isn’t bad enough to keep him away from his post for any length of time, especially while we’re in quarters. And, well, I don’t like to listen to rumour, but…”
“Go on…”
“Well, I heard the captain was taken to the hospital last night. And that the marshal actually visited his house last night. And I was in the quartermaster’s office last night finalising my kit change when you came in asking for a list of all the military salvage from the battlefield.”
“And…” Corda prompted.
“I’m not sure sir, and I apologise for my bluntness, but there’s something going on; something you’re not telling me, and something I think you’re keeping from the rest of the cohort too.”
Corda nodded.
“Sharp. I can see why the captain wanted you in the guard. But the fact remains that I don’t. I don’t want to spend half my time separating you and the other soldiers. And I don’t want you ending up knifed in the latrines one night. But I don’t want you to slide back into the engineers either; I suspect you were being wasted there.”
Salonius nodded. He could see where this was going.
The sergeant sat up straight and unfolded his arms. “I want you to report to the captain’s house. He might want to brief you on the situation straight away, or he might prefer to wait until I get there. I have a few things to do, but I shaln’t be far behind you.”
He rose from the chair and straightened.
“You’ll retain your new rank, pay, uniform and all benefits, but I’m assigning you on detached duty to the captain himself. You know where his house is?”
Salonius shook his head slightly.
“No, sir, but I can find it.”
“Good.” Corda stepped round the table and reached out, grasping the younger man by the shoulder. “Get going and tell the captain that I’ll meet you there when I’ve got the morning briefing out of the way.”
Salonius saluted and, turning, unlatched the door and strode out into the morning sunshine. The captain’s house would be close and easy to find. As he stepped between the guards at the door and out into the street, he noted the sergeant of the command guard, followed by all the senior officers of the cohort, marching along the street toward the cohort office.
Stepping respectfully to one side, he hurried across the main square toward the two senior officer’s houses that lay between him and the cohort’s barrack blocks. A swift glance at the house to his left revealed a tile cemented into the wall next to the door with FC. Fortress command; wrong house. A few steps across the thoroughfare and the tile on the house opposite read IIC; commander of the second cohort. Salonius stepped up to the door and knocked firmly.
The door was opened by the captain’s body servant, Martis. The older man gave Salonius a shrewd once-over and then stepped aside without a word. The young guard took a tentative step inside and glanced around. Captain Varro sat in the main room in his tunic and breeches, cradling a bronze cup in his hands and staring down into the contents, seemingly deep in thought. Stepping stiff backed into the room, Salonius came to attention and cleared his throat.
Varro looked up from his cup and frowned.
“Soldier?”
There was something in his tone, Salonius thought, but couldn’t identify what it was.
“Reporting under orders of sergeant Corda, sir,” he announced.
There was clearly something bothering the captain and Salonius realised he himself had an indescribable itch beneath the skin. Risking breaking his attentive stance, he cast his eyes momentarily about the room and sniffed deeply. The room had a peculiar smell; an old smell that he remembered from the days of his youth all those years ago in that village on the edge of the Northern Woods. A smell of wet forest and disturbed undergrowth had been badly masked with some kind of fragrance. In the old days they’d have burned some herbs over the fire in the centre of the room to remove the smell. Someone… Martis, he suspected, had burned a scented oil throughout the house and then opened the windows to drive the combined thick, cloying scent out on the breeze. It had largely worked, but Salonius knew something Martis didn’t.
He smiled nervously.
Varro grunted and took a sip of his heated drink, a wisp of steam wafting up into the air-chilled room. A faint hint of lemon accompanied the steam, adding to the already complex aroma of the room. The captain leaned back.
“Relax, Salonius. I’m off duty for one thing, and for another I actually hold no active rank at all currently.”
“Respectfully, sir” the young guard replied, remaining straight, “you are my superior officer and I am reporting under the orders of the acting captain.”
Varro smiled. A strange smile that Salonius couldn’t quite work out.
“Very well then. At ease, soldier.” The captain sighed. “And that can be an order if you like.”
Salonius shrugged and settled into a more comfortable stance.
“You seem in an odd mood, if I may say, sir?”
It was impertinent, and he knew it, but something was bothering the captain, and something was bothering him too; the same thing, he was sure. He took a deep breath.
“It may not be possible, sir, but it still happens.”
Varro looked up sharply.
“What?”
“A visit? An encounter, sir?”
Varro carefully placed his cup down on the small table and looked past the guard’s head.
“Martis. Go to the shop and get me some wine.”
The stocky servant nodded silently and, collecting a small bag of coins from a drawer in the cabinet by the door, ducked outside and disappeared out into the morning light, leaving the door to swing shut with a click.
“Tell me what you mean, Salonius. And knock off the inferior officer stuff. This is important…”
Salonius stepped forward and the captain gestured at a seat near the window. The guard placed his helmet on the cabinet and sat carefully, making sure his sword sheath hung neatly to one side of the chair.
“Cernus sir,” the young man replied earnestly. “You spoke briefly of him after the battle. It struck me as strange then, you not being one of the folk, if you pardon the expression sir?”
Varro waved that aside and leaned forward, listening intently.
“Well, sir,” Salonius went on, “it’s almost unheard of for someone outside our people to see Cernus in the flesh, so to speak, sir. I presume you’d seen him before the battle?”
Varro nodded, saying nothing.
“And you saw him again last night, sir?”
“Last night… this morning. When I woke. I thought I was dreaming. But how do you know all this?” the captain queried, his brow furrowing.
Salonius shrugged. “I can smell it. Honestly, sir, I can virtually feel it. I don’t know whether any of your servants or friends here would notice, but I know the signs sir. No amount of spiced oil is going to hide that scent.”
Varro’s frown deepened. “You speak from experience.”
The young man nodded.
“Tell me…” the captain urged.
Salonius squared his shoulders.
“I’ve seen him twice sir. Both times have changed my life. Cernus is a Lord of Portents. To see the stag himself is to be given a portent; a herald of things changing. Something for you will change. I can’t speak for what you saw sir, but my first vision was pretty clear.”
He smiled, wistfully, his eyes glazing slightly with the memory.
“I was hunting with my brothers in the woods near our village. Somehow we got separated and I ended up deep in the undergrowth on my own. I had a bow, you see, sir? I was after game really, or a coney. Whatever I could find. Other than that I just had a long knife on my belt. I stumbled into a clearing just as a bloody great boar burst out of the other edge. I didn’t really have time to react. I dropped the bow and reached for my knife, but I’d have been dead before I’d freed the blade…”
“And?” Varro had moved to the edge of his seat in rapt fascination.
“And the wolf saved me, sir. A big grey wolf came from nowhere and hit the boar in the flank. He tore its throat out as I stood there, then he looked at me just once and settled down to eat his kill. I turned and ran back into the woods and after a dozen steps, there was the white stag. I’d been saved by the wolf, sir. It was clear to me anyway, but I went to see the village healer and he confirmed what it meant. I set off for Vengen the next morning and enlisted to serve the Imperial wolf, sir.”
Varro blinked and sat back.
“I don’t think your God showed me anything; don’t think he told me what to expect. I just remember the feeling; the aura of the place and the thing.”
Salonius nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re not one of our people, sir. You might not have recognised whatever signs you were given, but rest assured there will have been signs.”
“So a visit from Cernus means your life’s going to change?” Varro sat back heavily, with a strange smile on his face. “Well, it certainly did. And now I’ve seen him twice it’s going to change again?”
“Not necessarily, sir.” Salonius steepled his fingers. “A visit from the Stag Lord is rare enough sir. A second visit is not something that happens very often even in legends. A second visit is… it’s sort of a confirmation of destiny, sir. A chance to change things, sir. Something world-shaking.”
The captain sighed.
“Your God has, I think, taken something from me. I think that’s what our first meeting was. But it’s possible that this morning he gave me something in return. I need to tell you the full story, Salonius. But I need you to keep this totally secret at the moment. Not about Cernus; I don’t think there’s much else to say about that, and most any man you speak to in the army will think you a madman if you start telling them you had a one-on-one with a forest God. I think Corda sent you to me for a specific reason and I need to tell you what’s happened over the last twenty four hours.”
The young man nodded hesitantly.
Varro drained his now tepid lemon drink and cleared his throat.
“I’m dying, Salonius.”
He looked across at his young companion and studied his features.
“You don’t seem all that surprised?”
Salonius shook his head slightly.
“I’m sorry about that sir. I really am. But no, I’m not surprised. I knew something was going on and it makes sense, I think. But why and how?”
“Poison, my lad. On the blade that stuck me.”
Varro squared his shoulders.
“The larger picture, and the larger problem too, is that this isn’t some random viciousness on the part of a barbarian. The sword was an imperial blade and the poison is far too expensive and exotic to have fallen into the lap of a random tribesman. This was done by one of our own; a soldier. And that means I can’t trust anyone. Well, hardly anyone.”
He narrowed his eyes and focused on his young companion.
“But you’re new, you see. I can think of no reason why you can’t be trusted. In fact, it may be that your Stag God sent you to me as the only soldier I can trust. Apart from Corda, of course.”
Salonius frowned.
“What do you intend to do, sir?”
“What do you think?” the captain smiled coldly. “I’m going to track down the bastard responsible, and I’m going to make him pay. Very painfully. And very slowly.”
“Good, sir. And Corda has assigned me to you personally so I’m here to help in any way I can,” Salonius nodded in fierce agreement.
‘And now something the stag lord showed me falls into place’ he thought as he clenched his fists.
Varro nodded gratefully.
“Ok then, while we wait for the serg… the captain, I mean… tell me more about Cernus.”
The door opened to Corda’s knock and he was surprised to find Salonius admitting him rather than Martis. Of greater surprise was the faint smell of wine on the young soldier’s breath. He furrowed his brow in disapproval but issued no comment as he strode past and into the room. Catching sight of Varro on the couch, he saluted and then stood at ease.
“Alright. I’ve briefed the cohort on the temporary command change. Can’t say anyone likes it much though, including me.”
The door shut with a click and Salonius returned to the room, stopping momentarily to salute the sergeant before walking over to stand by the window, also at ease.
Varro grunted.
“Can’t say I’m too thrilled about it myself, but if these last few hours have taught me anything, it’s that time is too precious to spend it messing around feeling sorry for myself. Thank you for assigning Salonius. He’ll be of great use.”
Corda nodded.
“Until we have a little more information on how this all occurred, we have to be very careful in whom we place our trust. In fact, captain, I would not take it personally were you to dismiss me for now.”
Varro laughed.
“Corda, we’ve been friends for longer than some of our men have been alive. I know I can trust you. Unfortunately, with you taking on command of the cohort, you’ll be tied to that job, so I doubt we’ll be seeing a lot of you. And really I can’t think of anyone else I’d be willing to trust in the cohort at the moment.” He sighed and sat back. “Or out of the cohort either, for that matter.”
The sergeant took a seat and leaned on his knees.
“So there’s just the three of us. And with me busy and you incapacitated it’s going to be difficult following anything up.”
Varro shook his head.
“Whatever Scortius cooked up for me this time seems to be doing the trick. I’m thinking clearly and I seem to be functioning almost normally. Alright I’m achy and it hurts a bit from time to time, but not enough to stop me. Salonius and I can deal with all this.”
Corda nodded.
“Alright Varro. I went through the quartermaster’s list of all loot accounted for from the battlefield and there’s no sign of a sword anything like your description. Plenty of weapons, but nothing like that.” His eyes slipped sideways to Salonius. “Have you briefed this young man yet?”
Varro nodded.
“Well then” the sergeant continued, “I’ll have the list delivered to him to go through with you. I’m sure I’ve been thorough, but it never hurts to have a second set of eyes go over things. So what’s the next step?”
Varro shifted in his seat.
“That sword’s the key. It’s the only link I’ve got to whoever did this. And it’s a good sword. I only saw it briefly, but I’d bet it’d be worth a year’s pay for your average soldier. And nobody’s going to leave that lying in the mud. Someone brought it back, and that means someone in this fort has that sword.”
Salonius cleared his throat. “We could approach the fortress command captain. He could organise a complete search of the place with his provosts and be through the whole place in a matter of hours.” He frowned. “But that’s if you can trust them, sir?”
Varro shook his head.
“No, but I think there’s another way around this. We’re going to have to inform the prefect and the marshal about the change of command and my removal from duty and, while I don’t know about the prefect, Sabian’s more trustworthy than any other senior officer I’ve ever met. He’s the most senior officer in the Province, he’s trustworthy, and he’s here. If I speak to him, he can authorise the search without going through normal fort channels. And he can do it with his own guard, so no one needs to know what they’re searching for. It’s the only way we’re going to get the jump on whoever’s responsible.”
Corda nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard.
“Very well. I’ll have to get back to the cohort. I don’t know how you found time to perform actual command tasks with all the other random shit bureaucracy involved. I’ve not informed the men of the exact circumstances yet; just that you’re under medical care and unable temporarily to carry out your duty. I think it would be better, given the nature of the situation, to keep as many people out of this as possible, particularly the members of your own cohort.”
“Agreed.” Varro sighed. “Alright, I’m going to have a bite to eat and then Salonius and I will go to headquarters and get things underway.”
Corda nodded and, saluting hesitantly, turned on his heel and left the building, the door swinging quietly closed behind him.
Salonius straightened.
“Martis is out getting wine sir. Shall I see if I can get you something to eat?”
Varro smiled.
“Don’t worry about it lad. He’s already left cold meats, bread and cheese out in the other room. If you could just dash through and get it, there’s plenty for both of us.”
The two men were seated quietly around the small table munching on hard northern cheeses, lean cuts of pork and bread still warm and freshly baked when the door swung open with a crash.
Startled, Varro dropped a slice of cheese and Salonius leapt to his feet, his hand going immediately for the hilt of the sword at his side before he realised who the lone figure in the doorway was.
Catilina stormed into the room, the door swinging closed behind her. She had an air of haughty anger, somehow heightened by the aroma of eastern oils that followed her, adding to the heady scent already pervading the room. Varro stood, wiping his hands to remove the crumbs.
The marshal’s daughter, pale and elegant with fire in her eyes pointed an accusing finger at the captain.
“You!”
“What?” Varro spread his hands out in a supplicant gesture.
“How could you not tell me?” she shrieked at him.
“Catilina, calm down for Gods’ sake. You’ll burst a blood vessel.”
The lady’s arm fell back down beside her and she placed her hands on her hips, taking up a defiant stance.
“You get a life-threatening injury and I have to hear it through the bureaucracy?” her voice notched up another octave and her eyes smouldered as she glared at the captain.
“You’ve heard?” Varro frowned.
“Your doctor gave the prefect the post-battle casualty reports. My father and I were there at the time. What does he mean ‘fatality’? You’d better explain this, Varro!”
The captain sighed deeply and gestured to the empty seat to one side.
“I will Catilina, but sit down and calm down.”
He turned to Salonius. “I hadn’t thought about the casualty reports. Obviously he hasn’t released full details then.”
“No sir,” the young soldier agreed, “but surely he’s not reported you as a fatality.”
Varro grumbled.
“It’ll be ‘expected fatality’. Those of us who were wounded and aren’t expected to pull through.”
Catilina, still standing with her hands on her hips, growled at him.
“He’s not reckoned with your tenacity, Varro. You’re always getting wounded, but it doesn’t take you long to heal” she grumbled at him and then stopped and frowned.
“It’s not the wound, is it? I hadn’t thought of that. What’s happened, then?”
Varro gestured at the seat again.
“Catilina, it’s not good. And I can’t have the details going round the fort like a brush fire, so I need you to keep this very much to yourself at the moment.”
“What?” she barked impatiently.
Varro sighed again and sat back heavily.
“I was stuck with a poisoned blade during the battle.”
Finally, Catilina took the seat she had been proffered and stared at the captain.
“Tell me, Varro.”
The captain tapped his fingers idly on his knee as he weighed her mood. There was no denying Catilina was an intelligent and resourceful woman, yet her fiery temper sometimes overwhelmed her sense of priority. She would need to be very objective about all this unless the news was to be leaked around the army.
“Catilina, I’m dying. There’s no cure and we can’t even locate the sword that was used. Scortius is giving me medication to keep me up and about and largely out of pain, but there’s nothing he can do in the long run.”
The haughty young woman pinched the bridge of her nose and turned to face the window.
“Is the man who did this still among the prisoners?”
“No.”
Varro caught her eyes and noticed them beginning to well up. She became aware of his gaze and blinked back the emotion, her face hardening.
“You killed him then?”
Varro shot a quick glance at Salonius whose expression remained unreadable.
“Not exactly.” He sighed. “I killed the barbarian who wielded the sword…”
“Yes?”
“But it’s the man who gave him the poisoned blade and marked me out that I want to find.”
“You mean this was deliberately targeted at you?” She blinked again, this time in surprise.
“It has to have been. The man came looking for me on the battlefield and he had an imperial blade; a very expensive one. Someone from within this fort has had me poisoned. I’m going to die, but I’m going to find out who did this first and why. And I’m going to make them suffer. But you see that’s why I can’t let you go out and tell people about this. If word gets out that I’m looking into this the culprit will go to ground and I’ll never find him.”
Catilina was still staring at him, a horrified look on her face and her mouth hanging open.
“Varro, you can’t just die?”
“I’ve no choice, Catilina,” Varro smiled weakly. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“There has to be!” she yelled at him.
“There has to be something we can do. Scortius has missed something.”
Varro shook his head sadly. “Scortius is a very thorough man, Catilina. You know that. And he’s done everything that can be done. I wish you hadn’t come with your father. I’d have spared you this if I could.”
“I’ll just step out, sir” Salonius said quietly, turning and making for the door.
“Stay here, Salonius.” Varro shook his head again. “We’re about done. I want you to escort Catilina back to her quarters. I’m fairly sure the marshal will be here soon to see me. And I need to organise a few things with him.” He turned to the young woman, who was no longer holding her emotion in check, a single tear snaking down her cheek. “And Catilina: this is going to be hard enough for your father and I without you here.”
A hard look impressed itself on her face. Varro sat back slightly. He’d known Catilina long enough to know that look.
“Catilina…”
“No.”
She sat back in the seat and folded her arms defiantly.
“Catilina…”
“You can say what you like Varro, but I’m staying. You need people you can trust around you right now. That’s me and father and you know that. We need to work out what we’re doing next, and preferably before father gets here. He’s going to want to do everything by the book and that’s clearly not going to work in this case. You’re going to need me to persuade him to our way of thinking. No one else can do that. You know that.”
“Alright,” the captain replied with a resigned nod. “Salonius, sit down and let’s work out what we need to do.”
The young man stepped away from the window toward the chair and, as he did, there was a heavy knock at the door. He turned to the captain and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Varro nodded at him.
“Best get it. The marshal wasted no time, eh?”
Salonius walked across to the door and opened it, the morning breeze cutting its way into the heady, spiced atmosphere of the front room. He stepped back, startled momentarily. In the street outside the door stood three of the fort provosts, the army’s police unit, their black and white striped crests flicking around in the wind and their black cloaks snapping back and forth.
“Show me to captain Varro.”
The provost sergeant stepped to the threshold while his two companions took up positions on guard to either side of the door. Blinking in surprise, Salonius stepped back, allowing the soldier into the room.
Varro and Catilina looked up in surprise as the provost sergeant stepped into the room and came smartly to attention.
“Sir.”
Varro raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, sergeant?”
“I would be obliged if you would accompany me outside the fort, sir.”
Varro’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
The provost reached into the recesses of his cloak and whipped out a parcel. A leather wallet bound with a thong, the corner of a piece of paper poking out at the edge. He reached out and proffered the object to the captain. Varro frowned.
“What is this?”
Slowly, the sergeant turned the parcel over. In a neat script, someone had simply inscribed the front ‘Varro IV–II’. Varro reached out to grasp it.
“Provosts delivering letters now?”
The sergeant’s face remained straight and unreadable as he withdrew his hand, the parcel remaining out of Varro’s reach.
“Hardly, captain. This was found on the body of a soldier about a mile from the fort. The man has been attacked, sir. Brutally.”