Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (59 page)

“Dismount! Dismount!” he shouted at the first Cynothi he saw bearing a horn.

Fortunately, the provincials were as astounded as his knights had been at the proximity of the approaching legionaries. But the gap to the left between the woods and the right edge of the Valerian line had narrowed considerably, and the threat from the infantry was that much more imminent. The Cynothii reacted precisely as he hoped they would, springing from their horses and rapidly forming themselves into a line. They would be crushed by the heavier armor and greater number of the legionaries, of course, but even if he could save only a few hundred of the little bastards, they would likely prove useful in harrying the Valerians and keeping them penned in their castra until Buteo and the rest of the provincials arrived.

The rider with the horn was still blowing something that the rest of the provincials seemed to find meaningful, as their line had grown to nearly fifty strong. He heard a shout from the Valerian lines, and they suddenly stopped their approach, ready to hurl their pilums.

Dammit, he had left it too long, he realized even as the onager loosed a second time and the rock it threw evoked screams from the Cynothii as two riders that had just ridden up behind the newly forming line were smashed backward, along with their horses, as if swept from the ground by an invisible giant’s fist. They vanished, but their blood spattered the men on either side of them.

It was too late. He saw that now, he couldn’t possibly hope to ride past the long black line of Valerian legionaries, their faces mostly obscured by the cheekguards that dangled from the familiar helms. He’d been thinking like a cavalryman too long and he’d stupidly forgotten that he couldn’t simply ride past hundreds of men carrying pilum and trained to throw them accurately. He’d be lucky if he was transfixed with less than ten of the short throwing spears if he tried to follow his squadrons around the Valerian’s right flank.

But where squadrons and armies couldn’t quickly go, one man alone could make his way. As a centurion shouted a command, several hundred Valerians hurled a black cloud of pilum directly into the face of the assembling provincials. More than a few of the lightly armored men fell, pierced through.

Aulan himself was unscathed, though, as he had already urged his horse back into the forest and was working his way as fast as he dared just inside the forest, safely obscured from the view of the nearest Valerians, ducking his head as small branches whipped impotently across his helm and armored forearms.

Behind him, he could still hear the shouts of centurions and the crash of the onager as Vestremer and his infantry began to learn that it was one thing to fight Amorrans with the numbers on your side, and something else entirely when the advantage ran the other way. Despite his chagrin at losing five centuries worth of potentially useful provincials, he couldn’t help but feel a small burst of patriotic pride as behind him, he heard the sounds of his enemies killing his allies.

MARCUS

The legion’s new primus pilus glared at him impatiently. So too did the draconarius he’d commandeered from Julianus. Julianus himself would no doubt be growling at him now if he were not already occupied with chasing the Severan cavalry that had boldly ridden right across the face of their front lines. Even Trebonius was occasionally glancing over at him with a quizzical expression whenever he took a momentary break from counting the force of Cynothii infantry that was increasing before their eyes.

The enemy had nearly two centuries’ worth dismounted and assembled in two lines about thirty paces in front of Hosidos’s cohort. That cohort hadn’t seen any combat against the goblins, having been held in reserve that day, so Marcus thought the experience of being exposed to the threat of it might serve them well. So far, they were maintaining flawless discipline. Not a single legionary had so much as thrown a pilus beyond the initial two volleys, although the temptation to charge and break the enemy had to be almost overwhelming.

Marcus grinned at Didius, who was practically shaking with his eagerness to come to grips with their outnumbered enemy. He had promoted the primus pilus from Cohort VIII instead of simply permitting the second centurion from Cohort I to replace Honoratus, as was the practice in ordinary circumstances. But these were no ordinary circumstances, and, even with Honoratus and his known associates gone, Marcus could not be sure how far the rot of treason had penetrated the first two centuries. Didius might have significantly less experience then a number of the centurions in the first cohort, but unlike his more senior colleagues, Didius had only ever served in another Valerian legion.

There had been some grumbling amongst the centurion corps concerning his promotion. Being well aware of it, Didius was anticipating the chance to prove himself to his new subordinates.

“Gentlemen, relax,” Marcus said, shaking his head. He could feel the strange weight of the yellow general’s plume bobbing as he did so. “That’s an order. I have no intention of engaging with the Cynothii today if they don’t force me to it.”

The three officers near him looked at each other as they attempted to digest his statement.

Trebonius cleared his throat, then pointed toward the onager, which had found its range and was killing one or two helpless provincials with almost every missile it threw. “Sir, with all due respect, you have not forgotten the squadrons you sent to ambush their column in the forest, have you?”

“I wasn’t referring to the cavalry, Tribune. The ambush was merely to ensure they were not able to withdraw easily once they discovered we were here in force.” He pointed to the Cynothii lines, which were now stretching nearly far enough to reach cohort II on the right side and cohort X on the left. “The context was in reference to the Cynothii who happen to be right in front of us at the moment.”

“What are you waiting for?” Didius asked, almost wailing in his distress. “We can smash them right now!”

“Of course we can. And we can smash them almost as easily once all of them have arrived, dismounted, and taken their positions. But unless I am very much mistaken, their commander will have sufficient wit to surrender to us once he sees his position is untenable. We’ve already bloodied their noses, and that should be enough to demand his attention.”

“I wish we could have at least caught those damned Severans that got past us.” Trebonius said, looking in the direction the enemy cavalry had escaped. “We were so close too. Just a little sooner, and we would have had them.”

“And done what?” Marcus shook his head. “Killed our fellow citizens? I have no interest in the Severan horse today. They can do us no harm.”

“Then why did you order Julianus to pursue them?” Trebonius asked.

“Because I know him. He was going to chase after them whether I ordered him to do so or not. Magnus always told me to never give an order you know will be broken, or fail to give an order you know will be followed. So, I told him to do what he was going to to anyhow.”

“You’re not always going to be able to anticipate insubordination,” Trebonius said.

Marcus smiled coldly. “I’m not always going to be as tolerant of it either. Julianus has earned my trust to an extent that very, very few of my officers ever will. If Hosidos is foolish enough to attack, I’ll have him flogged.”

By Valerian standards, that just about qualified as being soft, Marcus thought wryly. He was a little disappointed in Trebonius, but he wasn’t surprised that the others didn’t understand why they needed Cynothii captives more than they needed Cynothii corpses.

“Is that their commander over there?” the primus pilus asked, pointing to a new arrival, who was riding a grey horse. He appeared to be a man of some importance, as various dismounted men, presumably the equivalent of whatever the provincials called their centurions, approached him. Judging by their gestures and widely swinging arms, they were either informing him that the large mass of armored men poised to overcome them were not friendly or complaining about their abandonment by the Severan cavalry.

“Gaius Trebonius, will you send someone to tell the onager to stand down? I imagine the spotter already has his eyes on that one.”

“At once, sir,” the tribune said, and he turned his horse toward the six message riders who were waiting at the ready about twenty paces behind them.

“You don’t want him dead?” Didius was aggrieved, but Marcus, understanding the centurion’s frustration, decided to overlook it.

“Yes, it would be difficult for him to surrender in that case, would it not?”

Marcus nodded with satisfaction as, after some additional deliberation on the part of the Cynothii, even more exaggerated arm-waving, and some activity on the ground that couldn’t be seen behind the two lines of enemy infantry, a young Cynothi on horseback was handed a spear shaft. When the lad held it up, it could be seen there was a large piece of white fabric attached to it.

“Mirabile dictu, it appears as if someone over there can count,” Trebonius commented, having sent off a rider as instructed. “What are the terms? Unconditional?”

“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Marcus said. “I think it would be more useful to talk to the man. Take Dardanus with you under a herald’s flag and offer him safe passage to a parley. Didius, since you were so eager to get at them before, why don’t you accompany them and act as his surety while we’re hosting him? Take Hosidos too. They have to know we’re not going to sacrifice two of our senior centurions.”

Didius raised a skeptical eyebrow in his direction, causing Trebonius to burst out laughing. “Never fear, primus pilus. If the tribune already finds you tiresome, he’s hardly likely to murder the Cynothi. After all, he only has to wait until Fulgetra arrives to deprive himself of the pleasure of your company.”

The centurion smiled sourly and thumped his chest. “God and Amorr, sir. Hosidos and I will see if those damned provincials have anything worth dicing for.”

“There are worse ways to spend an afternoon, Centurion.” Marcus saluted back then nodded to Trebonius and Dardanus. “He can bring his sword and four men, if he wishes.”

But the Cynothi commander came alone, Marcus was pleased to see, riding alongside Gaius Trebonius and exchanging pleasantries with him as if they were out for a summer evening’s ride, not riding past three thousand legionaries who were still poised to wipe out him and his entire force. If the man was concerned for his safety of the lives of his men, he certainly hid it well. Marcus had seen more defeat on the faces of men who had lost bets on the legion’s fist-fighting champion.

“Trebonius, I’m going to want notes,” he said without taking his eyes off the man.

The Cynothi dismounted with the easy grace of a man born to life in the saddle. He was short and fair, with long light brown hair and a shaggy beard that covered most of a rather nondescript face. Like most Cynothii men, his legs bowed outward at the knees. But even in what could reasonably be considered desperate circumstances, his demeanor appeared to be lighthearted. An enemy, to be sure, but a likable one perhaps. He bowed to Marcus, who nodded his head in polite response as Trebonius and Dardanus both dismounted and took up positions behind Marcus.

“I thank you for the invitation, General,” the Cynothi said. “I imagine it has not escaped your attention that you appear to have us at a distinct disadvantage. I am called Vestremer, son of Nervutachs, Captain of the Royal Infantry, in service to King Ladismas the First.”

“I noticed something of the sort,” Marcus said. “I am Valerius Clericus, son of Valerius Corvus, Tribune of the People and the commander of Legio XVII. And while it may surprise you, the Senate and People of Amorr have long made a practice of requiring that its legionary officers are able to count without using their hands and feet.”

Vestremer grinned. “And here I thought that’s why you Amorrans wear those open-toed sandals. So you’re the Crow’s son, are you? I suppose that takes away a bit of the sting of being outfoxed by a mere stripling. No offense intended, Tribune of the People and commander of Legio XVII.”

“None taken, Captain of the Royal Infantry.” He glanced at the decurion, who had taken an aggressive stance with his hand on his sword hilt. “Stand down, Dardanus. I will be the judge of what I find offensive. Now, Captain, you would appear to have a large quantity of horses for an infantry unit.”

“Walking gets tiresome.”

“And I must confess to be a little curious concerning this king in whose service you claim to be. Is Cynothicus no longer a province of the Amorran Empire?”

“Not since Ladismas beat your consul and was acclaimed king by the nobles and commoners alike. The Cynothii were a free people for centuries before your Empire, and we’re the first to free ourselves from it. But we won’t be the last.”

“A noble dream. You understand that the Senate and People tend to see it a little differently, of course. And they not only object to rebellions, they particularly object to rebels killing our consuls.” Marcus smiled. “Of course, in this one instance, I may be able to find it in my heart to forgive your people the latter, seeing as the Senate saw fit to replace the late Lucius Andronicus Caudinus as consul of the legions with one Sextus Valerius Corvus.”