other thoughts on the subject.”
“Still,” the captain went on, “he got the fort to a defensible state again. He held on to that fort for another four days before they were overrun and had to pull back down the pass. Impressive, regardless of whether it be brilliance or luck. Just to have tried makes him one of the bravest men I’ve known.”
The engineer gave another nod; this time genuine, if given grudgingly.
“So what happened, sir? I’ve not heard of these Clini or whatever they’re called.”
Varro shook his head slightly.
“Not surprised.”
He shuffled into a new position and looked up at the burly engineer, squinting with the sun almost directly in his eyes.
“Cristus had given the Clianii such a mauling they didn’t dare come down out of the pass. Basically, he averted an invasion. He and his men rode back to Vengen and delivered their report to Sabian. The marshal made him a prefect on the spot and gave him command of the Fourth that had just been raised, in order to go back and finish the job.”
“Back to Saravis Fork, sir?”
“Yes. And beyond. He went through the mountains like the wrath of the Gods and wiped the Clianii from the world of men. Killed everything in those mountains that moved, walked and talked.”
The engineer looked momentarily taken aback, a strange look on the brawny giant.
“That’s not right sir.”
“Maybe not,” agreed the captain, “but he got his revenge, and after that the other tribes sued for peace. It was more than a decade before any of them dared cross the mountains again. A bloodthirsty bastard he might have been, but he saved the northern provinces.”
Varro sighed as he settled once more into his cloak.
“War hero, as I said. I suppose the day we’ve saved a province from a barbarian invasion we’ll have the right to criticise Cristus. Until then, he’s our prefect and we do what he tells us.”
The big soldier nodded and let out a gentle sigh.
“It’ll be good to get back to the fort, sir.”
“Oh, yes.”
The engineer cleared his throat. “Do you think…” But as he turned to look at his travelling companion, the captain was already fast asleep.
Chapter Three
“Fort’s up ahead, sir.”
Varro desperately tried to remember where he was before he opened his eyes. The pain medication Scortius had given him must be potent stuff. A lot of hours must have passed since he’d taken the damn powder and his brain still felt as though his was trying to think through a linen sheet.
Rumbling.
Yes, he was on a cart. On the engineering wagon, with the bearded giant. Oh yes, and he was wounded.
“Ow!”
The captain sat up with a sharp motion, causing his head to swim slightly. The field medic, who had joined the wagon shortly after Varro and had stayed aboard ever since, gave him the despairing look that doctors reserve for a difficult patient, and pulled a dressing tighter round his middle.
“Captain, you really have to sit still.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Varro asked.
The medic sighed and directed a level glare at the captain.
“You gave me so much trouble last time I changed the dressing, I thought I’d try again while you were asleep. You wouldn’t have needed all these changes, sir, if you’d not tried riding your horse until the wound was fully sealed.”
With a last tug, he tied off the dressing.
“I’ll not bother making a neat job of it, captain. You’ll be in the camp in five minutes and then you’ll need to go and clean up properly. Be very careful and I need you to go and see doctor Scortius at some point before sunset tonight.”
Varro grumbled something that could have been an agreement and prodded at his side.
As the medic clambered down from the wagon and hurried alongside the column, stuffing his kit back into the medical bag, Varro leaned to one side and saw through the dusty haze the familiar and welcome sight of the great, heavy grey stone walls of the Crow Hill fort and the
“Still,” the captain went on, “he got the fort to a defensible state again. He held on to that fort for another four days before they were overrun and had to pull back down the pass. Impressive, regardless of whether it be brilliance or luck. Just to have tried makes him one of the bravest men I’ve known.”
The engineer gave another nod; this time genuine, if given grudgingly.
“So what happened, sir? I’ve not heard of these Clini or whatever they’re called.”
Varro shook his head slightly.
“Not surprised.”
He shuffled into a new position and looked up at the burly engineer, squinting with the sun almost directly in his eyes.
“Cristus had given the Clianii such a mauling they didn’t dare come down out of the pass. Basically, he averted an invasion. He and his men rode back to Vengen and delivered their report to Sabian. The marshal made him a prefect on the spot and gave him command of the Fourth that had just been raised, in order to go back and finish the job.”
“Back to Saravis Fork, sir?”
“Yes. And beyond. He went through the mountains like the wrath of the Gods and wiped the Clianii from the world of men. Killed everything in those mountains that moved, walked and talked.”
The engineer looked momentarily taken aback, a strange look on the brawny giant.
“That’s not right sir.”
“Maybe not,” agreed the captain, “but he got his revenge, and after that the other tribes sued for peace. It was more than a decade before any of them dared cross the mountains again. A bloodthirsty bastard he might have been, but he saved the northern provinces.”
Varro sighed as he settled once more into his cloak.
“War hero, as I said. I suppose the day we’ve saved a province from a barbarian invasion we’ll have the right to criticise Cristus. Until then, he’s our prefect and we do what he tells us.”
The big soldier nodded and let out a gentle sigh.
“It’ll be good to get back to the fort, sir.”
“Oh, yes.”
The engineer cleared his throat. “Do you think…” But as he turned to look at his travelling companion, the captain was already fast asleep.
Chapter Three
“Fort’s up ahead, sir.”
Varro desperately tried to remember where he was before he opened his eyes. The pain medication Scortius had given him must be potent stuff. A lot of hours must have passed since he’d taken the damn powder and his brain still felt as though his was trying to think through a linen sheet.
Rumbling.
Yes, he was on a cart. On the engineering wagon, with the bearded giant. Oh yes, and he was wounded.
“Ow!”
The captain sat up with a sharp motion, causing his head to swim slightly. The field medic, who had joined the wagon shortly after Varro and had stayed aboard ever since, gave him the despairing look that doctors reserve for a difficult patient, and pulled a dressing tighter round his middle.
“Captain, you really have to sit still.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Varro asked.
The medic sighed and directed a level glare at the captain.
“You gave me so much trouble last time I changed the dressing, I thought I’d try again while you were asleep. You wouldn’t have needed all these changes, sir, if you’d not tried riding your horse until the wound was fully sealed.”
With a last tug, he tied off the dressing.
“I’ll not bother making a neat job of it, captain. You’ll be in the camp in five minutes and then you’ll need to go and clean up properly. Be very careful and I need you to go and see doctor Scortius at some point before sunset tonight.”
Varro grumbled something that could have been an agreement and prodded at his side.
As the medic clambered down from the wagon and hurried alongside the column, stuffing his kit back into the medical bag, Varro leaned to one side and saw through the dusty haze the familiar and welcome sight of the great, heavy grey stone walls of the Crow Hill fort and the
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