The Nine Shadows: Chapter Four

By Christopher Mitchell

Four

Marcus worried.

It was his nature to protect those around him; he’d been that way since he was a boy. He worried now, watching Peck toss stones as they walked northward, the boy keeping his mind occupied as the drudgery of marching dug itself into the marrow of his mind. Marcus couldn’t help but smile as he reminisced about his own boredom on campaign.

“I remember another young man,” Tiberius cut into Marcus’ thoughts. “Who used to pick fights on the way to campaign to curb his boredom.”

Marcus huffed, remembering the situation. “I did not pick a fight, Tiberius, and you know it. Scalanthes kept stepping on the heels of my caligae, and the hobnails tore through the leather.”

“He had to see the surgeons, Marcus.” Tiberius chuckled.

“And so did I when one of his stupid hobnails ripped into my calf!” Marcu’s face was turning that dangerous shade of red. Nothing good came from that color.

Tiberius held his hands up disarmingly. “Alright, alright, cool your anger, my shield.”  He laughed at Marcus’ glare, then felt his horse halt in place. Peck had stopped his march and now stood glowering at Tiberius. He laughed louder. “Looks like your temper has roused the young one’s ire, my friend. Do you think he wishes for another sparring session?”

Marcus calmed himself, then called out to Peck. “Onward, boy. We do not stop until nightfall.” Already, the sun had hit the midday mark and beyond. Marcus was unsure how far they had left to travel; the map they carried harbored little information about this wild territory other than the road they now traversed and vague approximations of surrounding terrain features.

Peck dropped his stones. “What does Dominus say?”

Tiberius scoffed. “Awfully protective of you, isn’t he?”

Marcus tried not to let a swell of pride hit his throat. “Dominus jests of our youth, nothing more, Peck.” He adjusted himself in his saddle. “I would also remind you that it’s not your place to question the conversations of superiors.”

The boy’s scowl could have melted glass. “He’s not my superior.”

Marcus was out of his stirrups before Tiberius could stop him. He stalked toward the boy, stopped, and slapped Peck across the cheek with his backhand. It was softer than what a recruit would have received in other pretenses, but it was enough to knock the young man to the ground. He let the boy wallow there for a moment, holding the side of his face, before Marcus held his arm out to help him up. Peck stared at it, eyes no longer hateful, and reached out. Marcus grasped the hand and pulled him up, leaning down to come within inches of Peck’s face.

“I can tolerate some rebellion at my expense; it is expected from a young man your age.” He put grating anger in his timbre, quickly catching Peck’s attention. “But I will not tolerate your disillusionment that Tiberius is anything other than an honorable man. The vagrants you lived alongside may have mistreated you, but you will find no kinder master than the one behind us. He has no slaves, only members of his house who work hard for him. He has no enemies, only men who misunderstand his purpose. He has been my friend longer than I care to remember, and you will show him the same respect that I show you. Have I made myself clear?”

Peck nodded with wide eyes, and Marcus released him. The boy raised his hand to his cheek, rubbing the now-red imprint of Marcus’s hand. He sullenly turned back to continue guiding them on their trek north.

Marcus felt a tinge of guilt but knew that it had to be done. Dissension in the ranks was a plague that killed even the most stalwart soldier and had to be expunged quickly. He would make up for it later. Somehow.

Tiberius wore a tight-lipped, reproachful look. “I thank you, Marcus, but the boy is right. He is not of my house, nor do I wish to take on a steward this late in life; that’s what I have you for.” His eyes twinkled as Marcus remounted Sceppio. The horse had been grazing on the sparse foliage by the roadside.

Marcus patted the horse’s neck, and it raised its head to resume its idle trot forward. “I did not do it for you, Dominus; I did it for him.” He awaited some jest from his friend, but none came, so he continued. “He will endure much as he grows; he must be ready to meet it when the time comes.”

Tiberius raised an eyebrow and huffed. “As you were when your time came?”

Marcus’ eyes snapped to Tiberius, who wore a wide grin at the memory. Marcus glared. “That was different.”

Tiberius feigned relief. “Oh, that’s good. For a moment, I thought you soiling yourself and running from battle was—”

“I was twelve, Tiberius!” Marcus would never live it down.

“You were the height I am now, Marcus!” Tiberius laughed.

“In any case.” Marcus looked down and held a hand up. “He must learn to respect those who lead him. You know as well as I that a man ungovernable breaks battle lines, creates chaos in the ranks…” he met Tiberius’ eyes. “…gets good men killed, by the thousands.”

Tiberius’ mirth faded, and he patted his stallion’s neck. “So many good men, Marcus. Men, horses…”

“And we miss them—all of them, Dominus… that’s why I must press the boy, otherwise I cannot fully focus on our task at hand.”

“You speak as if he’s joining our ranks, my friend.” Tiberius would not meet Marcus’ eyes.

Marcus shifted his gaze from his old friend to the spanning horizon. “I only speak as one who does not wish to see any more young men fall to the swords of the old.”

Tiberius sighed, looking out at the boy. “Nor I, Marcus… nor I.”

They travelled in silence, letting the countryside crawl by. The sun was hidden behind grey clouds again, so the darkening sky came suddenly.

Without warning.

Both men felt a prickle at the back of their necks. Eyes were upon them, and they could sense it like the early signs of a thunderstorm.

“Boy!” Marcus felt Sceppio halt under his fee, and Peck turned quickly, sniffing at the air. Marcus did the same, smelling death on the air hot and thick, and he felt as if he were back under the pile of corpses in Adrianople once again.

Peck’s eyes grew wide. “We must get from the road! She comes!”

“Who comes?” Tiberius had drawn his sword. The horses moved testily underneath them.

Marcus could feel Sceppio shaking— an unsettling sign in a battle-proven warhorse. “Listen to the boy, Spear! We must move, now!”

Tiberius moved at the command, never one to question Marcus’ instinct. They followed Peck to a nearby depression.

Marcus realized they were in an old Roman trench now overgrown with vegetation. Wrist-thick vines consumed a barricade in the old divot they had not seen from the road. They dismounted the horses and hobbled them quickly, then scurried to the side of the small slant where Peck lay on his belly, peering over the edge and whimpering.

The boy pointed back toward the road. “She comes.”

Marcus followed Peck’s finger to a dark spot in the distance, where black clouds moved in quickly as something travelled beneath them.

Whatever it was rode in a chariot, though the cart itself was not pulled by horses. Wolves, perhaps? But no, wolves were not red. In fact, nothing on this earth was that shade of red. It was the color of dried blood, yet it wasn’t. The fell beasts moved quietly, making no sound. He noticed the one at the forefront of the feral column loping on all four legs, then up on two for a moment, and finally back down to four.

Tiberius nudged Marcus. “Look!” He was pointing to the sky, where the black clouds roiled and moved…

No, not clouds.

“Are those crows?” Marcus narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on them.

 “The Maraughin… she comes!” Peck rolled onto his back, then slid down the hill and curled into a ball. The horses screamed as lightning descended from the skies above, exploding around them in sparks, lighting the dry grass around them on fire and felling nearby trees. It was louder than any bombardment he’d ever witnessed, even as he recalled the sounds of boulders tumbling from the sky, emperor Valens ignoring the orders of better men, sending his own missiles into the fray of a battle that cost Marcus more friends than he—

I can taste your fear, Legionnaire… enforcer of old ways… harbinger of death.

“Do you hear it, Tiberius?” Marcus looked around frantically, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

“Hear what, Marcus? What do you hear!”

He knows not what you know, kindred spirit. He does not lust for death as you do.

“Who are you?” Marcus yelled to the air at large, barely heard over the continuing tempest overhead.

“Marcus!” Tiberius laid a hand on his shoulder.

Everything stopped. The chaos above, the darkness… all extinguished in a blink. Marcus breathed heavily, the ringing in his ears interrupting his ability to ground himself. He dropped to his knees and grabbed at tufts of grass, to feel something, anything, to do his best to—

We will meet soon, young shield… Enjoy your remaining days with the boy, he is not long for this world…

The earth came up to meet Marcus, and everything went black.

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER OF “THE NINE SHADOWS“