Lorenzo Legidus had learned long ago that the north was tough.
He knew nothing about toughness.
Shivering in his tent by a brazier, he realized it now. Behind him, the relentless wind shrieked, slashing between the heavy walls of yak skin pulled over holds. He felt the chill creeping up through layers of leather, sinking in his bones, freezing his marrow to grits like pellets of hails.
"Drink this, my lord," said Xeator, handing over a wineskin.
Lorenzo nodded as he took the skin. A flush of sweet sourness brought back a brief taste of the south where life breathed freely, and the sun doled out warmth with largess. Then, as it burned off into his stomach, the heat faded, leaving nothing but a bitter aftertaste. He glimpsed Xeator, ruminating on what he had said moments ago. While his words certainly rang true, his plan was unpleasant to execute. Lorenzo shuddered at the thought of sitting among the lowly soldiers in the wafts of their stench and gobbling up puls while it froze to a dough. He quaffed more.
"Let's get it over with," dapping his lips with the heel of his thumb, he rose to his feet.
Xeator loped to the front and lifted the wall flap for him, heralding a restless night where campfires writhed in the wuthering dark like the devils' dance. A short distance behind the glade rose craggy foothills, and thick forests winding the heels of jagged snow-capped spires. Roads thinned into narrow strands of precarious pathways that harrowed along the rocky chasms, home to the rumbling upstream of Aztak River too dangerous for bridges. Lorenzo sighed, his breath rising in white wisps. He looked to the snow-mantled spires thrown into relief under the wheel of stars. He had never been much of a fan of paintings. But if he could return home in one piece, he swore he'd appreciate a lot more the still images of granite and sandstones.
He scanned the soldiers. Some were Praetor's guards, others peasants, and slaves. They made a good number. But Lorenzo knew that compared to Julius' legion of iron will and discipline, his men would be useless when the horns of battle blared at the break of red dawn. There would be no winning unless he fought smarter. He stopped by a campfire and padded a soldier on the pauldron.
"Scoot a little, will ya, boy?" he harrumphed, impressed with the feigned easiness that laced in his voice. "Any more of that delicious puls you've got left?"
"Fuck off!" The soldier shook off Lorenzo's hand. Then, dumping whatever was left in the wooden bowl down his gullet, he leaned forward and belched, with an elbow propping against his lap. His brows tilted, noticing how others were gawking at the space behind him. "What're you all looking at?" He bellowed, his face an impatient frown. But as he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened. The empty bowl in his hand rolled past the fire while he scrambled to his feet.
"Lor-lord commander," he stuttered, saluting Lorenzo.
"Call me Lorenzo!" Lorenzo beckoned with a hand for the man to sit. Then, sauntering over to the bubbling cauldron, he scooped more of that puls for each other soldier circling the fire and saved himself for the last.
Looking at the slop in his bowl, he stifled a wince. How he abhorred those fava beans! He grinned, smacking his parched lips. "You know what's the best ingredient, boys? Hunger! The three-day march has just made this the best meal I've had in years!"
The soldiers looked at one another, their smiles gauche, and the air couldn't be more awkward.
Lorenzo cringed at his own words. Sweat prickled his back despite the chill. He glanced around for Moon Xeator. But the blond man was nowhere to be found. He returned his eyes to the puls, brooding over which was more insufferable, the men's stench or their silence.
Between guts of shrieking wind rose a man's sudden cry for help. Xeator tumbled back into sight. "Come quick, my lord!" he let rip, imploring with the one eye behind the wispy shade of his ash blond locks. "Man down! Suspected of some terrible infection that could be contagious, the healer said!"
Lorenzo had no clue what was in store for him but grasped the chance and leaped to his feet. He followed Xeator through the winding passage between tents and found a sturdy man with plaited hair convulsing on the ground. His tunic was torn, his chest bare. On the head of his shoulder and down on his waist, two bulging welts glistened in red.
"Suck them," Xeator whispered to his ear before dropping to his knees. "Hang on, mate!" he cried, holding the man up against his chest. "Lord Commander is here to see you!"
Lorenzo turned to the healer. "What in the names of gods is wrong with this lad?"
"The ancient evil of the mountains is upon us, m'lord," the healer whimpered, shaking his gray head while he placed a liver-spotted hand on the fallen man's midriff. "This is the first, and the second will come. Soon, this shall be the end for us all!"
Lorenzo shot his glance back to Xeator. With the eyepatch, the blond man looked inanimate, like a carving of stone crouching in the river of time. Lorenzo gulped, balling his fists. Gods blight! He pushed the healer aside as he, too, scooched down on bent knees. Sucking on the sick man's shoulder, he winced. It tasted almost like the puls he had scarfed down, with a mixture of bitter-sweet sourness. He jerked back his head and spat at the feet of soldiers rounding them. One after another, he flattened the swelling, leaving only scratches of red, then clambered to his feet. He thumped his chest with a fist.
"Whatever evil that dwells in these mountains," he whirled, proclaiming to the men at large. "They stand no chance against us! My brothers! My sons! The true men of Renania! I know the night is dark, and we can't see much ahead! But we will march on! Not because there is a road, but there is a road because we march on! This man shall heal as we shall win! The morrow shall shine upon us! Upon the enlightened, who stand up and say the solemn no! Who refuse to suffer alone but unite as one! My brothers! My sons! Tonight, we shall unite! And in our union, we shall claim glory on our land! For our land! Are you with me?"
The resounding chant of soldiers shook the mountains under the winking stars.