Xeator surveyed the soldiers gathered before the dais. Drunk on the tale of the sick centurion, who not only bounced back from an unknown malady but gained momentum against all odds, they cheered for their Lord Commander as he promoted everyone from the suicide cohort with the promise of a clean slate after the war. Next to Lorenzo, Ulpius Attianus gazed upon the crowds with his avuncular smile. Xeator returned a smile when those glaucous eyes fell on him and bowed before he retreated behind the walls of soldiers. In a far-flung corner north of the field kitchen, he met Omari Ahmed in a tent brimming with the stench of grease.
"Underdog!" Disguised in the Renanian livery, the stout Turisian envoy handed him a scroll, his delicate mustache bouncing upon his mouth. "Or should I call you the Primus Pilus now?"
"What's the difference?"
Ahmed cackled. "I like your piss-at-the-world attitude!"
Miming a smile, Xeator unfolded the scroll on a bundle of straws used as a table, a detailed map for the treks tracing through the gorge between their camp and the Dam of Uruk.
"After we cross here," His forefinger coiled, knocking on where the upstream of the Uruk River was drawn. "We'll need fire and liquor to warm up. Can your men find the cave?"
"Relax!" The Turisian clapped him on the back. "They know what they're getting into and rehearsed the hike twice before you came. Your boy, the one who has disguised as Julius' supplier, what's his name? Cyprus? Cicero?" He mocked, chuckling.
"Cyprian Mamecus."
"Cyprian!" Ahmed snapped his fingers. "He had all the booze you need and plenty of wood stored in the cave on the north bank," His knuckles rapped on the drawing of rugged foothills. "Here."
Xeator cast a quizzical glance sidelong at the envoy, whose mustache fluttered with each breath he drew. "Since you aren't coming with us on this quest," he said, returning his gaze to the map. "Lord Lorenzo would require a hedge by withholding the loans. You wouldn't see the rest should anything go south due to the tidings you provide."
The facetious smile frosted on Ahmed's face. "That's not the agreement," he tried with a chuckle, his small eyes narrowing.
"Is it not?" Xeator quirked his brows. He raised no suspicion about the location of the cave or the stocking of booze – which Cyprian had confirmed in his message; he suspected, however, the Turisians' true intent. "I remember clearly the night at Lord Lorenzo's residence in Volos, where I told you that you'd only get the loans when my lord said so, blood brother." He skewed around at the stout man, his grin mirthless.
"Easy there, Underdog. I was only teasing." Ahmed snickered. "You want a hedge? Fine! And congratulations, if I haven't said so already, for taking out the Exonians!" He clapped him on the back again. "I must ask, though, why keep them alive? Why even bother treating their wounded?"
"So long as a man is alive, we can find uses for him. The same cannot be said about a corpse."
"But don't you already have enough mouths to feed? Just so you know, my men can't fight shit on an empty stomach," the Turisian laughed, clapping his own midriff this time. "Will we be treated with the same respect as the rest of you Renanians?"
"By the honor of House Legidus," Xeator replied, his voice measured and affectless. "No man will starve, Renanian or otherwise, so long as he fights well. But don't even try to demand respect. Earn it."
The Turisian jutted out his chin. "I do not doubt your lord's honor, Primus Pilus," he said, padding around the bundle of straws, his hands behind him. "I do, however, have qualms about your logistics. The rations you've left, plus the ones the Exonians brought along, can only hold out for a month. What do you propose to do by then?"
"By then we'll be done fighting." Xeator intoned, rolling up the map. "And much obliged for this." He gave the map a shake. Then, stooping to the other man's ear, he whispered, "Have the men ready by dusk. We're moving tonight."
"Tonight?" Ahmed cocked his head, the small beads of his eyes bouncing up and down as he glimpsed Xeator sideways. "But my men need their rest!"
"From what?" he asked, his tone amused. "If I recall correctly, your sellswords have only toured me along the Aztak by far. Do they need a rest from taking a jaunt? Or would they require palanquins to carry them around? I hate to give the same warning twice but get them ready, or they won't see the rest of their emoluments as you won't see the rest of the loans. I suggest that you get moving, blood brother." Leaving the Turisian with a lopsided grin, he headed out.
Outside, the kitchen crew were buzzing around with cutlery in clangors. Their eyes evaded Xeator when he scanned them. Narrowing his gaze, he snuffed up the cold air; plumes of breath wreathed before they dispersed, wafting afar at where he looked. Folds of jagged rocks rose from all sides, shooting at height, and the forests along the foothill squatted on their haunches. Despite his effort to exclude foreign interests, the Turisian and his mercenaries had thickened the plot.
Now we've gained momentum – he thought – it's time to play dare.
Iacta alea est, Julius.