***
The sun poked at the dawning horizon. A stripe of bright orange blended into the glaucous sky where clouds stroked in wayward fronds, and the moon faded to the west. Having climbed atop the trek, Xeator saw smoke bloom from the woods on the north bank of the Lesotho River to his left. He turned to his right. Settled on an expansive steppe was Julius' main camp, of many yurts ringing a rectangular battleground for drills. Shades of men rushed in and out from the northwest corner. Blustering gales muffled their shouting of words over the distance.
"The plan is simple," he said, throwing a thumb at the campsite below over his shoulder as he swiveled to the sellswords. "We sneak in in disguise and set their yurts on fire when the time is right. The wind is blowing northeast, meaning we'd only need to start the fire from the northwest corner and leave the rest to Horus. That said," he paused, scanning the men. "Julius is no fool. He knows how to protect his supplies. Heavily guarded, his granary and arsenal are located in the northwest corner. We'll skirt them and burn only the yurts on their flanks."
The men exchanged a doubtful look at one another. Xeator savored their qualms that bore out his suspicion. Ahmed must have ordered them to burn down Julius' supplies. It didn't matter to the Turisians which side won. Once the food was gone, the northern border would be easy to breach. For a moment shorter than a heartbeat, he even entertained the possibility of letting the Turisian succeed. Why should he care after all? If the Turisians invaded, regardless of the result, it'd take a toll on Marcus' reign. Who knows, the northern riders might even claim Marcus' life if they had the wit. Chill mountain mist gagged him, making him wince.
No. He bit hard on his bottom lip. Vengeance he had vowed indeed, but he had set out to restore the dual consulship also. To replenish this country with pride. To reclaim the lost land to make it whole. Not to consign it to ruins!
Smoldering with his hate, his pain, and his patience rubbed raw with rage, he regarded each sellsword. "Remember," he intoned. "Lorenzo wins, you win. No one goes near the granary."
"So what if we do?" A dark figure in the rear grumbled. "Without food, they lose, eh?"
The man's logic was unassailable.
"Are you too far behind to hear what I've just said, my brother?" Xeator narrowed his gaze, his hands clenching, nails clawing at his palms. "The granary is heavily guarded. It'd expose us to much higher risk and consume much more time to get started while all we need is to start a fire!"
The wind shrieked, sweeping up the snow around them that dusted their surcoats.
"Any more objections?" he harrumphed. "Good! Now, let's get it over with."
Steeling himself for the worst, he brought up the rear while they descended. Upon arriving at the campsite, he dismissed the men and slunk towards the main yurt of the Commander General. In the shadow behind the flapping yak skins, he narrowed his gaze, amused by what he saw.
A young woman was giving orders. She brushed her way through the burly soldiers while each wail of the wind threatened to pluck her off the ground. The curls of her auburn hair unfurled like lapping waves, revealing a round forehead and an oval face that would sit well in an open palm. Her hazel eyes gleamed against the campfire, brimming with spunk.
"We've emptied the granary, Lady Ariadne," reported a man, lowering his obsidian eyes as he bowed at her heels. He was lean and tall with an aquiline nose above thin lips and a headful of curls tight and dark. Xeator squinted at his epaulet. Tribune of the east flank. Must he be Sergius Naevius Valerius.
"Good," she nodded. "Now, get the men ready and dispatch the grain to settlements scattered north of the valley. We're running out of time."
Sergius Valerius scowled. "But m'lady, these are all the rations we've left! Can't just give them away to the locals! What're we supposed to do for the winter?"
"Do as I said, or there won't be a winter for us to see!" she snapped, her voice quavering.
"With all due respect, m'lady," Valerius croaked. "I can't allow it. The men have stayed up all night doing your bidding, which is already a mistake as they should have taken their rest. And now you want me to send away the grain? I've sworn to fight and die for General Julius, and for the sake of that oath, I cannot take more orders from you." Taking another bow, he turned on his heel.
Xeator bit his bottom lip while his mind raced.
Gods blight.
A long sigh escaped from his throat.
"Tribune Sergius!" he called, his voice coarse, chafing his throat. "You need to do what the Lady asks!" With his head low, he stepped out of the slanting shadow behind the yak skins.
Sergius Valerius halted his feet. Wheeling himself around, he guffawed. "In the name of which blighted god do I have to take orders from a lowly soldier?"
"You aren't taking orders from me," Xeator dropped to a knee, propping an elbow on his lap. "You're taking the initiative to defend the Renanian borders."
"By scattering more men to give away all our food? Has the wind chipped away your mind?" In a voice ridden with disdain, he swooped at Xeator.
Who shrugged. "You must have laid with the local women."
The choleric man about the same height as Xeator snatched at his throat. Xeator ducked and gripped the man's arm backhanded.
"Let me finish," he snorted, his lips tilting. "While you have acculturated yourself, so have all the soldiers. Let them scatter the rations to where they have laid so no one can burn your stock to the last grain. And even if the entire campsite is caught on fire, the soldiers can still billet with their women and feed on the food provided."
The man regarded Xeator. His thrashing stopped.
Xeator resumed, "The wind in the valley blows northeast year long. General Julius put the granary and arsenal in the northeast corner exactly because it's leeward. Even if the campsite is under siege and attacked by fire, the loss can be reduced to a minimum. However," he paused for a fit of cough, his voice wheezing. "The location needs to be heavily guarded at all times so no one can start a fire from there. With half the men on the frontline, and the rest preparing for battles, the granary and the arsenal are now at their weakest. If the enemy launches a sneak attack now with fire, and all the grain and weapons are lost, can you, my lord, afford to be held accountable?"
Sergius Valerius gawked, yanking away his arm. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm among those sent to set your stock aflame." Raising his head, he met Valerius' eyes with a smile.
Gnashing his teeth, Valerius drew his sword.
"Stop!" Ariadne hurled herself at Valerius, tugging on his arm with all her strength.
"M'lady!" Taken aback, the man tilted while he shook his arm. "What're you doing?"
She didn't reply but swung her head to Xeator kneeling on the ground, her hazel eyes riveted on his. "Why?" she asked.
"I, erm," he stammered, his heart skipping a beat. He dropped his gaze. "Because I'm your mole." A chuckle came to his throat while he brooded over how lies made more sense than truths when juxtaposed with the right contexts.
"Prove it," she ordered, having let go of Valerius' arm.
"I can't."
"So why should we trust you?"
"You shouldn't," Xeator raised both arms. "Hold me as your prisoner until General Julius returns. He knows what I've written and sent." Then, looking past her to Valerius, he continued, "And send men to dispatch the grain, now! The Lady is right. You don't have much time. The infiltrators are already here. I've asked them to leave out the granary, but whether they'll all abide, I can't guarantee."
The sun had risen, dying the sky vermilion from the edges. Hoofbeats rose from the south, turning their heads. Galloping towards them, a soldier vaulted off his mount before it drew up. "Tribune Valerius! Lady Ariadne!" Speaking at a fast clip, he bowed. "We've pursued the enemy to the gorge north to Lesotho, and the General asked for backup!"
"What'd you mean sending backups?" Sergius Valerius glowered. "Didn't you just say you'd already driven Lorenzo to the gorge?"
The poor soldier stuttered. Before he could frame a reply, Ariadne edged in, "They need us to enter from the north to make Lorenzo double back." She swiveled to Xeator, "How many infiltrators?"
"Eleven, including myself," he replied. Musing on her face, he entertained the what if. What if he could stop them from sending out the men? Without the backup, Julius would have to split the men he had, sending at least half a cohort to use the wider road circling the gorge where Ahmed and the rest of the mercenaries took their hiding. This could sabotage everything he had planned. That he couldn't let the Turisian seize control of their land didn't mean he could risk losing the war to Julius.
"Look," he added. "You'll only need a squad of twenty. After the night in the woods, any sign of fire could throw Lorenzo and his men into fright. Smoke them out." Taking a pause, he glimpsed the soldier. "I believe that's what you're told?"
The soldier lowered his eyes, his head bobbing with force; his helm jangled.
Sergius Valerius turned to Ariadne. "I'll see to it. And I'll take him with me as a prisoner for now." He darted a glance at Xeator.
What happened next neither the men expected. Ariadne snatched the dagger from Valerius' belt with a deft spin of the wrist. The hilt sat in the crook of her thumb while she pointed its tip at Xeator. "Send the squat, dispatch the grain, and have the rest to guard the arsenal, you've got plenty on your plate, Trinue," she said while Valerius gawked, flicking his eyes between his belt and her hand. "Unarm this man, tie him to the flagpole outside the arsenal, and leave him to me," she commanded, her tone unequivocal.
"But m'lady," the Tribune groused. "I can't leave you with him! What if he isn't our mole? Lord Augustus' confidant implanted the mole in Lorenzo's men before they left Pethens, and none of us know what he looks like!"
"No," Ariadne replied without taking her eye off him. "But I can verify. I've read the dispatches from the mole. Besides, what could possibly happen? I'm in our territory, protected by our men. Be sure to remind everyone of who we are and what it means to be the Northern Legion. Now, do as I said!"
"Aye!" Valerius rasped; pride flamed in those obsidian eyes. Pulling Xeator up from the ground, he pinioned him to the flagpole standing sentry outside the arsenal.
Xeator watched the other man uncinch his sword and dagger, to which he had grown quite attached over time. He wondered pensively if he would ever see those steels again as Valerius strode away with them.
"Who are you?" Ariadne's voice.
He withdrew his wandering gaze and glimpsed down at the feline blade of Valerius' dagger glinting before his throat.
"Who would have thought, Lady Ariadne would take a personal interest in me," he japed, licking his bottom lip. A metallic tang from remnant blood stung his palate.
The dagger edged in another inch. "Answer the question."
"I have. I'm the mole."
"You lied."
"What makes you say so?"
"So, you don't deny it." Raising a brow, she dared him with a scoff.
"Nor I confirm." Xeator returned a half smile. "Why should I risk my life just to lie in your face, my lady?"
"If you really were the mole, we wouldn't be learning about the infiltrators only now."
"Plans change on the battlefields all the time depending on the circumstances," he intoned, his cadence measured. "You've accompanied General Julius for a few years now. You know I'm telling the truth. When we first arrived in the north, not even Lorenzo knew he would send infiltrators, let alone what he intended with them. So how shall I?" He refrained from sneering at all the truths in his reasoning only to bear out a blatant lie.
"And those infiltrators, are they Midland Legion?"
Xeator shook his head. "Turisian sellswords who know the region better. Lorenzo hired them before the war. I believe I've reported this." He snuck another glimpse of her. "Lorenzo suspected they might have their own agenda, however. So, I volunteered to come with, lest it's true."
"And how," She shuddered, gulping her voice. "How did a mole we've planted as a nobody to report only the basics such as mileage, rations, or morale, become privy to Lorenzo's suspicion and strategy? So, who are you, really? And if you didn't come after our supplies, what are you after?"
Raising his head at the sky, Xeator laughed, his head knocking against the iron pole. "Will you listen to that line of logic? It's a symphony."
"And if you've spent the night hiking with the sellswords," paying his flattery no heed, she went forth. "How did you learn about Julius' attack in the woods? Sure, there was smoke, but it could have been anything. How could you possibly know that Julius had ambushed Lorenzo with fire unless you–" She gasped. Her auburn tresses unfurled, slinging across her oval face. "You're not the mole, but you offered to be tested because you know what has been sent to us. You know because you've planned it all! You've planned out what the mole should observe and send to misinform us. We've already lost, haven't we?" Her voice trailed off. Behind a wisp of her breath, her lips quivered, reminding him of those summer figs halved in the middle, watery and claret.
He steered away his gaze. "You've overestimated me, my lady," he temporized. "General Julius is unassailable."
"And why are you helping us now?" She pressed on. "You've already had us. Deprived of food and arms, we'll be done for. So, why? Who are you? And what is it you want?"
Counting in his head, he looked down and hissed with a regretful sigh, "That." As his voice fell, flames whipped up from the yurt behind the granary, spewing out black clouds of smoke.
She flinched; her eyes widened at the blaze tearing the yak skins. They snapped, making their last yowl while leaving the yurts in gaunt skeletons, which soon came to crumble.
"Fire! Behind the granary!" Aghast soldiers scattered and bawled. "Put it out!"
Xeator mused on the swaying flames caught in her eyes. "Listen, my lady," he said. "So long as the supplies are secured, which you've already managed outstandingly, the fire should be your least concern. There are more than a hundred sellswords at the command of Omari Ahmed, and they could be here at any moment. Flee now while you still can before it's too late!"
She sneered, sweeping her glance sidelong at the defile to the north watched by a sullen battlement. Caravans freighted with grain careened at the long crack splitting the jagged rock. "By the grace of which god do you think I should listen to you?" she asked.
"Not me, no," he crooned, his head tilting. "But you should listen to Julius, and he must have asked you the same."
Her eyes softened at the mention of her husband's name.
Xeator heaved, gnawed by an ineffable yearning unknown to him. Never before had he considered the prospect of him being jealous, or that he, too, coveted a woman not much unlike Ariadne to call his name. And his name, he coughed up a laugh short and bitter. He didn't even get to keep one. One that was really his.
He lowered his gaze.
"I know you're too smart to lie to, so I'll level with you. I've been lying. So what? Who cares why I do what I do so long as it would help you? So, let me help you by believing this: While Lorenzo indeed wants to take down your husband, Ahmed wants to have you killed! Regardless of your relationship with your father, you're the Praetor's daughter by blood! And you're the real leverage Julius has!"
"Why would you care?"
"What I care or don't doesn't matter, my lady. The Turisians see this war as their opportunity to breach our borders! It doesn't matter to Ahmed which side wins! So long as we're fighting, we weaken ourselves! And to keep us fighting, they need to remove Julius' leverage for negotiation. They need you removed!" He wheezed; each breath he drew with more difficulty than the one before.
"And you don't find yourself contradicting?" She didn't budge; her eyes meant to challenge. "You and Lorenzo hired the sellswords to fight us, and now you come to warn me about them?"
"The sellswords were hired for the Pyrrhic finals, and Lorenzo couldn't hire them by himself because it would make him–" Another bout of ruckus scraped off his voice as two other yurts went ablaze nearby. He puffed, his smile a throb of pain. "Look, I'd explain everything had we got the time, but we don't. Let me help you to safety before it's too late." The wind skirled between them, devouring the sound of all the voices before they fell. "And think of your child," he glanced at her stomach. "You're carrying his child, are you?"
"And why would you help me?" answering with another question, she raised Valerius' dagger to his chin. "It really is a simple question."
Behind the eyepatch, the dust of the past rose from pitch-black oblivion, shaping the tall hallway where he last saw Julius. He frowned, smiling wistfully. In the fluttering chiaroscuro against the swaying tongues of flame, he bored into those hazel eyes.
"Consider I owe your husband a favor."