Chapter 2

Verus awoke with the voice of Centurion Denthius in his ear. "Sir, you asked to be awakened at two hours past dawn," said the younger soldier.

He slid out of bed and stretched, bones popping by the morning light. The younger centurion noted that he bore scars on every portion of his body, and embarrassingly, he also noted that Verus had only one testicle.

A chuckle emerged from the old soldier. "Don't worry son, one works fine, ask my children and grandchildren."

"How sir?" asked Denthius.

Verus chuckled. "On the Mindian Isles, to the blade of a Dark Templar," he said. "Just cut it right off, those swords they use are terribly sharp."

The younger centurion nodded. "I see. I hear they are enchanted, as well."

"Oh, I'm certain they are," agreed Verus. "It sure felt enchanted, let me say."

Denthius chuckled at the flippancy with which Verus relayed what must have been a terribly harrowing experience. "Are the Templars as good as people say?"

"Better," said Verus, "they are probably the singly most deadly warriors in the world."

The younger soldier swallowed. "How did you defeat him then?"

"Who said I did?" asked Verus.

"Well, it is said, that you never lost a battle," said Denthius, smiling.

Verus thought as he pulled and fastened his armored skirt. "Well, I suppose I did beat him, but it was by sheer luck, I believe. After he slashed my left nut off there, his sword hit my horse, and sunk deep into the beast's flesh. It killed him, damn pity too, it was a good horse. Anyway, when the blade cut the beast's heart in two, it fell like, well, a dead horse, and the blade was yanked from the bastard's hand."

"I was upon him like a legionnaire on a whore, blood flying everywhere, mostly mine, but he had no main weapon now. I basically poked and prodded that damn interlocking armor they wear until my short sword found a chink in it and then I poked some more. He finally quit moving."

The centurion laughed. "Is that the truth?" he asked.

"On my wife's grave," said Verus, smiling. "It took me a month to get my men to stop calling me Verus Hangsright."

The old soldier was dressed now and strapped on his short sword. "I have need of gear, Denthius, where is the captured equipment?"

Denthius said, "What there is of it will be in the quartermaster's warehouse. I will take you there."

They were walking across the area before the inn and both stared at the large elven vessel as people were loading stuff onto it and other goods off of it. "You have been warring here for four years, Centurion," said Verus, "how is it there is little captured gear?"

"It has been being shipped off by the Governor's orders, sir," said the Centurion.

They arrived at the quartermaster's warehouse and indeed the pickings were light, but sufficient for Verus' needs. He asked Denthius to go fetch the lady and bring her to the warehouse.

As the young Centurion brought her into the darkened warehouse, she gasped. Standing before her was a Ranger of the Windy Isles, in his green tunic and chain armor. He stood with his bow held low, and his broadsword's hilt gleamed on his hip.

"Verus?" asked the lady. "What are you doing, trying to be killed?"

The old Centurion chuckled. "Quite the opposite," he said, "The only way we can make it to Rondall." He looked down at his clothes. "We are going to blend right in."

She nodded, "I see," she said. "Well, you've not led me astray so far, so I will go along with your idea."

He walked over to a small box, much to the quartermaster's chagrin and picked up a brooch. He clipped it to the neck of his cloak. Suddenly he was speaking flawless elven. "Do you speak elven, milady?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course I do, Verus."

"This gladdens me. You will be my elven 'advisor' for I hear such are used by the rangers," said Verus, smiling at the sound of his voice in elven.

Emogen giggled at the sound of it, his words wrapped to form polite elven speech. "I serve." she said, bowing low, one leg forward and her check lowering to that leg and her hands crossing her chest.

"I hope I am not expected to bow like that," said Verus. "It will make my bones pop like kindling."

She was already wearing a passably elven-style outfit in the short skirt and half-top, but she was further clad out in a long woods cloak of brown and a hyandai and bow. She claimed she had no clue how to use the latter, but he asked her to carry it anyway, for all elves were said to. If she were to try to pass as a Windir half-elf, she would have learned it, as well.

They sat outside the warehouse, attracting many stares from passing legionnaires. She looked sadly at the smallsword. "What troubles you, milady?" asked Verus.

She looked up at him. "This weapon is a family heirloom for some elven clan or another." said Emogen. "I cannot read the name, but the date says that it is eleven hundred years old. She held the pommel out to Verus.

He took it gingerly, examining the finely-wrought scroll work on the pommel and crosspiece, then slid his fingers over the edge of the blade. "Very sharp," said Verus. He held the blade out, and swung it a few times. "It is probably more deadly, even than our short swords. It is fast and nimble, but lacks parrying mass." He flipped it in his hand and held the grip toward Emogen again.

She took it and sheathed it. "I wonder how many of these have been claimed as loot and shipped off by the Governor already?" she asked.

Verus shrugged. "Such is war, though it does seem this governor is rather eager to turn all his booty into liquid assets," he said, "including slaves."

She nodded. "They've already loaded several dozen onto the trimaran," she said, jerking her chin toward the massive ship. "They're naming her for you, you know: Veria Prima."

"I don't know I wish a namesake of mine carrying slaves," said Verus, shaking his head. "I've never approved of the practice."

Emogen smiled up at him as he extended a hand down to her and helped her to her feet. "You're a good man, Verus," she said, and kissed his cheek. "Your wife must have felt very lucky."

The expression on Verus' face was unreadable. "I don't know about that," he said quietly. "She only spent maybe five years in total with me, I was away so much."

"Yet in those five years you had six children," said Lady Emogen. "When you were home, you obviously loved one another."

His stern face broke into a smile. "Well, we did do some good portions of loving, for certain," he said. His eyes were not focusing properly, and Emogen knew he was no longer speaking only to her, nor was he seeing today.

"We leave after lunch, if you have any affairs to settle," said Verus, casting aside his reverie.

She nodded. "I have already done so, well before we took ship."

"Good, then best you rest, we will push hard once we leave this village." Verus walked to another tree nearby and lay himself against it. She saw he was soon asleep. With a smile, she sat next to him, and propped herself against that same tree and closed her eyes.

At some point Emogen dozed off. "Time to wake up," said Verus. She opened her silvern eyes and flicked them upward to regard Verus' cheek at very close range. She was lying upon his shoulder.

Lady Emogen smiled weakly and sat up. "Sorry," she said.

"For?" asked Verus.

"You already told me your position on affection between us," said the lady, straightening her skirt and adjusting her sword. "I will respect your wishes."

He stood up and stretched. "My wishes aren't the matter here, for if I had them, I would be playing chase with one of my younger grandchildren, or showing one of the elders of them how to shoot a bow or cast a hook for fish." He then turned his earnest brown eyes upon her. "As far as my wishes of companionship from a woman, you would exceed all I've ever had of those."

The lady blushed slightly, for she had been complimented before, and with more clever words. But, somehow, she knew Verus meant them, it was said he never lied. "What is it like trying to live up to a legend in yourself?" she asked, trying to turn the subject away from her heart with a well-timed verbal parry.

Verus picked up the elven bow and handed it to her, taking up an Islander bow himself. "I don't try to live up to anything. I simply do what I do, I guess." They began walking toward the gates, Denthius awaited them there, carrying two local-style rucksacks of food.

"God be with you, Lady Emogen and Primus Pilum Verus," said the Centurion, and he saluted the old soldier with his fist over his heart. "Good luck."

Verus nodded. "We'll need it, I'm sure," he said.

At Denthius' command, one gate swung open. Verus and Emogen passed through to salutes from the men upon the battlement and a few quiet words of luck. The soldiers here were hopeful of a resolution of this neverending war, as well, and they hoped soon.

The jungle before them was dense and sinister. He had never been in such an environment, but it seemed like any other woodland, only a bit more so. Great ferns covered the ground, and thick-trunked trees rose to form a tight canopy over their heads. Some of the trees had half their root structure above the ground. Most of all, he noted the smell. It was a rich, earthy smell, full of life, and death. He had never smelled such richness before in the earth and it was appealing to his nose, almost as much as the cinnamon scent he caught from the lady from time to time.

Emogen followed Verus by a few feet, watching him and listening to the jungle about them with wary ears. Even half-elven hearing was more acute than human, and she knew she would hear anything before he. They walked for the better part of two hours before she reached out and touched his arm.

Verus turned with a question on his face. "Voices ahead," she whispered.

They took cover in nearby shrubs and lay silent for long moments before Verus heard the voices, as well. They were Abian. They ducked even lower into the cover. They were now dressed as a ranger and an elven advisor, they would not be treated kindly by their own troops now. Speaking Abian would not help them, as the Windy Islanders, like the Abians were descended from the Syrisians, and spoke a language that was similar excepting a few minor dialect differences. It was easy enough for one to imitate the other.

The cohort passed, talking among themselves about this and that, but obviously not seeing the two earth-tone-clad people only a few yards off the path. No wonder they are having such trouble with the islanders, if they could not even see us, thought Verus. The two slipped from the underbrush and moved north-westward again, toward a river he had seen on the maps which would eventually take them toward the capital, as that city lay upon the river.

Emogen seemed quite happy, and Verus asked her why. "It is in my blood, I suppose, to love the wood, even such jungle as this," she said, gazing about them. "Do you not find it lovely in the least?"

He nodded. "It's very pretty," he said simply, "but it is too much, in my mind, it needs less undergrowth and more grasses."

She nodded soberly. "You would like Windir itself then, Verus, for it is like that," said Emogen.

"Somehow, I doubt I will ever see Windir, milady," said Verus. "This war has seen that I would be most unwelcome."

They came not across another soul that day, and traveled almost until dark had settled upon the rainforest. True to form, as soon as the sun had set, the clouds opened up, as it did most every night, according to Denthius.

The two huddled under a oilcloth canopy and Verus laid out his bedroll, just a blanket really, but waterproofed on one side. Emogen did the same. "I apologize for the lack of gentle accommodation, milady," said Verus, smiling as she twisted and turned on the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position.

She smiled up at him. "I am actually quite used to these conditions," said the lady. "My father used to take me camping often into the wilds. It was the only real time I spent with him, other than when I had angered him and he punished me."

Verus laid beside her, and turned onto his side, his knapsack forming a pillow for him. "What was it like having an elven father?" he asked.

She looked at him. "Very different," she said. "I knew other children's fathers, and they had a totally different set of priorities. Their fathers sought wealth and property, and status. My father looked for knowledge and spiritualism. He became a Oneian, for a while. Until he learned that the Church condoned slavery."

"Not all sects do, you know?" asked Verus. "The Blue Sect, and the Green, for example."

He spoke of the sects that ruled the spiritual lives of the Western Realms to the south of their land of Abia, and of the Windy Islanders sect, the Green. The Abians followed the Silver Sect. As much as politics, the sect that led the spirits of the regions defined them.

"Anyway, he made me study intensely, saying, 'You've not long to learn what an elf needs to know, being half human'." She imitated a stern male's voice as she spoke in what must have been her father's cadence. "Mother always tried to tell him that I was not an elf, and that he should not try to cram fifty years of learning into fifteen. 'Nonesense', he would say, 'no daughter of mine is too stupid to learn anything she needs'."

"Did you learn everything he though you needed?" asked the old soldier.

She nodded. "Yes, to please him, I did," she said. "When mother died, he and I moved to Windir, but it was too late for me. I was too human, and never quite fit in. There were even elves who thought that humans and elves should not intermingle, and their words were most unkind. I soon left, and moved back to Abia, and lived with my mother's family."

"How old are you?" asked Verus.

She gave him a mocking shocked look. "You are to never ask a lady that," she said. "But, since I pride myself on honesty I will answer, for a price."

"What price?" asked Verus.

"A kiss good night," she said.

He smiled in silence a moment. "A bargain, then, I will gladly pay." He leaned toward her and she toward him. Their lips met and pressed together for a long moment. He felt her slender fingers moving over his close-shorn hair and moved his into her golden tresses, feeling the incredible softness of her curls. A long moment passed as they kissed, though finally they parted lips.

"A bargain, indeed," she said. "For I would tell you anything for another."

He smiled. "Just your age for now, milady."

She laid back and looked up at the canopy over their heads and listened to the rain spattering off of it. "I am sixty-eight," she said.

"Sixty-eight," he echoed, "and not even middle age." Verus sighed. "My mind boggles at trying to grasp what that means to one's perceptions."

She laughed. "Oh, I am middle aged," she said. "Most half elven folk only live a bit more than a hundred years."

"ONLY!" he exclaimed, then laughed. "Twice the life of man and you can say only?"

She shrugged. "My father will likely outlive me," explained Emogen, "He says that is the pain of loving a human, to loose your mate and even your children before you pass."

"I heard elves can share their longevity with their lovers," said Verus, "Is is not so?"

"My mother wouldn't have it," said the lady. "When she found out he was feeding her days in their kisses, she became incensed, and demanded he stop, else she would not kiss him anymore."

"It must have hurt to see her age and die," said Verus.

"More than you can know, I think." Tears were falling from her eyes and rolling over smooth skin and into her hair. He felt the moisture of them, as his hand rested beneath her head, cradling it. "But he stayed beside her. Elves never leave their spouses, they will kill themselves first."

"Or their spouse, if it is warranted?" the old soldier asked.

She nodded. "I have heard of such happening, when one turns to madness or wickedness," she said. "But then they often still destroy themselves after the deed is done. There are many lenods to that effect actually." She nuzzled her cheek onto his palm, and then turned her head slightly and kissed it. "You know pain like that, though, don't you?"

He shook his head. "Not truly, no," he said, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheek as they fell. "My wife passed in her sleep with no warning of it happening. She was hale and happy, and we even had made love that night. When I awoke, she was still sleeping, and never opened her eyes."

It was now his turn to shed tears, and a few fell before he pulled them back. "It was a good death, perhaps the only one that truly exists," said Verus. "Soldiers may die honorable, and even glorious deaths, but not usually good ones."

She reached out a slender hand and wiped away his tears now, and smiled at him. "I marvel to see a legend weep, Verus," said Emogen. "I would never have guessed you could."

Verus chuckled then said, "I have cried almost after every battle, milady. I've never been able to divorce the man from the body, and I see the potential lives in each fallen soldier, my own and the enemy's, too."

She leaned forward and kissed him again. "You are a magnificent leader Verus," she said. "If only our Praetor was one such as you." The lady stopped and thought a moment, "But you would never be Praetor, even if asked, would you?"

The old soldier shook his head. "Such is beyond my vision," he explained.

"Pity," she said.

"We should sleep, milady, we have two more days of travel ahead of us before we can even hope to reach Rondall," said Verus.

She nodded. When he tried to pull back his hand, she grabbed his wrist with both her hands. "No, please, leave me this much of you," she said, her voice soft. He left his hand under her head, and they both drifted off to slumber.

Verus was awakened rudely by a foot kicking his booted foot. "Get up and run, they're coming!" a man yelled. He had a Windy Islander accent. Verus sat up and looked toward the man as he ran northward. He heard drums to the south, Abian war drums. There was a legion marching toward them. They clambered up and quickly folded and crammed their bedrolls into their packs. They could hear the marching feet now, and knew that soon they would be seeing the forward phalanx. He grabbed the oilcloth tarp and they ran. It ripped free of the ties that held it to branches and he rolled it up as they fled.

He flashed that they had forgotten their bows, but the lady had both of them in her hands, much to his relief. She handed his to him when his hands were free. The man who had awakened them was ahead and turning to see if they were behind him. He was a tall, slim man, clad in the green of a ranger. As they ran toward him, his face took on a look of alarm. Had he figured out they were not Windy Islanders? In a motion that was almost too fast for Verus to see, the man had raised his bow and knocked an arrow and was aiming it directly for his chest.

Verus shoved Emogen to the side and dove for the ground himself. The arrow whistled over their heads by mere inches as they fell. There was a muffled scream and Verus looked behind himself to see a Abian scout falling, his own bow dropping an arrow to the ground.

They got up and began running again, passing the man with the bow, another arrow knocked. She was breathing hard and he was panting for air. They came around another bend in the path and the ranger, who had been sprinting after them grabbed Verus' arm, yanking him to the side of the path. Verus followed, and Emogen followed him. They ducked under some low shrubs, then the man virtually dove into a hole in the ground.

Verus looked at the hole dubiously only for a moment, before they heard marching feet again, and the drums began to roll in an attack call. He urged Emogen into the hole, then dove in after her.

It was a long crawl down a very narrow passage. Verus was never claustrophobic, but this almost became his first opportunity to gain that particular phobia. Finally, as a bit of panic was beginning to set in, the tunnel opened and he found himself in a cave. It looked natural, but had been worked partially by the hands of man.

The man who had alerted them sat on the floor, looking up at them and laughing. "You two need to find a better trysting place than the path from Pigswillow, sir." he said, then he stood up and dusted the dirt from the tunnel off his clothes.

Verus adopted a smile and tried to imitate the Windy Islander's accent. "We weren't aware that they came this far afield," he said.

"Well, they used to not, but they've been pressing in farther since we pulled all the villagers back," said the ranger, walking over to a barrel in the corner. "We've denied them more slaves, and they have to reach out farther to get them."

In a tone that tried to sound casual, with an edge of hostility toward the Abians, Verus asked, "They raid solely to take slaves?"

The man nodded. "Yes, they razed Wicket's Patch last week, and it's got no tactical use, what else is there, when they take every man, woman, and child captive and drag them off?" The ranger looked at him oddly. "I'm surprised you don't know that, commander," he said, eyeing the badge of rank upon Verus' cloak clasp.

"We have only two days ago come back from Windir," said Emogen, interjecting herself. "He was commanding a training company for a period."

The ranger looked at her. "You're a half elf," he said, "don't see many of you about here. What clan are you of?"

She nodded. "We are rare enough," replied the lady, "and I am of clan Velithar. She put her feet together and put one hand over her breast, her palm touching her chest. I am called Lemovaur." Her head bobbed in a short bow.

"Velithar?" he asked, "Never heard of them." Then he grinned. "Then again, I've never heard of a lot of the different clans." He turned to her, and executed a similar bow, with his hand open upon his breast. "I am Lucas Crusus," he said. The ranger then looked toward Verus, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"I am Critus Tanverus," said Verus, using his full name that few knew.

Crusus laughed. "There used to be an Abian Centurion named Verus, long before the war. I wonder if you were named for him?" he asked.

Verus shrugged. "Maybe, my father was very into the study of military things," he said. In truth 'tan' as a suffix meant 'akin to' and he had been named for an uncle name Verus. It was also often used to mark a child named for someone whom a parent wished him to emulate, where 'tan' would mean 'like'.

"Do you two have some food?" asked Crusus, eyeing their rather heavy looking packs.

Verus nodded and unlimbered his knapsack, and opened it. He drew out a large hunk of salted meat and a chunk of hard tack. "Do you need some?"

The man's eyes said everything Verus needed to know. He was very hungry and he even saw the ranger's tongue poke out and lick at his lip. "Please, have some, we have plenty," he held out the meat and hardtack.