Lucius and his mixed band of Roxolani and Romans waited in a thicket of pine trees as the horde of Goths meandered by their position. Movement caught his eye, and he turned his head. The Roxolani had their bow cases open and were stringing their bows in preparation. He watched admiringly as Marpesia strung her bow gracefully from the back of her mare and slid it back into her wide bow case.
He’d never seen Marpesia in close action with her bow. He’d watched her shoot at target practice and from a distance during the battle, but never next to her in her element on the back of her fierce mare. At the battle of the pass, she’d been too far away to really watch, even if he wasn’t too busy to do more than catch quick glances.
He smiled at Marpesia then turned to Beremund and Evoric. “Are you ready to go?”
Beremund nodded confidently, Evoric less so.
“Alright, lead on,” Lucius ordered.
Beremund and Evoric nudged their ponies forward, working their way through the thick copse into the sparser trees at the edges. Lucius and Marpesia followed along with the rest of their people. They out into a disorderly cluster of riders and made for the end of the line of civilians bringing up the ragged end of the south-bound Gothic horde.
Lucius’s eyes darted everywhere, trying to find any potential dangers before they spotted him and his people. As they got closer, no one seemed interested other than a briefly raised head to see what the noise was before looking down to follow the footsteps of those who’d tamped down the snow before them. Occasionally their eyes would halt momentarily on one of the long, shallow snowdrifts with bits of cloth peeking out. The brief glimpses of their possible future inspired them to pick up their pace for a bit only to descend back into their miserable trudging pace when their malnourished energy flagged. He didn’t hate the Goths, only what their leaders and the monsters he’d dedicated his life to hunting had done to the poor bastards.
If Lucius and his people did their jobs well, the Goths would at least have one problem removed from their lives, leaving them to deal with only the winter and other mortals. Apparently, Beremund didn’t see anyone he knew personally, although he delivered the occasional head nod of acknowledgment as he passed someone who gave him more than just a passing glance. Every now and then, he’d call out a greeting.
The rest of those he led remained stoic, staring ahead. They wanted to look unapproachable—the intimidating Gothic warriors with a purpose. They shouldn’t have worried. The people trailing behind the wagons and warriors were, to a person, dispirited and uninterested in anything other than the promise of warmth in the south, placing one foot in front of the other because they had no other choices. Lucius felt for them. No one deserved to starve and die like this. But better a death taken by the cold than one ripped violently apart by the predatory monsters of the night. At least the snow let their souls pass on to whatever afterlife the Goths believed in.
As they advanced from the rear of the horde toward the middle, Lucius kept his eyes roving. Checking the nearing hills to his right, he gave the signal to slow their pace. The wagons were only a couple hundred yards in front of them. He trusted his ballistae crews, but those kinds of mistakes couldn’t be undone. He forced his jaw open, trying to relieve the tension in the muscles clamping them shut. Around him, the heads of his people kept turning toward the hill before quickly returning to stare forward.
He thought he heard the twang of the twisted ropes unleashing their tension. A dark speck arced from the top of the hill, reaching its apex before succumbing to the grasp of the earth’s grip. A second twang and another speck flying skyward…
The first bolt bashed into the wood of one of the wagons, punching a small hole through its wall. A few seconds later, another wagon sprung a leak. If the holes had been east facing, the morning sun would be trickling in. As it was, the calmer westerly light still inspired furious, fear-filled shrieks. Their range found, the ballistae threw their real payloads into the heavens. As one, Lucius and his comrades watched the specially engineered fire bolts soar through the air. His breath held, Lucius let it out explosively when the first bolt shattered against the top of one of the wagons, spilling its flammable liquid and a small coal. Within a few moments, the fire caught and started to spread.
“Come on…” he muttered.
A second bolt exploded, spraying flames that splattered over several wagons, including the one the first bolt had struck. Flames erupted as more fire bolts filled with pitch and bitumen rose through the cold morning air. His crews were working as fast as possible while safely handling flames and the potent mix of flammable substances.
Lucius quietly slipped his spatha from its scabbard and nudged Moonlight Dancing forward. Marpesia, pushing her mare to match Lucius’s speed, had her bow in her left hand, a handful of arrows in the grip of the same hand. She kept her bow to her side. Around them, swords, axes, and bows were readied as they closed the distance to the wagons.
Shouts Lucius didn’t understand drew his attention to the front of their group. Evoric kicked his horse forward as he shouted, waving his arms in the air, pointing behind him—pointing to the intruders.
“Shit. Evoric is betraying us. Marpesia, do you have a shot?”
“No!”
Beremund kicked his horse after Evoric, raising his sword as he closed the distance. Evoric turned in time to see the blade sweep toward his neck, as Beremund decapitated the traitor. The crowds of civilians stared at the bloodshed, then screamed, fleeing in every direction as Beremund rode toward them yelling, raising his sword ominously to scare them away. Seeing the readied weapons of Lucius and his force, the fleeing civilians parted around them and cleared the way between Lucius and his people and the wagons.
Lucius raised his sword and pointed toward the wagons. His soldiers with melee weapons formed a protective barrier around their riders carrying large satchels. When they reached the first wagon, the nearest rider pulled a small clay pot from the satchel and hurled it against the wagon. Another rider rode by with a lit torch, igniting the dripping pitch and oil.
As they worked their way through the rear wagons, Lucius’s ballistae crews flung more bolts at the front of the line of wagons, torching them and grinding the procession to a halt.
“Lucius! Goths incoming!” Marpesia shouted as she flew by on her golden mare.
“Damn it!” He’d hoped they’d have more time before the Goths reacted.
He halted, letting his men flow around him to continue their torch work. Marpesia let loose with her arrows, reaching forward with her right hand and plucking one by the nock from the handful she held in her left. With one smooth motion, she seated the arrow, drew it back, and let it fly, repeating the motion. When she ran out of arrows, she reached down with her bow hand to grab another handful from her quiver to start over. Where her arrows landed, Goths fell. He watched in awe as she rained death from the back of her golden mare.
Lucius shook his head and charged forward to protect his fire team. The ballistae on the hill fell silent as Lucius and his people moved deeper into the mass of wagons. After they ignited one wagon, the door in the back shattered open as one of the demons busted through, only to start smoking as the rays of the sun kissed his skin. Between the flames or the sun, he chose the sun, running in search of any shade. One of Lucius’s legionnaires rode him down and took his head, letting the sun finish its work.
A horn blasted three short blasts and three long blasts, repeating the call. Lucius swept forward as the fire teams quickly hurled their remaining clay pots at whatever they could, unloading their weight and the danger before joining the rest of their compatriots as they gathered on the west side of the caravan. When Lucius cleared the wagons, a running skirmish greeted him as Marpesia and her archers charged forward, pouring arrows into the first signs of resistance from the Tervingi. As they got closer, they’d spin around and fire more shots as they fled back toward their allies. The Sarmatians who’d been assisting with the fire teams sheathed swords and slung their axes aside, pulling their bows to reinforce Marpesia’s archers.
Lucius spun around on his mare trying to see if any more of his people were tangled in the maze of burning wagons. He didn’t see anyone else. The Roxolani with the ox horn rode up to Lucius, waiting for his order.
“Now!” Lucius yelled.
The Roxolani put the ox horn to his lips and blew a series of long notes. Lucius nudged his horse into a trot as they cleared the last few wagons, urging Moonlight Dancing faster as he led his forces away. Everyone with a bow drifted to the back of the fleeing mob of Romans and Sarmatians to screen their retreat. As the trees grew closer, but still not safely so, Lucius kept his gaze on the hill where his ballistae were positioned. He couldn’t hear the telltale twang of the torsion bars, but he waited to see if his crews would respond after going silent earlier.
He heaved a sigh of relief when two more of the fire bolts soared from behind their hidden snowbanks. Pulling to the side, Lucius turned his mare and stopped as they fell among the leading edge of the pursuing Goths. The bolts exploded, spraying fiery oil in their wake and creating chaos as animals screamed and riders fell. Another set of bolts rose to follow the first. When they landed further back, panic took hold. Lucius knew they had to be running short on fire bolts by now, but his optio was using them to the best of his ability, lobbing them at random into the horde of Goths trying to form up for pursuit.
When the last of Marpesia’s Wolf Clan rode past, Lucius spun his mare and joined them. Taking one last glance over his shoulder, he didn’t see anyone pursuing them. They kept up their gallop as they wound their way through the hills, only slowing when the trees grew too thick. Lucius called a halt when they reached the bottom of the hill where his ballistae were stationed.
He leapt off his horse, tossing the reins to someone, and dashed up the hill. When he reached the top, he was breathing heavily after the mad flight and run up the snowy hill. He slid to a halt at the one of the observation ports.
“How many bolts do you have left?” Lucius called behind him.
“Three, Centurio,” replied the optio.
“Shoot them all wherever you want. Then get down the hill. We need to get lost while we still can.”
“Don’t we want to burn the ballistae?”
“No. Let’s not give away our position exactly. Take a couple axes and bust them up as best you can.”
“Aye, Centurio.” The optio turned to his crews. “You heard the man! Let’s get a move on it unless you’re waiting for a personal invitation from the Tervingi.”
Lucius, moving more carefully on the slick descent, grabbed his water skin and took a deep pull. The Sarmatians were sharing the cache of arrows left behind. Some of his men were readying the ponies the ballistae crews would ride. They unhooked the mule teams from the sled wagons and shifted some baggage to the freed mules. With the weight shared and no wagons, they’d be able to move faster through rougher territory and hopefully lose any tails. After firing off the last three bolts, the crews took axes to the ballistae, cutting ropes and busting up the finer mechanisms that kept the artillery pieces together and made them work. When the blow of axe against wood fell silent, the crews scrambled down the hill, running to their ponies.
Lucius mounted up. “Mount up. Let’s get a move on it.”
At Lucius’s orders, the scouts moved out, sweeping west and deeper into the forests and hills. Lucius fell into the middle of the line riding out. At the end of the line, Marpesia ordered a handful of her Wolf Clan to take off, pulling pine boughs behind them to disguise their trail. Satisfied with the results, she trotted forward to join Lucius.
“It’s not perfect, but if we get some wind to blow around the snow, it’ll be better than a raw trail into the woods.” Marpesia’s finger played over the end of her bow in its case as she rode next to him.
“You were wonderful. I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before.”
“My people shoot just as well as I do; you’re just not trying to flirt with them,” Marpesia replied, smiling.
Lucius laughed and reached over, patting her knee as she rode within reach. “Well, let’s hope you won’t need to put on another display any time soon.”