“Who do you think they are?” How long have you known?
Martius grinned. “I have no idea. Zealots of this mad preacher perhaps. Or maybe just veterans wanting a look at the great general. We are safe, I feel, as long as we have Darcus and the boys with us.” Martius raised a hand and waved at the men by the tree. “Ho! Gentlemen, would you like to join us? I was just discussing idealism and enlightenment with Father Conlan here.”
Both men dropped their heads, turned and walked quickly away.
Conlan glanced around. The men who had been sat on the bench walked briskly away down the path towards the river.
“Oh yes,” said Martius. “I forgot to mention one other thing in my rambling little lecture.”
“What’s that, sir?” Conlan could not see any other watchers.
Martius patted him on the shoulder. “The other thing about life, Father Conlan, is that you have to watch your back. There really are enemies everywhere.” He sighed, then a small smile played across his lips. “Now, why don’t we find out who is so interested in us?” he quickly jogged off up the path in the direction of the first two men.
Conlan stood rooted to the spot. He turned to Darcus, who stood some distance behind with Andiss and Dexus.
Darcus returned his gaze and then glanced towards the general. He shrugged — as if accustomed to this level of spontaneity from his master — and set off in pursuit with the others.
What man purposefully seeks out danger? Conlan’s legs nevertheless carried him after the general. Soldiers should follow orders, after all. Most of the time.
Within a minute, beads of sweat formed on his brow. His weeks of confinement in the Hole had taken a toll on him, but as his legs pumped he found his body responded eagerly to the exertion.
Martius halted at the top of a nearby hill and shielded his eyes with a hand.
Conlan drew up alongside him. The sun sat low and bright.
They peered down on a host of market stalls that spread out over several acres in a large hollow at the edge of the park that bordered the city. The Farisian spice market, hosted weekly on this spot, was famous throughout the Empire.
Darcus, Andiss and Dexus waited at Martius’s left shoulder. They looked tense with anticipation. Darcus rested his hand on the pommel of the short sword scabbarded at his side. His legion tattoos detailed a long and varied career in the forces. In pride of place, on his left bicep, sat the sigil of the Twelfth. Andiss and Dexus bore the same mark, but clearer and fresher, not yet blurred by the marching of the years.
I should have known. He surrounds himself with trusted veterans. Conlan wasn’t sure if it was ironic or simply sad that their legion was no more. It reassured him to have brothers at his side though.
“There!” Martius pointed down into the market. “Look. They are taking the central road, heading straight through…”
Conlan squinted into the distance. Two men dressed in brown walked briskly down the central highway. They ploughed a clear furrow through the milling citizenry. They did not seem to fear pursuit either, as they appeared to make no effort to disguise themselves.
As he watched, others coming in from the east joined the two. Conlan couldn’t be sure but they looked like the men who had been sat on the bench earlier. The second team of observers. A thought and a fear tickled the back of his mind. This was no group of admirers seeking to catch sight of the famous general. They were far too organised. And all the more suspicious for it.
“Sir,” Conlan said more firmly than he had intended. “Perhaps we should withdraw. It doesn’t seem wise to continue the pursuit. There may be others.”
Martius chuckled. His eyes sparkled as Conlan had seen them once before, on the battlefield at Sothlind when the general sat astride his horse and addressed the tattered remnants of the Third after routing the horde. “You may be right, Father Conlan, but I will be damned before I let a mystery like this go unsolved.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I am sure we can deal with anything that might come up.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Darcus?”
“Never been a problem before, sir,” Darcus replied, his baritone voice confident and strong.
Without another word, Martius set off down the shallow slope towards the market.
It wasn’t long before they were caught up in the hubbub of the shoppers and stalls that seemed to fill every conceivable inch of space. Others might have been disoriented, but Martius quickly led them to the central path.
As they neared the farthest edge of the market, which almost touched upon the city itself — the buildings of Adarna rising high over the market stalls — Conlan spotted their quarry.
Four men, dressed in the plain brown homespun of the common man, walked purposefully towards a large white building that perched at the edge of the park. Outside the building, several rows of trestle tables were set on the grass, occupied by a fair crowd of citizens, no doubt enjoying a hard-earned drink after hours of haggling in the market.
A large portion of one whitewashed wall displayed a mural that identified the building: the inn on the green. One of the oldest taverns in the Empire, if the legends were true.
Conlan and his friends had occasionally frequented it in his youth, much to the chagrin of the owner, who had chased them from the bar when he discovered their true age. ‘Come back when ye are men!’ he had scolded as he brandished a broom in their direction, a murderous look upon his face.
Conlan had enlisted not long after and thus never returned. It seemed strangely appropriate that he would come back now as a man. Just doing as I was ordered, like any good soldier would.
Their quarry entered the tavern through the main entrance: a pair of iron bound oak doors that would not have looked out of place in a castle wall.
Martius halted and turned to face Conlan. A small smile played across his lips. “What do you think?”
It could be a trap. The whole place might be full of people that want to kill you. It’s only a matter of time before someone recognises you out here. Conlan resorted to what he knew best — and what Martius might relate to — his military training. “It makes no tactical sense to enter, sir. We don’t know what, or who, awaits us inside. We should have watchers posted on the tavern day and night and try to find out what’s going on here — ”
“Ah, yes, the long game.” Martius nodded his approval. “I like your thinking, Conlan. I often play the long game myself. It tends to be a very reliable strategy.”
Conlan sighed in relief. “I’m glad you agree, sir. I can have some men from the Third posted to — ”
“But…” Martius turned the full force of his attention to the tavern; it was as if he might see through the outer wall and determine what danger might lie inside. “Sometimes the element of surprise can give one an advantage. They do not know that we have followed them, and so we have the advantage.”
Is this a test? Perhaps a rite of passage designed by the general to assess leadership skills? But if it was a test, what path to take? A memory from his days in the academy surfaced. ‘A good leader should know when to follow.’ Weren’t they the words of the great general Martius himself?
Conlan stood to attention. “What are your orders?”
Martius smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They still burned with energy, and possibly ire.
This is not a test.
Martius nodded as if to himself. His decision clearly made. “Follow me, lads.”
The interior of the tavern was light and airier than the legion bars that Conlan had become so accustomed to over the last decade.