Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Chapter Two

   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.

   Crusus didn't need to be told twice, few soldiers did.  He took the food
and sat down immediately and began to eat as if famished.  "It's been five
days since I've had real food, other than nuts and berries," he explained.
"With the Abians burning the crops and driving those who they don't take as
slaves from their homes, I'm amazed anyone's eating." He eyed the full
knapsacks they both carried.

   They all sat and ate, drinking water from the barrel in the corner. 
Verus walked Emogen over to the far corner as Crusus ate.  "What is this
place?" he whispered.

   She shrugged.  "I've never heard of such before, I suppose it's a
bolt-hole, put here for just what we are doing."

   He nodded.  "I thought as much, I cannot ask him about it, for I guess I
should know."

   Lady Emogen smiled.  "It seems you have rank no matter the army you
choose," she said, eyeing his silver pendant.

   The old soldier winced, "I can see that, I had hoped it was a junior
command rank, I should have asked about it," he said, looking down at the
pendant unhappily.

   "We could take his," she offered, nodding toward the ranger.

   "No," said Verus, "I'll not hurt or kill a man for a bauble to further a
disguise.  If we come across a dead man, perhaps, but I'll not murder for
it."

   "Plotting my untimely demise?" asked Crusus, having finished off the
salted meat and hard tack.  He laughed at their odd expressions.  "Just
kidding, hell, you two are pretty shaken up.  Been away from the front a
long while, eh?"

   "It has been a while," confirmed Verus.

   The ranger put his head to the wall of the cave and listened.  "I think
they've passed," he said.  "Give them another half hour and they'll be well
away, then we can sneak past and get ahead of them."

   "Get ahead of them?" asked Emogen.  "Why would we want to do that?"

   Crusus blinked a couple of timed, his blue eyes dark in the candle
light. "To help defend Rennik, of course," he said.  "That's where they're
going, to sack Rennik."

   Verus nodded.  "Its poorly defended?"

   The ranger laughed.  "They really must leave training cadre out of the
news," he said, "Rennik is our BEST defended town for miles.  We're hoping
to hold stop their incursions there." He smiled brightly.  "And I'll be
damned if I will miss the Abians finally getting their backsides served on
a platter."

   Verus and Emogen looked at one another then back at the Ranger.  "I see,
well, then we truly woudln't want to miss that, would we?" said Verus. 
Imogen nodded enthusiastically.

   A while later, they emerged from the `rabbit hole' and moved east a mile
or two, then north again.  "We'll work around them easily enough," said
Crusus, "they move slow, those Abians, with all their formations and
marching."

   Verus chuckled at that, nodding.  "They do at that," he agreed.

   It was a walk of about five hours, moving at a pretty good speed, before
they sighted the town of Rennik.  Verus was appalled.  The defenses were
shoddy at best, suicidal at worst.

   As the three of them walked into town, people came out of the
half-ruined houses and haphazardly thrown-up tents to greet them.  Another
ranger came out of one tent, wearing a bronze-colored pendant.  He saluted
Verus, in the familiar fist over the heart salute, though a head bow was
added, like Emogen had done.

   "It is a relief to have one of the High Command here to see to it the
situation is in hand, sir," said the officer.

   Verus blinked a moment, then realized he had just been given command. 
His first thought was to order a general retreat.  Then he looked about. 
The emaciated state of many of the civilians, and some of the soldiery told
him that many would not survive a forced march out of the town.  He sighed
and asked for a place to speak with his `advisor' in private.

   The officer vacated his tent with no fuss, leaving Verus and Emogen
alone.  "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he asked after the offer had
gone.

   She shrugged.  "You could simply leave," she said.

   "And leave these people to the slaughter that will happen in about four
hours?" said Verus.  "Not to mention a tale of a commander who showed up
and fled at the last minute, someone who needs to be watched for?  That's
all I need to commit treason on a nation I am not even part of!"

   Lady Emogen looked at him levelly.  "You could lead them, then," she
said.

   "And commit treason on the empire?" said Verus.

   "Verus, look around!" she said, her voice rising.  "This is no war of
reunification, as the Praetor's speeches say, it is a war of acquisition.
They are taking slaves as they go and stealing everything of worth not
secured to the ground." She was crying.  "They're killing anyone who they
think might be a problem, and sending the rest to slave as whores,
gladiators, or miners."

   Verus' expression grew peculiar.  "You are on their side," he said
quietly.  "Tell me truthfully, do you wish the islanders victory in this?"

   "I do!" she said, narrowing her eyes.  "But barring that, I will settle
for the war to stop, I want the slave taking to end, and the destroying of
homes and families."

   Verus nodded.  "Worthy goals," he agreed.

   "Lead them, Verus, stop the massacre that is about to happen," she
begged.  Her face was now red and swollen with tears.  He looked down at
the floor for a long moment.  Thinking on what he has seen on the islands
and what he has heard, and lastly, the underhanded means to get him here.
"Please."

   He looked into her eyes.  "If I lead them, you will speak the whole
truth to me after.  I want to know everything." His eyes were accusing. 
"You've not told me the half of it, elven woman, and I would have it, for I
will not betray my nation for less than a better cause."

   "It is!" she said, her face flush.  "It is worthy."

   Primus Pilum Verus nodded and then went to the tent flap.  "Commander, a
word?" he said out the flap.  The young ranger came in at a trot.

   "Sir?" he asked.

   "Resources?" asked Verus.  "What have you at our disposal?"

   The officer blinked then said, "We have a hundred and twenty four
rangers, two-hundred and fifteen armed militia and eighty two improvised."

   Verus stared at the officer.  "And you intended to take on a group of
how many cohorts?"

   "Five," said the officer, "but we have the defensive position."

   "You have a damned mud pit!" shouted Verus, slamming his fist down on
the small table that sat in the center of the tent.  "Cavalry?" he asked.

   "None, sir." said the officer, with fear quavering his voice.

   Verus sighed.  "We need cavalry," he said, very slowly.  "Assemble all
the rangers, we've not much time."

   Fifteen minutes later Verus was looking over the rangers, they were a
motley assortment, but seemed to know their drill and were presumedly good
in a fight.  They were mostly equipped with bow and sword, though some were
carrying staves or spears.  He walked up and down the ranks of them.  Just
over a cohort worth of trained soldiery and two of semi-trained.

   "How many of you can ride a horse well?" asked Verus in his `command'
voice.

   Twenty seven men raised their hands and were pulled from the mass and
stood aside.

   He walked to the officer, having learned his name was Thurus.  "How many
horses in town?"

   "Thirty five, sir.  But many of them are nearly useless," replied
Thurus, worrying his long black hair with his fingers.

   "Get the best twenty eight, and get them saddled, even if it's just a
blanket and some rope for a bridle and stirrups." The officer jogged off.

   An hour later, there were twenty eight horses ready, and the rangers who
could ride were picking from among them, with Verus selecting the
best-looking steed for his use.  He surveyed the defenses.  A low palisade
wall around the village, breached in three spots by flimsy gates, with a
catwalk for archers and defenders.  He set the militia and civilians to
making stakes as fast as they could and planting them around the outside of
the wall, to at least slow down footmen a little.  He had one gate rigged
to fall when released from ropes.  The entire body of the militia was
positioned behind that gate.  The rangers would man the walls to either
side, covering with bow fire.  The civilians with improvised weapons would
be among those rangers, to help with anyone who came over the wall. 
Lastly, he positioned the cavalry near the left gate.

   The first cohort marched onto the field before the gate, stopping two
hundred yards out and forming up into a long battle four deep.  They were
soon joined by the other four cohorts.  Five hundreds now stood out there.
One full cohort was made up of archers.  He peered closely at the command
groups of each cohort.

   "Emogen, do any of those commanders have gold trim on their
breastplates?" asked Verus.

   She peered at them each in turn with her keen elven vision.  "No, none
of them," she replied.

   He dropped off the low catwalk and went to Thurus.  "You hold this wall,
come hell or glory, you understand?"

   "Yes, sir!" said the young officer.

   "When I give the horn call, you drop that gate and send the militia out,
then the rangers."

   "Yes, sir." replied Thurus.

   Verus mounted his horse and rode to the mounted rangers.  "This is going
to be dangerous, men," he said.  "But, if you keep your wits about you, you
may live to see the morrow," he said, eying the horsed rangers.

   The men nodded.  "I will issue commands, and they need to be obeyed
immediately, even if it means turning your back to an opponent, you
understand?"

   Men nodded and murmured assent.  "I asked if you understand?" repeated
Verus in a louder voice.

   "Yes, sir!" came the shouted reply from the twenty-seven improvised
cavalry.  Verus feared some of the horses wouldn't survive the initial
charge, their hearts would explode.

   He ran through some hasty instructions on what to do in some limited
situations.  So much was all he could do.  As he finished the last of
these, he heard the drums roll from toward the south wall and heard the
march of feet.

   "Men, you are to distract and challenge, you are not to try to win the
victory!" yelled Verus.  "Do that well, and your comrades will win the
victory and you can toast them their glory and both can drink happily. 
OPEN THE GATES!"

   The twenty-nine horsemen sallied forth and rode in a wide circle about
the village behind Verus.  The horses were quiet on the loamy soil of the
wood.  Two fell out quickly, as their horse collapsed from beneath them,
the beasts dying almost as they fell.  The men jumped free and ran behind
the horsemen to provide covering fire with their bows for the charge.

   The Abians were scarce touched by the archers on the wall, as Verus had
feared, but they were moving slowly and cautiously, as was standard
procedure for a situation like this.  He was about to throw all that to the
wind and set things on the path of chaos, and when chaos struck an Abian
formation, withdrawal was the only option.  Unless you were Verus.

   Few noted their approach from the rear right flank, and they struck the
Abian formation hard, plowing deep into it and causing a great many
casualties with only a couple of losses.  For the most part, the horses did
the majority of the damage, as the riders were only partially competent at
fighting from horseback.  His order to charge indirectly was working, the
horses were not warhorses and would not willingly charge a man.  However,
they were, for the most part, well-trained and would obey directions.  It
was a simple matter to ride as if to go near a person and change direction
at the last second and plow the horse directly into the poor target.

   He called for a regroup and the rangers responded admirably.  If nothing
else, they were trained to listen for commands well enough, and they seemed
decent swordsmen, as well.

   As they pulled away from the Abian formation, it tried to regroup, and
face them, only to start losing men to the archers on the wall, and had to
divide their formation to face both ways.  Verus smiled.  One cohort
already confused and four remaining.  A few arrows now zinged past his
head, from the central cohort, the archers.

   They were next, he rode the company of horsemen around to make as if to
charge the archers, and set them in readiness.  The whole of the Abian
formation was rather close to the walls and had to keep at least one back
rank bearing shields to prevent archers on the wall from having easy
targets.

   Spurring his mount, he rode around, again, giving him distance and
coming around the other flank now, forcing the end cohort to wheel about to
face the cavalry.  The archers in the center were concerned, as well, a few
had fallen to arrows from the superior longbows on the wall.  Now, however,
he was garnering far more attention than his little cavalry company
deserved, by far, and aimed to use that to the utmost.

   The bugler called the full charge.  The gate came crashing down, nearly
catching the leading ranks of the central cohort, over the wooden platform
charged the militia.  The spearmen in the front rank were overrun in short
order and the militiamen ran amok among the archers.  It was quickly seen
that the archers could not stand and the formations wheeled again to crush
the militia, when the rangers cleared the gate and started raining arrows
into the cohorts not in melee.

   Verus charged the remaining cavalry into the only full-strength cohort
left, which was still trying to decide which force to face.  A few moments
later the horns of the Abians were blowing and a retreat was called.

   He sent forth his own commands, and the Militia and Rangers disengaged,
letting the Abians retreat and yield the field.  He went about and made
sure the wounded were tended with due speed, drafting the half dozen elven
folk in the village to healing duty with their miraculous breath.  He also
further ensured that wounded Abians were not abused and were taken prisoner
honorably.

   "But, sir, they started of the killing prisoners and slave
transporting!" protested Thurus.

   Verus looked at him and glared.  "And we're better men than they, else
we are also animals.  The prisoners will be treated fairly and their wounds
tended.  See to it, commander." He looked at Emogen.  "Lady Emovaur, you're
with me." With that, he spun on his heel and entered the village and then
the command tent.

   Lady Emogen walked in quietly behind him, moving slowly and hesitantly.

   "Now, milady," said Verus, turning toward her with eyes that burned with
anger and pain, "you will explain what the hell is going on here, and what
your game is.  Else, I'll tell them we're Abians myself and wait for them
to tear us apart."

   She cringed from his vehemence.  "Verus, I. . . .  " she said.

   "You what?" shouted Verus.  "You simply have made me commit treason on
my own nation and not only aid the enemy, but lead them to victory?"

   Her silvern eyes hardened, turning to the color of gleaming steel.  "You
have seen what is happening here," she said.  "Can you abide your own
vaunted empire slaying hundreds of folk simply because they had not enough
guards to watch them adequately?"

   "What are you saying?" asked Verus.

   The pointed at a map upon the table.  On the map was a town and that
town was scratched out.  "Palliman," she said.  "Six months ago, there was
a town here.  There is nothing there now, save ruins and shallow graves.  A
cohort went there and the people surrendered, as there were no rangers
among them.  Two days later, half the cohort was ambushed near the village
and slain.  The Centurion in charge sent word to the governor and received
word back three days later, to slay the villagers and return to their base.
Simply because they could not adequately watch the villagers for a slave
drive to Pigwillow."

   Verus gaped at her as she spoke.  "This cannot be true," he said.  "It
is against all accepted laws of war."

   Emogen looked at him levelly.  "Really?" she said, her voice icy, "I
would never have known that their actions were beyond barbaric, had you not
said so.  But, trust me, it is true.  This war is not about reunifying the
Children of Syrisia, it is about taking slaves, and lining the pockets of
the governor and some of his flunkies."

   "How has this happened?" asked Verus.  "How can we have fallen to such
dishonor."

   "Perhaps the Praetor can shed light upon it," she said, "I understand
that he himself selected the governor and most of the Centurions over these
cohorts."

   "You're saying that he is profiting from these actions?" asked Verus,
his anger sublimating away from himself and her and redirecting itself to
the Praetor.

   The lady's eyes widened as a section of the shadows near the wall
detached itself and seemed to move in a blur, coming into focus an instant
before the blade slid across Verus' neck.  The old soldier half turned
toward his attacker as his hand reached toward his neck and he collapsed.
Emogen's scream was cut short as the shape blurred once more and the pommel
of the dagger came down upon her skull.

   Moments later, two men, one of them the commander of the rangers came
charging into the tent.  Thurus knelt beside the fallen leader, pressing
his hands to the free flowing blood.  "Get my scribe!" he yelled at the
other man, who bolted from the tent.

   The ranger looked about the tent and saw only a slit on the back wall to
mark the passing of the assassin.  Had the Lady Emogen done this?

   "Spirits protect," said the soprano voice of Morlani, Thurus' elven
scribe and advisor.  She leaped over the fallen soldier and knelt beside
him.  With almost no delay, she pried Thurus' hands from the wound and
leaned in close, nearly touching her lips to the freely-flowing wound.

   The ranger watched in awe as the wound closed, first stopping the
flowing blood and then sealing the rent flesh.  As the wound finally
closed, she collapsed over Verus' chest and gasped for air.

   Thurus gently lifted the petite woman off of the commander and laid her
upon a desk.  Other men came stumbling into the tent, worried looks upon
their faces.

   Verus lay still, breathing, but only barely.  "Morlani has stopped the
bleeding, Verus may live," said Thurus.  Two of the men came forward and
they lifted the old man onto the central table.

   "What happened?" asked one ranger.

   The commander looked at him.  "I don't know, honestly," he said.  "But
Lady Emogen is gone."

   The other rangers all looked at the cut cloth at the back of the tent.
"Shall we give pursuit?" asked one.

   "No," said Thurus, "those abian legions will be near, regrouping, even
if only to march home.  We need not a run in with them.  Tanverus will
awaken, and we will await his guidance."

   The rangers nodded, all of their eyes turning worriedly toward the man
who had just handed them victory over a superior army.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "What is the meaning of this?" asked Lady Emogen as she was thrown into
the holding cell on a small galleon.

   Sendrus looked into the cell.  "The meaning, milady, is your treason,"
he said.  "In aiding the Windy Islanders in the defeat of two cohorts of
the legions of Abia, and the murder of Primus Pilum Verus.

   "You murdered Verus, you bastard!" she screamed, grabbing the bars of
the cell.

   "Now, do not deepen your crimes by slandering a senator of the empire,"
murmured Sendrus.  "It is most unbecoming a lady to stoop to mere insults."

   The slender, dark man touched her hand, gently.  "I will dearly love
owning you as my personal, most personal slave, milady," he hissed, his
eyes locking onto hers.  "I will enjoy you in every way I can imagine.  I
am most fortunate, as one of half-elven blood, you will remain fresh and
beautiful for a very, very long time."

   With an incoherent screech, she flung herself away from the bars and
curled into a protective ball in the corner.  "Go away, you'll not have me,
you twisted freak," she said, covering her head.  "I'll kill myself first."

   "No, milady, you will not die until I decide it is time for you to die,"
said Sendrus.  "Even that shall be an exquisite experience for the both of
us."

   - - - - - - - - - -

   The healers watched over Verus, tending to his needs for water.  He was
very frail, it was said.  His heart had almost pumped too much of his blood
from him and he hovered upon the very steps of the Tower of the One.

   Morlani reentered the tent, now containing a cot and several worried
folk.  Her husband was with her, a strong-looking elf named Emorianel.  He
released her hand as the two entered.  "Leave them," he said in a crisp
voice unused to speaking the tongue of the Windy Islands.

   The worried healers and rangers shuffled out of the room, casting last
glances back toward Verus as they exited.  Lastly, Emorianel turned to his
bride.  "You are sure?" he asked.

   Morlani reached out and stroked his golden hair.  "Yes, beloved, I am
sure," she said quietly.  "I am but a scribe, and he is a leader of many
men, and a great one, from what I have seen this day."

   Emorianel nodded.  "Then, my wife, do what you must," he said, kissing
her.  She returned the kiss, and the two of them embraced for long moments
before she turned away.

   "Go now, Emorianel," said Morlani, pulling her auburn hair back into a
pony tail.  "I will come forth when it is completed."

   With a worried look toward his wife, Emorianel walked out, carefully
closing the flap behind him and standing outside of it with a solid look
that radiated immobility.

   Morlani settled to her knees beside the cot and lifted Verus' hand. 
"Tanverus, I will give to you something few men receive," she said in a
hushed tone.  She placed one hand behind his neck, lifting it slightly.  As
his lips parted, she kissed him.  She breathed into his mouth, filling his
lungs.  Years slipped from his features, and wrinkles smoothed themselves.
His sunken, darkly ringed eyes brightened, and he looked the very picture
of health.

   It was but an illusion, the energy did not go to that cause.  Soon,
Verus' breathing deepened.  The wrinkles returned, and the darkness about
his eyes came back.  However, now his skin was rosy pink, and he seemed to
be only sleeping.

   Morlani sat back on her heels, observing the man before her.  "Be worth
it human," she said.  "I give my essence for no small reason."

   The silver streaks in her hair shined in the lamplight of the tent.  The
wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creased as she closed them, and the
smile lines at the ends of her generous mouth deepened as she turned them
up.

   The elf rose from her knees and walked to the tent flap.  With a slender
hand, she pulled it aside and touched her husband's shoulder.  "It is done,
beloved."

   He looked at her, and his eyes showed pain.  His wife had just
surrendered many years of her long life to help a man live.  Now Emorianel
would be denied her that much sooner, it was as if part of her died then,
and needed to be mourned.  Tears flowed down his cheeks as he embraced her.
"You are too wondrous for any man," he murmured into her now
silver-streaked hair.