[Chapter 20 - The Tribune's Command]

  I stayed calm, my face expressionless while my eyes I kept steady ahead.

  Beneath his piercing gaze I could not help but feel my arm waver, and it remained on me for a moment longer before drifting towards the other members of the tent.

  “Marcus.” He listed their names aloud, the word rendering an immediate relief upon me as I realised I had not been singled out. “Ullr. Valen. Bj?rn. Astrid. Reyna. Felix.”

  Then he stopped.

  He glanced back, taking in the appearance of the twins beside me. His eyes seemed to settle upon their white hair before he spoke, his words rendered in a slow but certain manner.

  “And the auxiliarists.” His stare moved down, surveying the armour they wore alongside the bruises which littered their bodies. “Although I suppose you’ve been made to serve.”

  Then he turned, walking back towards the front of the tent while he announced at large to everyone who was present.

  “You will come with me.”

  And he was gone, passing through the open flap of the tent while his guards followed abruptly behind him.

  We quickly threw our weapons and shields onto our beds, hurrying to our feet before we scrambled out in two orderly lines.

  My hand shielded me as I stepped out, blocking the rays which I held my hand in front of my face as I stepped out, blocking out the sun whose light reflected off the snow smothering the mountains before me.

  His statement had not been entirely correct, a thought that came to my mind as I stepped out, hand raised to my forehead to block out the rays of sunlight shining down.

  When I had found out that military slaves were used for the legion auxiliarists of each contubernium, I had pitched the idea to the twins.

  It was a safer alternative, one they could occupy without threat of death on the battlefield.

  But they had declined it.

  “If you die out there, we will too. All we can do is try to make sure you survive, and coming with you is the best chance of that.”

  And so they remained with me, walking behind in a march as we headed up the dirt road which comprised its main street.

  The faces of legionaries stared at us when we passed.

  It was already noon but not many were hour, and those that were bore gaunt and tired faces.

  The officer in front said nothing else, and the guards with him echoed the same behaviour.

  Despite its adornment and the lining of gold, the rest of his armour was for the most part the same as the ones we legionaries wore.

  What stood out most was the wooden staff he held in his hands, one that had been passed to him alongside the wax tablet the guards had given him when he left the tent.

  The hastile staff, its length surpassing even the officer’s height.

  And it denoted only one thing: his rank as optio, the centurion’s second in command.

  Rather than the principia which functioned as the fort’s headquarters, we were taken instead to one of the buildings by the side within which the officers resided.

  We had passed the principia nonetheless, the giant clay-roof tiled building dominating its surroundings while the forum spanning out in front of it saw the bustle of soldiers milling around.

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  They were conducting business with the merchant travellers, sellers from across the region who had come to set up stalls in this fort to sell their goods.

  Although our cohort frequented the city, most legionaries in the castrum did not share the same carriage escorting responsibility as we did.

  They therefore faced a more permanent stationing here, and so the merchants offered their only chance to replenish any dwindling supplies, as well as the opportunity to peruse new wares which could serve as another form of entertainment to stave off the boredom that was so endemic.

  The optio led us further on, his hastile held leisurely in his hand while it swung to and fro to match his pace.

  Despite its non-descript appearance, it ordained his authority over the four hundred and eighty or so legionaries who made up our cohort, his power second only to that of the centurion.

  And I wondered if I would eventually gain the same hastile myself.

  My decision to join the military had not been impulsive.

  For the three of us it granted valuable fighting experience, both against monsters and other humans.

  Alongside offering a means to stay in Northgaard, whilst also avoiding immediate detection by the inquisitors, the Atreian Legion also brought me time to familiarise myself with this world and integrate myself fully.

  But also it was a stepping stone, the ranks of the military a ladder to which I could eventually reach Italus at the top.

  Avenging my brother’s death would not be a quick process, nor would it be an easy one.

  In those eight years of his journey, my brother and his companions had solidified themselves as the strongest in Arithea, acting as the hero’s party who challenged and tore down the Demon King.

  To call them demigods would not be an exaggeration, and Italus was no exception.

  We stopped abruptly, the sudden movement wrenching me from my thoughts.

  Now we stood before the doors of a small building, and the two guards stationed at the entrance saluted as the officer in front walked up towards them.

  They held their spears to their side while the doors they pulled open for us.

  Beyond was the atrium which we stepped into.

  In this part of the fort, the more prestigious officers resided in brick-walled houses.

  These had been built for them, a permanent residence for their stay in Greywatch.

  It was a luxury that was not granted to us foot soldiers, nor was it afforded for those of lower rank.

  Even the centurions rested in tents, albeit being twice the size of the ones we in the contuberniums were provided.

  So to summon us to their residence here…

  I could not help but wonder who wished to see us, but it was not long before I found out.

  The interior decor was surprisingly elaborate compared to the brutalist architecture of its outside.

  With each step, our sandals pressed against mosaic tiles, the fragments forming simple patterns which ran across the entire room.

  We were given no time to appreciate this however, the officer hurrying us through.

  And we soon returned to the daylight of the outside as we stepped into the garden.

  The ones who greeted us were not just centurions.

  Four of them sat around a table, hunched forwards in urgent conversation.

  The plumes of the helmets by their side attested towards their ranks, but their voices were quickly hushed at the gesturing of the man who sat between them; his arm lowering calmly down to the side when he saw us approach.

  Unlike the armour of the centurions beside him, his was much more sparse.

  But it did little to discredit his position, the muscled cuirass he wore upon his chest immediately distinguishing him apart.

  It was carved in a tastefully elaborate manner.

  Atop the metal embedded intricate patterns of animals who crossed the armour in a perfectly symmetrical pattern.

  To his shoulders was clasped a cloak of deep blue, contrasting against the leather strips falling from his waist and shoulders as it cascaded down around him.

  What was most striking however, was not his armour nor his dress, but his age.

  He looked to be no older than I was, a marked difference in the roughness of his face as opposed to the veterans who stood around him.

  “Tribute Augustus.” The officer walked up with a salute, striking his clenched fist against his chest while he lowered his head in respect. “I have brought the First Contubernium as ordered.”

  “Thank you, Varus.” Augustus responded in kind.

  His voice was one that commanded respect, each word carefully chosen before it was conveyed.

  The optio in front of us bowed in turn, and he strode to the pillar in front of which sat one of the centurions.

  I could only assume that that was the one who oversaw our cohort, and whose voice had rung out in command during the goblin raid.

  But I had no time to look at him properly.

  We stepped up together, our contubernium bringing our clenched fists to our chest as we lowered our heads in a manner similar to Varus’.

  Augustus seemed to pay this no heed, and I could just about see in the corner of my eye the movement of another optio to the side, who walked forwards to speak with her hastile staff in her hands.

  “One of the goblins we tortured said they came from Silvermine. That their leader had brought them here at the orders of his superiors. We cannot interrogate the dead, but this matter must be resolved before it gets out of hand.”

  She paused for a second before she continued, and I could feel her gaze smoldering upon us as she spoke.

  “You are to investigate the mine and to report back what you find. Most goblins were slain after the ambush but no small number had fled. That is why you have been sent, in place of the speculatores. You will depart tomorrow.”

  And with that, we were dismissed.