Tenacious, Exile of the Legion Pt. 01

This is a science fiction novel presented in six parts. All six parts are already written and being edited. It follows Quinten Tyshan from his early years through middle age. There are bloodthirsty battles and dramatic moments as this dedicated young soldier seeks to uphold the Edicts of Minerva:

The bond of devotion is sacred

Children are gifts of the Gods

Protect the weak and defenseless

Respect the honor of women

Draw no sword without cause

Sheathe no sword without resolution

This is not a heavily erotic story, though there are erotic elements and some romance in the later chapters. But Quinten, popularly known as Tenacious for his courage in battle, is a fierce defender of women, which is a constant theme throughout the book. On another note, I am preparing Rachel Running on Empty for publication on Literotica. It will be ready to go once the Tenacious series is published.

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Part One - A Soldier of the Empire

Chapter One

A Warrior's Beginning

I was born Quinten Servius Tyshan, son of Quintes Flavius Tyshan, Mayor of Throve, capital of colonial Calpurnia. My family ruled rich lands upon which we raised horses and cattle, maintained tenant farmers, and sponsored craftsmen for thriving markets. My mother often spoke of the time we would visit Rome itself, the center of all true civilization. My older brothers were tall and strong, my sisters beautiful, and my prospects bright despite being the youngest son of a large family. All of this came to an end in the winter of my fifth year when marauders from the Lower Spiral invaded our world.

My entire family was murdered. Our lands laid waste. The tenants killed. The marauders roamed at will over the lightly armed militia, raping and plundering until there was little left of value. Some of the villains claimed the raid was in retaliation for the Empire's encroachment on their territories, but my people cared nothing of that. I had never even heard of the Braggas Confederacy. When Imperial legions finally reclaimed my homeworld several months later, I was just another starving war orphan.

The Emperor had had enough of rebellious provinces and sent several legions to Ceti III, the staging base of rebel activity. I was enlisted as a powder monkey for the 201st Artillery attached to the 2nd Legion, my duty to push ammunition carts from the underground magazines to the siege batteries in the forward trenches. It was dangerous work, the bunkers being prime targets of enemy bombardment. The rebel attacks became so fierce that the color sergeants began arming the powder monkeys with long knives should our lines break.

I was not a bad choice for the duty. My sandy brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and former standing in the minor nobility was said to give me a pleasant appearance. I learned fast, ate little, and talked less. In the dark hours my comrades and I would play cards, shoot dice, and make small sacrifices to the gods. I had learned my letters, but not received the tutoring my mother valued so much. I missed my mother, but not the tutors.

Powder monkeys learn quickly not to make friends. Within the first six months, all of my original bunkmates were maimed or dead, and those who replaced them fared no better. Some were careless, too young for the duty, as the nitrogen cartridges used to prime the artillery shells could be unstable. Many of my friends were unlucky.

When I was seven years old, I used my knife for the first time at Cartoff Seti. Our camp was enclosed by a dirt embankment capped with boulders drawn from a dry riverbed. Enemy archers had wounded many during a morning foray, keeping the powder monkeys underground, but we finally emerged for fresh air and a late meal. Suddenly a group of raiders stormed over the enclosure, setting fire to our supplies and killing the cooks.

A few of the powder monkeys were caught in the fray where I saw my friend Keloff cut in half by a broadsword. I drew my knife and charged, ready to sell my life dearly. My impetuous assault was immediately slapped down by a skinny young raider who knelt to take my scalp, pinning me to the ground with his boot. As I flailed at his ankles, my blade nicked his calf. He yelped in anger, rising to skewer me with his sword. An arrow pierced his eye and he fell screaming. Darias Coolit, a brave veteran and friend to the monkeys, chopped off the raider's head and gave me the left ear. I burned the trophy as a sacrifice for Keloff's spirit, that he might find mercy in the next world.

The fighting at Cartoff Seti went on for weeks. After a particularly determined skirmish, I fatally wounded an enemy soldier while defending my battery. It felt strange. Death was no stranger, and I often walked perilously close to Pluto's realm myself, yet seeing a man dying from a blow I'd struck was different. The twisted face. The breath slipping away. His grimy fingers clutching at the wound. I wondered why he had come there, and what family he was leaving behind. And then I shook the gloomy thoughts away. He would not have hesitated to kill me.

I was given a new duty--to scout the forward rebel positions. If being a powder monkey was dangerous, scouting was utterly foolish, as neither side cared who was in the no-man's land when the shelling began. I thought it a great honor.

Some suspected the rebels of using firearms, the most forbidden of all weapons. To defile oneself by touching a handgun was to cast scorn on our heritage of sword and shield. Such sacrilege was beyond my childish imagination. It's one thing to soften an enemy position with artillery, in the time-honored tradition, but a soldier's true courage is only measured in valiant hand-to-hand combat. As we learned during the Dark Ages following the fall of the First Empire, firearms dehumanize those who use them. And those who tolerate them are but parasites fit only for the mines. Though none would dismiss the value of a good archer or hardy spear thrower.

Praise the gods the rumors proved untrue, but I did fairly well in my first mission. Far out on the battlefield was an enemy command post. With stealth and much holding of my breath, I reached their outer battlements and peeked through cracks in the stockade, thus able to count the rebels and determine their leaders were in attendance. This I reported to headquarters, and a sunset attack destroyed the insurgents. Much praise was I given from Centurion Marcus Matrious Vallus.

During the Ellis Prime campaign, I was reassigned to the scouts permanently, often spending my days hiding in trees, buried in observation pits, and living off roots and berries. My information was always accurate and delivered while still useful, so by my eighth birthday I was given a special promotion to corporal and trained with sword and shield, just like any other legionnaire. I also received my first wages, a double sesterce, which I spent on a black cloak and leather boots.

These were lonely years, though I did not feel it. I spent countless hours in the field studying plant life, learning what could be eaten, gaining knowledge of natural curing properties, and becoming an expert on animal habitats. In this manner I could follow the enemy longer, treat my own wounds, and sometimes eat better than I would back at camp, where bullies took the best porridge from the boys. In time, I learned to apply these skills to studying the enemy, learning patience. I never thought of myself as a naturalist, though in retrospect, I absorbed a great deal of knowledge.

After crushing the rebellion on Ellis Prime, the 2nd Legion moved to Sagus Minor, then Yeti II, and finally Braggas Nine, the capital world of the Lower Spiral. Each cohort had its own star cruiser, six in the fleet. I traveled with the 3rd Cohort commanded by Primus Pilus Vitellius Dracicus, a wealthy aristocrat with a grand villa in the hills outside Rome. He promised me a visit there someday.

On Braggas, four years after the murder of my family, I would at last have a chance for vengeance. But as the gods are quick to warn, there would be a price.

The rebels had mounted a strong defensive line of forts around their largest city, particularly the steep angle below Robber's Mountain. If the army couldn't penetrate the enemy line before winter, a shortage of supplies would force our retreat. Centurion Vallus proposed a daring maneuver that would bring the bulk of our best infantry against the vulnerable forts at Yor and Tritan, but he had to know if his march could proceed unobserved. For this, the scouts were sent forward, though only I and a handful of senior team leaders knew the plan.

This was a great responsibility, and one I eagerly embraced. I had grown good with the knife, having killed several sentries, and felt sure no one could move through the enemy outposts with superior stealth. My runner on the mission was young Lektor, technically three years older than I, but a baby on the battlefield. We scouted the redoubts at Yor, found them weakly provisioned, then sought out the castle at Arklow, the only fort likely to intercept a mass movement of our army as it passed through the heavily forested foothills.

It was below the walls of Arklow, in the trenches dug to defend the gate, that the nightwatch stumbled upon Lektor as we were crawling back to our lines. I was forced to make a quick decision, shoving Lektor under a fallen tree trunk and running toward the castle, leading the watch away from my clumsy comrade.

There was no cover in the trench, a mud ditch held up by twisted tree roots. Guards poured from the gate before me with the watch close on my heels. I scampered up the embankment and tried to scale the spike palisade, but was pulled back by rough hands and quickly made prisoner. Wearing dark clothing without insignia, I protested this treatment, claiming to be a mere peasant boy in search of food, but I was taken into the castle's courtyard and presented to the provost marshal, who viewed my foreign accent with suspicion. Many times did he ask me to explain my presence below his walls, but I held true to my tale, for in truth, I had little hope as a spy despite my youth.

Giving over to frustration, the provost marshal handed me off to the sergeant of the guard, who took me down long granite staircases into the dungeon, a dank, murky chamber of gray stone. There I was hung by my wrists in chains, seeing my shadow in the torchlight.

"Find out what he knows," the sergeant said, his Latin poor.

"Of course, sir," a squat fat pig of a man agreed.

I waited to see what would be asked of me, with no intention of revealing the slightest information. But the interrogator said nothing. He ripped the shirt off my back, laid out a long black whip, and cracked it against my spine.

I lost my breath on the first blow, clenched my teeth on the second, and screamed on the third. The fat pig sighed with satisfaction. I could sense his smile.

The beating went on for quite some time without a word being spoken. I felt blood running down my legs where the whip had torn my pants. The screaming stopped as my throat grew dry. I sagged in the chains, my wrists aching.

"Now you may speak," the interrogator finally offered, standing before me covered in sweat.

"I was ... looking... for food," I answered, barely able to form words.

The sick hog didn't really care what I said. He wasn't interested. I felt the whip several times more, then was dropped to the paving stones, and stripped of my clothing to leave me humiliated. He left me there, hands tied behind my back, shivering on the cold floor.

"You think to keep your secrets," the bloated troll said, his breath against my face. "You may have them, for now. It's not your secrets I want."

Sometime later, the interrogator returned, once again hanging me in the iron chains. I steeled myself, vowing not to cry out, and when the first lash tore into my back, my teeth remained gritted. The second slash ripped through me with a burst of fire, weakening my resolve, and I screamed against the third blow, much to my shame. Twenty blows later, I was limp in the chains begging for mercy. But I would not tell the interrogator what he wanted to know.

Once any hope of resistance had been beaten out of me, the questioning finally began in earnest. It was made clear how the remainder of my short life would be spent, but they were mistaken to believe I would betray the army or my comrades.

The first day in the dungeon of Arklow was the worst. The second day was a bad dream, the pain leaving me semiconscious most of the time.

On the third day, the pig left me alone for several hours, and then suddenly came running down the stairs, a frantic look on his pudgy face. Clashing swords echoed from the upper levels. I was pulled down from the chains, forced on my back, and saw a knife coming toward my throat, but I was too weak to resist. Then my attacker's eyes lit up with shock and he rolled to one side, clubbed into darkness.

"Quinten, do you live?" a familiar voice asked. It was Centurion Vallus.

"I confessed nothing, Centurion. Nothing," I proudly whispered.

"We know. We would not have taken the fort if you had," Vallus said. "You are the hero of the legion."

I did not feel like a hero. Death was my only wish. Before long, I was carried up the stairs into a bright sun, surrounded by doctors and given brandy of the finest quality. I learned later my tormentor had been crucified, taking three days to die.

The castle's garrison was put to the sword. What remained of young Quinten was placed in a stasis tube and sent to the capital of Imperial Rome. I did not regain consciousness for months.

* * * * * *

My wounds left small chance of remedy, for I'd been torn head to foot. So little blood remained that my wounds refused to seep. But I had a patron in Vitellius Dracicus, who swore before Jupiter that I would be restored.

There is no memory of my great journey. I was placed in a coma shell and taken to the Imperial Military Clinic on the Sixth Hill of Rome. For months my skin was grafted, the bones reinforced, and muscles intertwined with strengthening fibers. The physicians removed most of my scars, except for a patch of deep red streaks on my back thought to be a badge of my ordeal. This was all a great privilege rarely bestowed on a common soldier. My feelings were ambivalent.

Once removed from my long sleep, I began several years of rehabilitation, training with the best weapons, sprinting through the Capitol in the early morning hours, and learning where the best taverns were. Vitellius Dracicus kept his promise, greeting me at his fine villa outside the North Gate. And I was briefly introduced to the Emperor, who presented me with a decoration for bravery on his way to the summer palace at Villa Jovis. I was surprised to discover he was a gray-haired old man and not a god.

Rome was an exciting place for a war orphan granted a formal education for the first time since my family perished. My father had paid homage to Apollo, attending the town shrine with offerings. But Apollo's guidance in music, medicine, and poetry had not proven effective against barbarian spears. The citizens of Rome preferred Jupiter, thought to be closest to the Emperor's heart. The army honored Mars, the God of War, for obvious reasons.

After growing up in barracks gambling and fighting with my bunkmates, watching daily life in the city was a melancholy experience. Families shopping together in the marketplace. Gathering for meals. Laughing as they attended the theatre. Fussy mothers and indulgent fathers. Young eyes wide with innocent joy. There were times I reflected on my own family. Was this the life they wished for me? Would I have followed in the steps of my older brothers? Learned from my sisters? Basked in their praise? There were moments I felt sad to never know, for I could not envision such a life for myself.

I spent seven years in Rome studying with learned men, some of whom didn't know as much about medicinal herbs as they thought. There were visits to museums, concerts, and meetings with citizens both high and low. Vitellius was generous, allowing me a room at the rear of his villa next to the carpenter's shop.

What had happened in the dungeon at Arklow was not quickly forgotten. My sleep was often troubled. The evil grin of the interrogator, the crack of his whip, and the shameful abuse disturbed me greatly. But in time, my struggles were given perspective. As I learned more of the world, I discovered my experience was not unique. Other boys were often victims. Women and young girls, in particular, suffered terrible crimes. There was cruelty in the world inflicted for the most arbitrary reasons.

In my search for answers, I sought the favor of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, science, the arts, and war when necessary. It was while visiting her temple on Esquiline Hill that her teachings spoke to me in a way the other gods could not, and I determined to take a sacred oath to uphold her edicts:

The bond of devotion is sacred

Children are gifts of the Gods

Protect the weak and defenseless

Respect the honor of women

Draw no sword without cause

Sheathe no sword without resolution

My years in Rome gave me a new life, but I did not feel pride living off the charity of my patron, believing I should earn my own way. Nor was I content with the constant attention of professors, instructors, and mentors.

When I came of age, I requested a return to duty. With the rank of sergeant and a degree in botany, I was assigned to the 105th Forward Division and sent to punish resistance on the String Worlds of Stab-Nebulas. Like many farm boys, I'd grown up reading Imperial history. Eighty-five planets spread over a thousand light years connected by charted star-paths. Having traveled through wormholes many times, safely stowed in a cocoon, little of it was new to me.

My new commander found my interest in plants somewhat eccentric, but she had no complaints on Tatteris Prime when I traveled behind enemy lines for weeks at a time and returned with a full accounting of their dispositions, and occasionally copies of their dispatches as well. Once I even crept into the rebel commander's headquarters and stole his map case along with a bottle of his best brandy.

Often operating independently, the 2nd Legion visited many worlds. Some were desert planets where rare minerals were abundant. Others might raise wheat, for the Empire was constantly in need of food. As colonies were distributed unevenly down the Western Spiral, some rebellious cultures used their isolation to defy Imperial rule. Having come from a rural society, I sometimes sympathized with their views. But as a soldier, such sympathy could not compromise my duty.

The campaign began well. We tightened a ring around a rebellious league of barons occupying Sixtus Six, the key to the Empire's plan for regional expansion to the southern quadrant. But after landing our troops near the capital, the war faltered. Forts were captured and then lost. Daring maneuvers were met with daring counter maneuvers. Bad weather often brought operations to a halt, for the planet knew little but wind and rain. With provisions arriving intermittently, some wondered if there might be a negotiated settlement.

After months of skirmishing, the final confrontation came down to a line of forts in the foothills outside the rebel capital. My cohort was ready, being thoroughly sick of the cold food, wet weather, and cramped underground shelters.

On the first night of autumn's new moon, a rebel artillery barrage damaged the walls of our siege works on the left flank. We expected the barrage to be followed by a full-scale infantry assault. Between the lines was one small fort overlooking the dry riverbed below the canyons of Runnion. It had been taken twice, then retaken by the enemy in determined attacks. I was there when the 105th Forward Division retook Fort Kertan for the third time, and we didn't want to give it back. The white stone walls were rebuilt, the ramparts stocked with javelins.

Ordered forward to probe the enemy preparations, I saw their infantry forming up and sent a runner to warn the command. Though only seventeen, I had now been a soldier for twelve years. My skill with a sword and long knife was good. When the enemy advance approached, our small group set to make a stand, then met the first wave with a stubborn resistance that threw their charge off-balance. We fell back to a gully, made another stand, then fell back again. Nearly a quarter of the squad fell during the withdrawal, but Fort Kertan held.

"There may be a path through their lines," I reported to Centurian Vallus, having found an unguarded ravine leading into a deep recess. "From there, we might cross over the ridge and attack Fort Carylon from behind."

"Take a reinforced scout," Vallus ordered. "If the path can be held, the entire cohort will advance."

I departed Kertan at midnight, taking twenty legionnaires with me. Officially, Sergeant Gardenias led the unit, for he outranked any of the scouts. We crossed through no man's land with little cover but darkness, then crept into thick trees screening a broad pasture. That's where we were surprised.

"They are preparing another assault. Far bigger than before," Sergeant Gardenias observed, for the field before us was occupied by a thousand light infantry forming into ranks. "Launch a flare."

Corporal Lucius used a sling to fling a red ball of burning tar high into the air where the fort could see it, and then we retreated. Artillery opened fire a moment later, the shells crashing into Kertan's walls. We burst into the open ground, running for the safety of the fort, for to be caught out in the open by such a large force meant death.

I brought up the rear, as was my habit, hastening the slowest along, confident I could outrun the pursuit when I needed to. Flares were launched over the battlefield, revealing the enemy numbers. Shouts went up and spears thrown.

As I reached Kertan, I found the fort in chaos. The ramparts were abandoned as the 105th prepared to fall back on our old lines. It was the right decision. Eighty legionnaires holding back a thousand foes is rarely a good idea.

The howitzers had fallen silent, and a sensation of panic reeked through the scorched air. There was a breach in the wall, a gap about eight feet wide, where I took position. Before me, the on-coming enemy was swelling into a wave.

"Quinten!" someone shouted. "Retreat! Retreat!"

"Retreat!" another yelled.

Silhouetted by the flares still falling on the open ground, my comrades saw me standing in the rubble of the broken wall, a sword in one hand, my long knife in the other. With the gates holding, the enemy turned in my direction, a few at first, and then in greater numbers.

I was ready for them. We had fought too hard for this ground to give it back, so I set myself against a flood of determined foes. Thrusting with the sword while swiping with the knife, I struck at every enemy within reach, my movements fluid and strong. I stopped thinking of the odds, or death, or even defeat, focusing only on the battle.

Strike, counterstrike. Strike, counterstrike. After a time, I began to experience a strange sensation. An elated energy combined with a sense of invincibility. I was not just holding the breach, but piling a wall of dead before me, crawling up on withering bodies to make the next bloody stroke. I shouted no oaths, but I did call upon my brothers-gone-before to stand witness. If this was my final battle, I hoped to climb the marble steps to the Great Hall, there to spend eternity in feasting and song with my lost comrades, for such is the gods' reward for a valiant death.

As my fervor rose, my determination and skill came together in a perfect storm of death. Each blow timed to maximum effect, followed with another. I was no longer a young legionnaire. Not the forlorn orphan of a ravaged world. I felt the strength of Minerva in my veins and set upon the enemy with a reckless resolve that knew no fear.

"Brothers, look at Quinten!" Centurion Vallus called from the rampart above the gate. "See how he stands, tenacious as Mars! Rally! Rally!"

"Look, cowards!" a voice yelled from the rear. "Look upon that lad who holds our wall! Is honor so precious that one boy will have it all?"

"Tenacious!" a comrade shouted.

"Rally to Tenacious!" another urged.

"Tenacious! Tenacious!" a third screamed.

The company rallied, joining me at the breach, taking their places on the ramparts, slashing and cursing as the carnage escalated. In truth, I was oblivious to all but hammering the next blow. I was a career scout never trained for unit formations. A creature of individual combat with little regard for those who craved the safety of a group.

The charge washed upon us in three great waves, each beaten back more decisively than the one before. The flares lighting the battlefield were now ours as six cohorts of the 2nd Legion rushed to catch a share of the fight, the breach now stacked high with the dead and dying.

I cared nothing that the fight should be over. As the enemy fled, I climbed over the cordwood pile of tattered flesh to pursue the foe back across the shattered ground, striking and running, striking and running, feeling no pain or fatigue as I caught and slaughtered one panicked enemy after another.

Finally, a determined group turned to make a stand but a dozen yards from their own fort. I foolishly plunged into them without a second thought, slashing left and right against stubborn resistance. To my surprise, I was soon joined by scores of my comrades who had followed me in the pursuit. I turned to see, not a mere platoon, but entire cohorts running to catch the vanguard of the fight.

They'll need to run harder, I thought, sprinting to the fort where wreckage from a previous breach gave the best access. I scrambled up the jagged stones and jumped to the top of the wall, landing among a half dozen startled defenders.

My comrades were not slow to take heart, climbing the rubble to gain a foothold that no counterattack could dislodge. When I opened the western gate, my entire cohort poured through. Within minutes, the enemy's strongest fort was the property of the 2nd Legion.

"Tenacious! Tenacious! Tenacious!" my comrades shouted, waving our standards along the length of the walls. I turned to see the next fortress in the enemy line only half a mile away and started to climb over into the trench. A hand on my shoulder held me back.

"No, son, you've done enough for one night," Commander Vallus said, restraining my rash desire.

At first I was angry, but the commander was firm, so I relented. Only then did the weariness of the battle take its toll. I slid down against the rampart to catch my breath.

I awoke with the sun, a glaring red dawn that highlighted the smoking battlefield.

"Is this the one?" a gruff voice asked.

I looked up to see General Ko-Lang-Tru, field marshal of all Imperial forces on Sixtus Six, standing over me accompanied by his aide-de-camp.

"Yes, sir, this is Quinten Tyshan," Vallus confirmed. I jumped to my feet, standing at stiff attention while the eagle-bearers inspected me.

"I was expecting a veteran. No one told me he's just a kid," Ko-Lang-Tru said.

"He wears nine campaign bars on his dress uniform, sir," Vallus said. "That is, he would if he owned a dress uniform."

It was true. Everything I owned in the world I had right there with me in a small pouch. An extra pair of socks, a narc kit, and my reader. Not even a clean undershirt.

"Army brat, huh?" Ko-Lang-Tru said with a pleased expression. "That's good. That's damn good. Son, our victory here at Carylon needs a hero, and you're it."

"Sir?" I dared to inquire.

"The war on Sixtus Six is over, Quinten. The rebels signed the articles this morning," Vallus said. "We're standing down."

"Except for you," Ko-Lang-Tru corrected. "You're being awarded the Medal of Valor and shipping out for Rome. Wouldn't be surprised if the First Consul himself makes the presentation. Hell, maybe even the Emperor."

Such a thought staggered my imagination. Ko-Lang-Tru laughed, gave me a salute, and marched off.

"The Medal of Valor," Vallus congratulated. "Quinten, do you realize what that means? A pension for life, a farm on any planet you want, and your children will have the right to enter the nobility. You'll never be poor or landless again."

Vallus embraced me with joy, for the entire cohort would also gain honor.

"The Medal of Valor comes with a choice of duty assignments, doesn't it, sir?" I asked.

"Yes, if you decide to stay in the army," he replied with surprise. "Why? Do you have someplace special in mind?"

"Yes, sir. Very special," I said.

Chapter Two

A Warrior's Downfall

General Ko-Lang-Tru was granted a triumph for his victory over the rebels, filling the streets of Rome with festive crowds and free wine. The 105th Forward Division paraded through the city behind his chariot. I was given a white horse to ride, and though I wore no garland above my brow, the Medal of Valor glistened on a silver ribbon around my neck. Many were the eager young women vying for my attention.

That night, while the officers were entertained at the palace, soldiers filled the taverns and brothels. I was young but not shy. Wearing my medal, the madams did not even charge me, allowing access to every desirable young woman in their Red Street establishments. The whores were wonderful, teaching me techniques I'd never imagined. I serviced as many as I could. The next morning, I sought out the Temple of Minerva to renew my devotion.

Between my increased pay and many gifts from grateful citizens, I was able to rent a luxurious flat with a view of the Tiber River, and for the ninety days of my campaign leave, there were wild parties, drunken brawls, and more women than any young soldier could ever want. The local prefect came by several times to tame proceedings. The landlord was not displeased when I was summoned back to duty.

My service was taking place in interesting times. The first Roman Empire, four thousand years before, had collapsed into the Dark Ages. A long period of chaos followed as competition for resources increased among angry, godless populations. New Rome emerged to save the planet from total destruction, and changes were made. In religion. In commerce. In war.

I would never claim to be a historian, but scholars say that everything changed when resonance fields in the rings of Saturn opened the way to wormhole technology. Voyages to other solar systems that required many lifetimes now only took a few weeks. Colonies were established on dozens of new worlds, ruled by Rome for the benefit of all. But over the centuries, there had been sporadic discontent. Rebels. Pirates. Bandit empires. Selfish interests demanding unnecessary freedoms. I was proud to serve the Legion which stood in the path of such forces.

It was with sober reverence that I entered the headquarters of the 1st Cohort, 5th Imperial Legion, the most decorated unit in the history of the army. In continuous service for two hundred years, the Talon Brigade had been my first and only choice for reassignment. First to fight, last to quit, honor above all was their motto. For those accepted into this special brotherhood, a diving eagle tattoo was worn on the left shoulder.

"Sergeant Quinten Tyshan," I reported to the duty officer. Outfitted in my new khaki dress uniform, I saluted crisply and held at attention. The average age of the Talon Brigade was close to 25, only proven veterans being accepted. Having an 18-year-old kid with duty papers must have been a surprise.

"Tyshan?" First Sergeant Cagsus said, looking me over. He took my folder. "Tyshan, Quinten. I remember now. M. V. winner. Captain of Scouts. Didn't expect a teenager with a jacket this long. They call you Tenacious, do they? That's fine. We've got a lot of nicknames here. A score of M. V. winners, too, so don't start thinking you're anyone special."

"No, sir," I said, still holding my salute.

"At ease, kid," Cagsus said. "That your kit? Okay, drag your ass with me, I'll show you the enlisted barracks. Why are you taking sergeant rank? You could be a commissioned officer in another unit."

"The 1st Cohort doesn't need a lieutenant," I said. "It always needs scouts."

"True enough," Cagsus said as we reached the barracks.

The entrance hall was filled with unit commendations and pictures of its greatest heroes. Aloha Kima, Frank Martin, Lucius Frolleni, and Billos Triton, the champion of Angel's Landing. I was still catching my breath when a group came by on their way back from training.

"Look, it's that kid," one of them said, a giant of a man.

"Tenacious, isn't it?" another said, equally large. "Saw him at the triumph."

"He looks smaller now," the third said. "Is it true you won the war on Sixtus Six all by yourself, kid?"

Though still a youngster, I wasn't exactly small. Already 5'11 with two inches to go, and weighing 170 pounds.

"I don't recall being out there alone, sir," I replied.

"Don't call us sir, we're not centurions," the first one grinned. "I'm Collins, Legionnaire First Class." He shook my hand.

"Looks like we've got a new mascot," the biggest one said, also shaking my hand. "Marquard, Legionnaire First Class."

"I'm not changing his diapers," the last one laughed. "Karl Pyre, Legionnaire First Class with a star."

"Show respect here, gentlemen," Cagsus said, sharing the high spirits. "Sergeant Tenacious outranks the lot of you. You might find yourself on kitchen detail."

"Put me on detail, runt, and I'll stuff you in the first onion pot that needs scrubbing," Marquard roared.

"Come on, Marco, don't scare the poor young thing," Collins said, wrapping a paw around my shoulders. "Kid, you play poker?"

"No, sir," I lied.

"Well, we'll just have to teach you, won't we?" Collins said.

"Yes, sir, I would appreciate that," I replied shyly, eyeing the pigeons as they shared their joke.

In the next few months, I became a hardworking though very junior member of the Talon Brigade. I had been, just about, the best fighter with sword and long knife in the 105th F. D., but the T. B. had so many skilled warriors that I was hardly better than average. Which was not good enough. Young, strong, and determined to an annoying fault, I pursued every member of the brigade who had something to teach me. I also won a hundred sesterces at late night poker before they realized I'd been playing since I was six years old.

"I see now why they call you Tenacious," Cagsus said. "Been here six months and you've already got a star over those three stripes."

"Thank you, First Sergeant," I said, pleased by the rare praise. It was true I worked hard, but everyone in the brigade worked hard.

For the next year, the 5th Legion stayed close to Rome, resting from long campaigns and training new recruits. My old patron, Vitellius Dracicus, had me go back to school, which wasn't my first preference. There was talk of marriage with the younger daughter of his chief steward, which would have restored me to the minor nobility.

It came time to resume campaigning. With the Empire's closer provinces content, there were rumors the 5th would move down the Lower Spiral into the Blue Star Belt. Our transport would be a modern star cruiser with twelve decks and an individual sleeping pod for every soldier. Trips to other worlds through wormholes may only take a few weeks, but with the disorientation of the transition, it's not something you want to be awake for.

* * * * * *

"We're moving out at the end of the month," Centurion Vallus said, having taken command of the 1st Cohort. "The Delphians are acting up again. Heard you've been to Delphia before."

"Yes, sir, scouting for the 105th. Almost ten years ago," I confirmed, standing at attention. Commander Janus and Sergeant Cagsus exchanged a glance.

"At ease, Tenacious," Cagsus said. "You're not on the carpet here."

"Don't worry, you'll still get your ten day leave before we ship," Vallus said. "We'll be operating at brigade strength, but without much support. Are you comfortable taking command of our guides? Just auxiliaries, but reliable from what I've heard."

"I would be honored, sir," I replied. "May I ask why I've been selected?"

"You're our ranking scout," Vallus generously said. "And though your skills in the line are only average, Cagsus thinks you're the best individual sword in the company."

"Don't feel bad, Tenacious," Cagsus said, seeing my shoulders droop. "Not every soldier is suited to work in the line. The Talons are the best because each of us contributes our special skills. You're good with a sword and long knife. There are few I'd wager could challenge you." This was high praise indeed, though I knew he was exaggerating.

"Going home on leave?" Vallus asked.

"I'll be in the city, but I need to be careful," I replied.

"Careful?" Cagsus asked.

"There's a girl. And her father," I explained.

"Is the girl in a way to give her father concern?" Vallus inquired.

"No, sir, I've been careful about that. And I'm hoping to keep it that way," I answered.

After spending my 20th birthday on Reginis, capital of the Southern String, the 1st Cohort arrived at Galicia IV at the end of the year. For many of us, it was not clear why legions were being sent to planets where diplomats would serve better, but rumor said the Emperor was concerned that even minor demonstrations could lead to instability.

Galicia IV was a rural planet rich in wheat, oats, corn, and barley. The population wanted advanced technology, but as Master Farcas had taught at the Ceres Conservatory, it was established policy that agricultural provinces did best concentrating on their strengths, not being distracted by gadgets. The First Consul had denied their request.

Several cities along the richly cultivated western coast had declared for the New Freedoms of speech, association, trade, and faith. These freedoms were harmless as long as taxes were paid, but the Emperor had taken a particular dislike to the demonstration of disobedience. The village of Cremona was not only ordered to be taken, but put to the sword.

Cremona was not a military base. Four or five hundred peasants kept themselves busy with planting, cattle, and crafts. The stone wall surrounding their settlement was designed to keep out wolves, not an army, so we encountered no resistance. The Talons had just occupied the town when the order came.

"I don't understand this," Centurion Vallus said. "The red flag is only used against intractable garrisons, not civilians."

"The town is surrendered, the terms honorable," Sergeant Cagsus mentioned.

"Have you confirmed the order?" Commander Janus asked.

"My appeal to General Karphus was rejected. He seeks to ingratiate himself with the Emperor after failing him at Targus," Vallus replied.

"What are we going to do?" Janus said.

"I will not obey the order," Vallus announced. "Each of you will need to make your own decisions."

"This could have repercussions," Cagsus warned.

"Losing my honor would be worse," Vallus insisted.

When Vallus refused to harm the prisoners, Janus also refused the order. Both were arrested. As word spread, the 1st Cohort deliberately allowed the townspeople to escape into the hills. Outraged, General Karphus had the entire cohort put in irons. We were shipped to Balatoros Prime, the regional capital.

"Centurion, I am troubled," I admitted on a dreary night in our prison.

"We have plenty of time, Quinten. What sits so heavily upon you?" Vallus asked. His hair was grayer, now fifty years old and growing stout.

"I do not want to die a disgraced traitor, and I don't understand the need for this. I have seen civilians die in war before. No thought was given when my family was slain," I explained.

"You may beg the Emperor's mercy," Vallus counseled.

"No. I am a member of the Talons. If my brothers and sisters must face an ignoble end, I will take my place among them."

"This is about more than brotherhood, my young friend. Do you not pay homage to Minerva?"

"I do," I assured him.

"What is Minerva's decree on the massacring of innocents?"

"It is a violation of her edict. But to disobey the Emperor is a violation of the law."

"Then you must look into your heart. Who should be held in the highest regard? The Emperor or Minerva?"

"I'm not sure," I confessed.

"There may come a day, if the gods are kind, that you'll know the answer," Vallus said. "I will send them my prayers on your behalf."

Because of the 1st Cohort's valiant reputation, the refusal to obey orders caused a wave of controversy. Message boards were filled. Explanations offered. It wasn't that massacres found favor with the people, they were just not spoken of, and downplayed as necessary at times.

Centurion Vallus would have none of it. He declared such massacres a violation of Roman honor and an insult to the gods. He was unmovable, and not silent.

Every member of the cohort stood beside our commander. I would rather he apologized, having no desire to be court-martialed, but court-martialed we were. And sentenced to the arena.

As practiced by the Empire, one in five would stand condemned. A hundred in all. We assembled in the prison courtyard under the eyes of Imperial officials. Centurion Vallus and his senior officers were the first to step up, as tradition dictated. Every legionnaire wanted to join them, for honor demanded no less. I quickly marched forward, much to Vallus's displeasure. He ordered me back into the ranks.

With so many volunteering, it became necessary to draw lots. As the senior sergeant, Cagsus held them in his clenched fist, working in sections. I drew a long straw, feeling humiliated. My friend Tactus was not so enthused, having drawn a short straw. I took it from him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Don't you wish to marry?" I asked.

"Yes, you know I am in love with Marlina," he replied.

"Then this is my straw."

"You can't do that for me," he protested

"I'm not doing it for you," I said. "I'm doing it for your children."

I was really doing it for myself. The Talons were my family. I would not let them face the arena without me.

With the hundred chosen, we were transferred to Fort Lyon. Our conditions were not the worst, guarded in a great barracks. Good food. Steam baths. Room to exercise. We assembled in the commons.

"Tribune Peratis is nervous," Commander Janus confided. "The law demands we be allowed to fight in the arena as a unit, that the gods may decide our fate. They will spare no number to slay us."

Each of us dipped our heads in silent prayer. I hoped Minerva was listening.

"There is still time to ask for pardons," Vallus said, looking at me. "I will not yield, nor will your officers. The rank and file may seek mercy."

"What mercy is dishonor?" Cagsus asked, getting many cheers.

"It is still your decision. There is no reason to die unnecessarily," Vallus answered.

"We all knew the orders. We all disobeyed," Cagsus protested. "Do officers have an exclusive claim on Talon honor?"

"We would not pretend we did," Vallus confirmed.

Our final night in barracks was something to remember. The condemned were given a feast, wine, and song. Women were provided for male comfort. They proved very talented. Handsome men were offered for our small female division, though most already had favorites among the regulars. I was eager as any. Having been near death so many times, and seeing those I loved slain, I simply had no fear of dying. I only wanted to wield my sword in a great struggle.

* * * * * *

We were sent to Rome, locked in the dungeons of Colosseum Maximus. The match was widely heralded so that all citizens would know the price of disobedience. On the morning of the event, we were armed with sword and shield, given scarlet cloaks, steel helmets, and new chainmail. We marched out as a unit for the final time.

It was a large arena, ten acres of open ground with seating for a hundred thousand. Wine, ale, and honey cakes were served to the restless crowd. In keeping with custom, the event would be broadcast throughout Rome. Null-space video would provide viewing to remote star systems. A low hill dominated the center of the arena, which is where we planted our standard, a fringed red banner capped with a golden eagle. Not a seat in the stadium was vacant. The Emperor was seen in his private box behind a security screen.

"Set formation, comrades. We will show them how Legionnaires die," Vallus said.

We set a ring, standing shield to shield. Non-commissioned officers stood a few yards back to give direction. Vallus had allowed eight of our sister Legionnaires to join us, all excellent archers, stationed near the crest of the hill.

The Herald appeared on a balcony wearing a blue silk jacket, holding up his staff for attention.

"Having offended the Emperor with their rebellion and insolence, be it known these disgraced traitors are sentenced to death," the Herald announced. "Yet is the Emperor ever merciful. If they will now bend the knee and beg forgiveness, they will be pardoned."

Not one of us budged. I looked to Vallus, hoping he'd change his mind. I had no desire to die in this spectacle. My brothers and sisters felt differently. For them, it was an unshakable matter of honor. I would stand with my comrades.

"Release the first horde!" the Herald ordered.

With a roar, five hundred criminals, slaves, and barbarians poured from portcullises surrounding our formation. They held every kind of weapon: swords, knives, clubs, spears, and tridents. They broke upon us like a wave, screaming their battle cries.

Our shield wall held the initial shock, the dead piling at our feet. When their numbers dwindled, we moved forward in small groups, dispatching the wounded who posed a threat. Enemies who fell back against the walls and refused to engage were slain by spearmen standing on the walkways above them. We suffered several casualties.

Another five hundred were released, more determined than the first. We lost a man here and there, retreating up the hill while shrinking our defense. It took an hour to slay the second group. Blood was turning the ground to red mud.

There was a third horde which pressed us gravely. The forth horde briefly overran the hill, knocking our standard down. I rushed up, hacked away until the position was cleared, and returned the standard to its proper place. I found Vallus lying at my feet, having sold his life valiantly.

"This could be it," Cagsus said as the fifth horde was pushed to the gates.

Only thirty of us remained, wounded and exhausted. It was hard to maintain a shield wall on the cluttered hillside, now covered with the dead and dying. We set the best defense possible, our three surviving archers holding the top of the hill.

"Here they come," Cagsus shouted.

The enemy was fresh, hoping to find salvation in our defeat. We held them off, for a time. A flank wavered. Several of us charged, throwing the horde back. Brothers fell all around me. There was nothing I could do to help them, driving hard at every creature not wearing legion armor.

The wave finally collapsed, a score drifting away to lick their wounds. Three of us remained. I crawled to the standard at the top of the hill, helping Samson. Marquard was already there, cut through the spine. I doubted he could live another hour. Samson was no better, both arms slashed. We sat there, among the bodies of our brothers and sisters, waiting.

"We've made those bastards pay, haven't we?" Marquard groaned.

"That we have, brother," I agreed, taking a moment to look at the crowd. It seemed they were shouting something. I couldn't tell what it was, and it didn't matter.

The Herald came forward. The arena fell silent.

"Citizens of the Empire, the Emperor admires true courage. Harken to his divine decree," the Herald announced. "If the survivors of this great trial will now beg the Emperor's mercy, they will be restored in rank and rewarded. If they refuse, another five hundred will be released into the arena."

I glanced at my fallen comrades. My wounded friends. Thousands of criminals lay in piles, hacked down in furious combat. The anxious crowd waited breathlessly for our answer. The Herald shuffled impatiently. With all the strength I could muster, I rose to my feet and raised my sword.

"Bring on your five hundred!" I shouted.

The colosseum roared. After some confusion, the pending horde was held back. I heard voices shouting, "Tenacious! Tenacious! Tenacious!"

The chant turned into a storm. A hundred thousand spectators were on their feet screaming and stomping until the stadium framework groaned from their exertions. The Herald stood once again on the balcony, motioning for attention. They were having trouble getting the crowd under control.

"Justice!" someone yelled.

"The Talons forever!" others shouted.

The demonstration was so great that guards were forced to take positions around the arena. Some of them appeared half-hearted in their duty. Above, in the Emperor's box, I saw frantic counselors dashing back and forth, and from outside the Colosseum, the sounds of angry mobs filled the streets.

"Do you hear them, Quinten?" Marquard said. "Vallus was right. This day, the people have seen true honor. Our blood is well spent."

I didn't know what he meant, though perhaps I suspected.

The Emperor did not send forth his five hundred. Medics appeared to help my brothers, carrying them down the hill. I remained alone, holding our standard.

"Good people, in his infinite mercy, the Emperor grants full pardon to these intrepid soldiers," the Herald announced. "They will be cared for and returned to duty."

The mob cheered.

* * * * * *

A few weeks later, I was assigned to the 11th Legion, 2nd Corps, and shipped to the rebellious Turlock region of Botis Minor. The Mud Hawks were not an elite company, but having been given a second chance to serve, I did my best to conform. My new captain, Littes Ceptio, accused me of sulking in my tent between assignments. There was truth to that.

Trantor 2 had stubborn defenses, or so it was said. After the Talon Brigade's noble sacrifice, the red flag had officially been abandoned as an instrument of policy, but units like the 2nd didn't need formal orders for pillage. After several towns fell to dawn attacks, I'd had enough. Had I been spared in the arena only to aid in the devastation of rebel towns? Was this what my brothers died for? These doubts grew heavily against my sense of duty.

The city's nightwatch had been tripled, so it was decided to surprise the rebels with a late afternoon attack. An hour before sunset, I slipped over a lightly guarded wall, made my way through an empty barracks to the ramparts, and opened the outer gates.

Trantor had not been the military center I expected. It was largely a refuge of noncombatants. Perhaps a thousand in all, that the Mud Hawks fell upon with ferocious malice. Too late, I knew my honor was gone forever, disappearing in the flames of the helpless city. I reached the rear gates, forced them open, and allowed what refugees who could to flee into the forest. It would not help the hundreds who could not escape.

I returned to my tent thinking to fall upon my sword and end my disgrace. Never would I walk the great marble steps to the Great Hall, there to share in everlasting feasting with my lost comrades. I would never share heroic stories with my brother and sister warriors, singing the old songs, or raise a cup of wine to honor.

Why had I been so blind? What excuse could be offered? None. Shun me, my brothers!

Captain Ceptio entered my tent with an evil smirk. Following him were three bodyguards and a frightened woman barely out of her teens.

"You've abandoned the fruits of victory, Tenacious," Ceptio said, "so we've brought you this squirming peach."

She was beautiful with long black hair, dark eyes, and soft clear skin. Destined to be a merchant's wife, or that of a high official. Like one of my sisters would have been.

"Rape in the heat of conquest is sometimes overlooked," I said. "There is no excuse for this. You defy the laws of Apollo."

"Not man enough?" Ceptio said.

"It's sacrilegious," I insisted.

"Has the grim reaper become a priest?" a bodyguard said. It's true the cohort considered me grim. A reaper? Perhaps.

"You've had your entertainment. Let the girl go," I said.

"Take her now, with us to witness, or I give her to my men," Ceptio demanded.

I looked into her anxious eyes, then stared at Ceptio with a quiet fury. He was determined upon his degenerate game, which I didn't care to play. Yet seeing her turned over to Ceptio's brutes hardly seemed preferable.

Ceptio pushed the girl to her knees before me. I hesitated, lost in my own shame. And now my degradation would be complete. Ceptio was enjoying himself. How little he cared for anything noble or decent.

"Let her go," I said.

"What did I tell you?" Ceptio said to his sergeant. "This Tenacious is no god. He's not even a man."

"What does he know of women?" the sergeant said. "Give this peach to those who know how to use her."

"I think not," Ceptio said. "Perhaps this is how he wants her."

To my disbelief, he drew a knife from behind his back, and in a single swift motion, cut the girl's throat, shoving her body to my feet.

It was the last outrage Ceptio ever committed. In an instant, I drew my long knife and buried it in his chest. He cried out as blood spurted from his mouth. Too late, his guards closed around me. I slashed the throat of one and gutted another. More guards arrived, rushing into the tent accompanied by a great deal of screaming and cursing. The numbers and close quarters eventually gave them the upper hand.

Chapter Three

The Road to Exile

Claxis Travios was a senior commander, a decent man in a cohort that didn't deserve him. The body of the dead girl on the floor of my tent explained everything to him, but he was still required to arrest me. Killing a superior officer was known by all to be a death penalty offense.

They transferred me to the provost marshal within an hour, though word of the incident spread quickly. At first I was kept closely confined, but after a few days, the chains were loosened. Claxis came to see me carrying a bottle of wine.

"Could you not have killed that bastard in the heat of battle? Where none know friend from foe?" he asked.

"It would have been wiser, but it matters not," I answered. "Killing that butcher is the only honorable thing I've done since my brothers fell in the arena. I'm content to die for it."

The wine was good.

"I should think you'd prefer death on the battlefield," Claxis said, refilling my cup. "Isn't that how true warriors reach the Great Hall?"

"A warrior who lives honorably may aspire to feast in the Great Hall. To walk the marble steps. To drink and sing with their brothers-gone-before. This blessing is forever denied me now. I opened gates protecting women and children. Obeyed orders condemned by the gods. And I let that poor girl be slaughtered at my feet."

"You could not have known what would happen."

"I've served in the army for sixteen years, sir. Seen much. Heard more. There can be no excuses."

"A soldier obeys orders," Claxis insisted.

"A soldier lives for honor or he lives for nothing. Even if I was allowed to walk the marble steps and peer into the Great Hall, how could I ever take a seat among my brothers and sisters? I only pray to die well, that I will not disgrace them further."

"You tread a hard road," Claxis disapproved, producing a second bottle of wine. "You should know, this incident has not gone unnoticed."

"What do you mean?"

"Recordings of the murdered girl have appeared on the social nets. Many have expressed outrage. Scholars say it's further evidence of the Empire's moral decay."

"Ceptio was a bad soldier. He's not typical of the Legions," I protested.

"Perhaps. But images speak louder than words," Claxis said.

Weeks passed without my trial taking place. I expected to be made an example of. They weren't going to put me in an arena again, that was sure. Beheading was too generous. I guessed crucifixion. A horrid end, but I was prepared for anything except the whip. Ever since the dungeon at Arklow, the crack of a whip had the power to unnerve me. I prayed daily for a brave death.

After a time, I was moved to the regional capital at Grakas IV. My food improved, water was always available, and occasionally wine smuggled in by sympathetic guards.

Finally, after months of imprisonment, a verdict was delivered by a high tribunal--exile. I was truly surprised. Even when the manner of exile was revealed, a death sentence in all but name, I didn't understand why the Emperor hadn't demanded public punishment. My only clue was from Claxis, who dared suggest many were unhappy with the events leading to my arrest. Of course, I dismissed his opinion and offered no excuses. I had been a soldier all my life and well understood the gravity of my crime.

There was no announcement. One morning I was having breakfast when guards suddenly put me on a shuttle for the Grakas space station. There I was kept in detention while a ship was readied.

The Airion Star Road was once thought to be a shortcut between the Western Spur and the Grain Worlds, but over a hundred-year period, scores of ships mysteriously vanished. Researchers finally discovered a rogue wormhole, forcing the route to be abandoned.

My voyage into eternity would not be unpleasant. Though I had often traveled in military cruisers, they had selected a diplomatic courier for me. The craft was loaded with drugs promoting extended sleep, a reading device, food, weapons, tools, and a note from Claxis to boost my spirits. I read the note many times. For a soldier who spent so much time alone, it appeared I had made many friends. Claxis assured me that the memory of my Talon brothers would never be forgotten.

* * * * * *

The small spaceship was launched on autopilot toward the sun where the solar resonance fields could access the Airion Quadrafile. I was asleep in a pod, protected from the intense disorientation. Upon waking several weeks later, I found nothing but stars outside the portholes. Though the ship carried maps, I was not an astronomer. I read my books, ate little to preserve my supplies, and used isometric exercises to stay in shape. I named my vessel Château d'If in homage to an old legend.

And that's how it was for the first two months. Quiet. Monotonous. Aimless. And then my voyage into oblivion took an unexpected turn. Somehow, Château d'If was pulled off course toward a null field. A flash of bent light burst through the portholes, followed by total darkness. A sensation of extreme nausea told me the ship had fallen into an uncharted wormhole. I scrambled for my sleeping pod. No one but an interstellar pilot wants to be awake while traveling through negative space.

I regained consciousness to find a small blue planet in the Ballor star system, an unexplored region along the western fringe. I saw oceans, ice caps, and at least one continent. By all appearances, it looked like Château d'If would crash. Or burn up on entry. I took a seat in the navigator's chair.

Most spacecraft fly themselves, thank the gods, for I was no pilot. A short thruster burst took me down toward the surface, though I'd need a suitable place to land. I pulled the shoulder straps tighter. The planet was getting bigger, and the air grew hot as Château d'If hit the atmosphere. Flames appeared outside the portholes. I closed my eyes. If the ship was going to strike the planet going 20,000 km a minute, it wasn't something I wanted to see.

There was heavy turbulence. A plummeting sensation. Tremendous noise. Then a bump, followed by a loud bang and pronounced grinding on the hull. Everything flipped upside down, and flipped again. The ship stopped moving, and I wasn't dead. I remained strapped in my seat for a moment, wondering if the engines would explode. When they didn't, I took a relieved breath.

Using a hand crank, I opened the top hatch, poking my head up. The air was crisp, the weather cool, the gravity somewhat lighter than I was accustomed to. All around me was a thick forest, deep and dark, but filled with life. Edible life, no doubt. With a bow and quiver of arrows, I had no fear of starving.

Over the next few hours, I pulled storage lockers from the damaged craft. My people have a legend about a castaway named Robinson Caruso. I could not help wondering what old Robin would have thought.

I made camp near the ship on the first night, assessing my resources. The first thing I found was my sword. The one I'd used serving the 5th Legion. My long knife lay in its sheath. There was a note.

My son, I could not prevent your exile, but I could affect the course of your ship. They say there is a habitable planet beyond the Keki Wormhole. None know, for none have ever returned. I pray the Gods will see you to safety. You have never failed me.

Your father,

Pilus Vitellius Dracicus

I was deeply moved by his sympathy, and sad that I would never see him again. Such is the fate of a warrior. Now I was on a strange planet with an unpredictable future. I would establish a base, drink the wine stored in my locker, and explore my new environment. With luck, Claxis had included grapevines in my stores. A nearby hillside looked good for planting.

As a scout of long experience, I headed for the nearest high ground, scaling massive boulders. The surrounding countryside was rich in flowering plants and lush meadows no different than ones found in many similar ecosystems, for the Laws of Cybele are universal. I saw no signs of civilization.

A deep creek flowed not far from the crash site. Over the next few days, I moved my supplies closer to the water, finding a giant fallen tree with a hollow center. It was perfect for my needs. I crushed yellow root to expel the insects, scraped out the inside with an ax, and fortified the trunk into a stronghold. In time, I would cut windows. Abundant grass made straw for a comfortable bed. A pile of stones became an altar at which I paid daily tribute to Minerva for my good fortune.

The forest held deer, rabbit, and wild boar. Maybe a few bears if I was lucky. There was nothing to fight worthy of my sword, so death in glorious battle seemed unlikely. But, though my situation appeared bleak, I can't honestly say I felt that way. Freedom can be intoxicating, and I was certainly free. More than ever before in my life. For several weeks I lived in my tree, hunted, relaxed at my campfire, and had no goals of any kind. All of that soon changed.

From time to time, I would slay a buck with my spear, needing hides, meat, and entrails. On one particular afternoon, while stalking a herd, I encountered competition. Half a dozen hairy ape-like creatures were skulking among the trees. Long arms, thick chests, and thin necks. Rather than go for a buck or aged doe, I watched as they set upon two young fawns. They bore yellow fangs, sharp claws, and raw violence in their vicious black eyes.

I instantly hated them. Why? I'm not sure. Perhaps because they seemed to glory in their slaughter with shrieks of victory even as they preyed upon the weakest of the weak. And in their primitive barbarity, I saw the worst of nature without any redeeming qualities. Yet the savage creatures were not without wits, being fast, agile, and working in a pack. Hating them gave me something to live for. A precious gift.

In the months that followed, I stalked the savages with a newfound passion, killing stragglers even as I sought to learn their habits. They were splendid enemies, and many times I received bites or slashes while jumping among small hunting groups, cutting them down with my sword even as they sought to rip out my throat. Many of my old skills proved useful. I'd always had an ability during battle to focus on immediate threats. Movement, sound, and smell blended around me. The furtive aggression of the savages suited this talent perfectly.

But the hunt did not last. By fall, while the leaves were turning, they gradually disappeared.

It would seem I had crashed on this primitive world in the spring, judging how the seasons changed. The summer was hot, the fall wet, and the winter colder than I expected. Discovering a bison herd on a broad grassy plain, I managed to kill a hefty bull, glad to have the heavy hide. The dried meat would last months. The sinew was valuable for bow strings, rope, thread, and attaching arrowheads.

The harsh winter weather kept me in my comfortable burrow, giving me time to fashion plenty of arrows. With wood plentiful, I built a stone fireplace for cooking. On days when the temperatures proved mild, I practiced my archery--never one of my finer skills.

By the following spring, I had switched my Imperial wardrobe for a leather jacket and rawhide pants, a fur hat, and moccasins rather than boots. Quieter for stalking prey. I kept my wool socks. Though I continued to bathe regularly, my beard grew long and I took on the benighted habits of a hermit, sometimes even talking to myself. Though I never forgot my obligations to the gods.

Once, while hunting, I spotted a young doe hardly in her second year. She was thin and separated from her mother. It would have been an easy kill, but I didn't have the heart. I roped the poor thing and led her back to her herd. The next morning, I was rewarded by stumbling upon a fat boar. I've often wondered if Aphrodite was the lost doe in the woods, testing my soul. I think she was.

I never killed for sport, but I did gather what I'd need when the cold weather returned, stockpiling food and hides. Little did I realize I'd already spent my last winter alone.

The savages reappeared in early spring. I guessed they hibernated like bears. My first kill of the season brought immense satisfaction, falling on three of them as they threatened a doe and her newborn fawn. In this, I saw myself fulfilling the third edict of Minerva: protect the weak and defenseless. Only a few days later, my life on Ballor changed forever.

Bored with the meadows and glens surrounding Deep Creek, I took to exploring farther north, seeing a wider variety of birds. More birds often indicate a larger body of water, perhaps a river. I carried little with me, only my weapons and a backpack.

The morning had been quiet. I passed a herd of elk, having no need for so much meat, and struck a wide trail used by many species. I was astonished to find footprints in the fine sand that no herd animal ever created. Human prints. Not barefoot. Moccasins not unlike my own. The discovery brought on many emotions, not all of them pleasant. For a year I had lived on this world with no clue it was inhabited. If it was colonized by the Empire, what would that mean for me, an exile of the Legion? I almost turned back, but then I heard a noise. Lots of noise. Savages. And they smelled blood.

Climbing over a ridge, I found a gully with a shallow brook running down the middle. And there she was, twenty yards away, coming in my direction. A woman. Her hair was long and black, flowing behind her as she desperately fled her pursuers. The maroon outfit was wool and nicely tailored. Her skin was naturally pale, tanned by Ballor's sun. None could fault her figure, the legs long and waist slender. The hazel eyes were crazed with fear, and little wonder, for six savages were hot on her trail.

There was a bend in the brook where the gully narrowed, the embankments thick with dangling tree roots. Not the best place to turn and fight even if she had a weapon, which she didn't. As I ducked low on the ledge, the woman ran past without seeing me, only to scream when she found her escape blocked. The savages chortled with victorious glee, right until I fell on them with sword and long knife.

The savages' first clue of trouble was when their leader's head went flying from his shoulders, the thin neck severed with hardly an effort. A strike left wounded a surprised foe before I turned right, hacking at two more.

They were a brave bunch as savages go, charging at me repeatedly until all six lay dead in the shallow water. I received a deep scratch on my sword arm, and one of the foul things bit my scalp, leaving a trickle soaking into my black headband.

The woman crouched several yards away in a thicket, breathing heavily. Staring. Now twenty-three years old, I stood better than six feet, a hundred and ninety pounds, with long arms and broad shoulders. My shaggy brown hair was streaked with blood from the battle, and there was a fierce gaze in my blue-gray eyes. I could easily be mistaken for a barbarian. The savages would have torn her to pieces. What I might do was a mystery.

"Are you injured?" I asked in galactic standard.

"You speak a civilized tongue?" she answered, slowly getting up.

"It depends on what you mean by civilized. Most speak the language of the Empire."

"Are you a citizen of the Empire?"

"No. I am a soldier of the forest. What is your name?"

"Tell me your name first."

"I am Ten--You can call me Tenay," I replied.

"Thank you for helping me, Tenay. My name is Nora," she said.

"What brings you to such a desolate spot?" I asked.

"I fled Stone Point. I could not bear it anymore."

"Were they beating you?"

"Something like that."

"Is this town nearby?"

"It's more of a village, with walls."

"Is this village far away?"

We were interrupted by splashing footsteps and crunching leaves. I turned to see three tall, burly men approaching.

"What is that to you, stranger?" a deep growling voice said. They wore thick wool jackets dyed blue, long trousers, and heavy leather boots. All carried hunting spears. I rose, a hand on my sheathed sword, the other sliding behind my back clutching the knife.

"What concerns me is none of your affair, woodsman," I replied.

"Hah, I am no woodsman. I am Jomar of the Clan Kamalandi, chief of Stone Point," he boasted, speaking galactic with a harsh accent. "And that woman belongs to me."

He was a sturdy fellow in his early thirties with long golden hair, dark brown eyes, powerful arms, and big hands. Likely a good fighter. Most leaders are.

"Nora, do you belong to this fellow?" I asked.

"I belong to no one," she answered, staying behind me.

"She does," Jomar insisted.

"She says otherwise," I replied. "And as I have just saved her from a pack of savages, her protection is mine to claim. If I choose."

They looked at the savages laying in every direction, several still twitching.

"Is the rest of your band nearby?" Jomar asked.

"I am alone," I said.

"Who killed these beasts?" one of the others said. He was a redhead, a little younger than his leader, and equally robust.

"Who is asking?" I replied.

"This is my cousin, Timber," Jomar said. "The youngster is Frendar. They are hunters of the clan." Frendar was indeed young, hardly more than seventeen, with Jomar's gold hair and round face. Possibly a nephew.

"I am Tenay, Jomar of the Kamalandi. I will speak with this woman and decide in what manner your claim may be addressed."

"Make no demands on us," Frendar declared, raising his spear.

"Attempt to throw that and I will kill you," I warned, producing my knife. The lanky youngster laughed. Jomar was less amused.

"We aren't looking to spill blood, stranger," Jomar said with the caution of a leader, pushing Frendar's spear aside.

"Nor is it my intention," I said. "But I am not of your clan, nor subject to your whims. If you wish to take this woman against her will, it will need to be past my sword."

I raised the sword up from the scabbard but did not draw it completely, in keeping with the fifth edict of Minerva. They saw it was a formidable weapon and retreated.

"Could you really kill one of them?" Nora asked.

"I can kill all of them," I answered.

She looked into my eyes, sensing it was true. She had seen me slay six savages with barely a wound.

"Tell me now what you want," I said. "If they decide to take you by force, there will be no further options."

"I have lived with them for a year. They aren't bad men, but they have bad ways. I would rather you did not kill them."

"How far away is Stone Point?"

"I walked for two days, until realizing they found my camp. Then I ran."

"I will resolve this without violence, if I can."

Their conference ended. The spears remained lowered.

"Have you a settlement nearby?" Jomar asked.

"No," I replied. "My camp is several days away."

"If Nora returns with us to Stone Point, we will put her case before the elders," Jomar suggested. "You may judge the justice of it for yourself."

The idea of being with people again appealed to me. And the chance to learn more about this village. I drew Nora forward.

"If this woman agrees, we will accept your invitation," I said.

"I will return," Nora meekly acquiesced.

Needing a moment, I removed my shirt to wash in the brook. When I straightened up, I had their attention. All were looking at the taloned eagle tattoo on my arm. I could not tell if they knew what it meant.

* * * * * *

Nora had fled Stone Point with a backpack and bedroll, which we retrieved. Her trackers were traveling equally light. We walked for several hours until making camp for the night. I carried enough dried meat for all, supplemented by roots and berries discovered along the trail, which I made into porridge.

"I did not know there are settlements to the south of here," Jomar said as we sat around a robust campfire.

"There are none that I know of," I mentioned. "Though I haven't traveled these lands for very long."

"How is that?" Timber asked.

"My ship crashed last year. Until today, I did not realize this world was inhabited."

"An Imperial vessel?" Jomar inquired.

"It was. But I was on a private mission."

"No ship comes to Ballor deliberately," Timber said. "All those we know of crashed here."

"Did your ship crash here?" I asked.

"Three generations ago," Jomar replied. "The colonial transport Silent Wind. The pilots did not survive. The colonists were stranded."

"Silent Wind was not my ship," Nora interjected. "I was on a trade mission from Adelphia. When the Yamamoto crashed, I was captured by Delesians and sold to the Kamalandi."

"You were not sold," Jomar objected. "I traded for you. To make you my wife. And I have done everything I can to make you happy."

"That's a lie," Nora said.

It looked like Jomar wanted to strike her, but held back. Lucky for him.

"What was the name of your ship?" young Frendar asked.

"Château d'If," I replied.

"I don't know what that means," Frendar said.

"It's from an old legend," I answered. "Have many ships crashed on this world?"

"Eighteen that we know of," Jomar said. "The Delesians have been here the longest. About ninety years. Some ships had large crews, some small. Our settlements are spread along the Great Mother River."

"Great Mother River?" I asked.

"This entire valley runs from the purple mountains in the east to an ocean beyond the rapids in the west," Timber explained. "South of the river is nothing but endless forest and desert. To the north is prairie and snow-covered ranges."

"The Mother provides all of our needs," Jomar said. "If not for the savages, this world would be a paradise."

"For men," Nora corrected.

"For all," Jomar said.

"I have been observing these savages," I said. "Do they prey near your settlement?"

"We are safe behind our walls. Beyond, they may attack anyone, especially women and children. Even hunters are at risk."

It occurred to me their societies must lack organization to have such troubles with so primitive a threat. My hosts appeared to read my thoughts.

"How did you kill so many? By yourself?" Timber asked.

"Training," I replied.

Late the next afternoon we reached a broad river. Wide enough that swimming across would be difficult. We found canoes on the shore. On the far side of the river were plowed fields, corrals for livestock, and a log palisade on a promontory protected by steep cliffs.

Nora looked resigned to her fate as we rowed across, landing on a flat rocky beach. A few boys fishing from the shore noticed us but paid little attention. Until they saw me. As we walked up a winding trail to the village gate, a crowd gathered. Farmers came from the fields. Youngsters tending sheep emerged from the meadow. I saw several draft horses used for plowing.

It wasn't just that a stranger had arrived. I had no doubt these tribes frequently encountered visitors. I was a soldier, strong and trim from living in the wilderness. The manner of my walk, the sword at my side, and the bow slung over my shoulder all marked me as a warrior. Their reaction was not a new experience. I'd marched victoriously through city streets with my comrades on dozens of worlds. I had experienced a triumph in Rome itself.

The village was located on a strong position above the river. I guessed the population at four hundred, the grounds laid out like a fort around a large courtyard. The houses were constructed of milled timber with stone foundations. Light fixtures showed they used electricity. A guard tower above the gate watched for danger.

Three elders came forward, none more than seventy. All were men. I noticed the women hanging back, watching but not participating.

"Who is this?" the oldest one asked, his accent familiar. He was slim, wearing a long white gown, with receding gray hair.

By his voice and dress, I recognized them now. These people were from Reginis, a cultured world where I had spent a pleasant leave with Collin, Marco, and Samson. From what Jomar had said, their transport had become stranded on Ballor some sixty years before. What had happened that these Reginisans would devolve in such a way?

"Burry, Calimar, and Santis, this is Tenay," Jomar introduced. "When we found Nora, he had just slain six savages in her rescue."

"Six?" Burry said, looking past me to see if I was alone.

"Six. By himself," Jomar confirmed. "He bears the mark of a Legionnaire."

"We welcome you, Tenay, and offer the hospitality of Stone Point," Burry said with a hesitant smile, glancing at his fellow elders.

"I come to stand as this woman's champion," I replied, speaking loudly that all might hear. "She claims to be held against her will, and that liberties have been taken in violation of the edicts of Minerva and the laws of Apollo."

"We know not of what you say," Calimar replied, a tall skinny man prematurely wrinkled.

"Have you abandoned the gods of your ancestors?" I asked.

"What do you know of our ancestors?" Santis said, short and plump with slick black hair.

"I visited your homeworld in my youth. My cohort was stationed there for a time," I responded. "Reginis has been a province of the Empire for hundreds of years. They obey civilized laws and honor the gods."

"And you find us negligent in this?" Burry asked.

"From what I heard on the trail, grave concerns have been raised," I answered.

"And if you find us negligent, what would you do about it?" Santis defiantly asked. I walked up to the elders, a hand on the hilt of my sword, and looked them in the eyes.

"If no remedy is made, I will meet my obligations," I said. They could interpret that in a number of ways, but my meaning was clear.

"We will speak on it," Burry conceded.

As the sun set, all of the villagers came into the walls, bringing their livestock with them. It created a noisy scene, filling barns and pens. Necessary to find protection from predators, but it limited them to the numbers of animals they could accommodate.

Keeping Nora at my side, I was given a tour of the village. There was a great deal of curiosity, especially from the children. I smiled and patted their heads, praised their many innovations, and asked questions. I saw they had cannibalized parts of their crashed spaceship, using solar generators for power, refrigerators for food storage, and aluminum beams to make high ceilings. A water tower provided indoor plumbing. Their arsenal included a score of old swords, shields, and tools for making steel arrowheads. I was surprised they hadn't made better use of these resources.

"Do you see the women cower?" Nora asked as we approached her residence. "On Adelphia, all are equal. We honor Juno. Our goddess would have none of this."

"Not all of the women cower," I disagreed. "Yet I see what you see. I sense a patriarchy that exceeds Minerva's will."

"What are you going to do about it?" Nora pressed.

"That is less clear. When I leave, you may leave with me. Perhaps you can find another settlement."

"What of your settlement?"

"I live in a hollow tree with modest comforts. I doubt it's the life you want."

"Jomar will not let me leave," Nora warned.

"If he chooses to fight for you, that is his right. It would not be a wise decision.

Chapter Four, part 1

The Sword of Minerva

The tension in Stone Point would soon come to a head. Challenged, the elders consulted their scrolls, debating deep into the night. The laws of their ancestors were clear. Whether they would accept them was the question.

I was invited to Jomar's lodge for a meal. It was hardly a den of inequity. A brick chimney provided a warm fire on the cold spring night, which soon turned rainy. Thick woolen carpets covered the floors. There were pillows to sit on. Woven tapestries prevented chills from the walls. The bedroom he shared with Nora was filled with fine dresses and womanly accessories. Prisoner or not, Jomar appeared to genuinely care for her comfort.

We sat on the floor around an oak table while an older woman served bison stew and fresh bread. Timber and Frendar were there. Nora sat next to Jomar across from me.

"What plans have you after visiting our lands?" Jomar asked.

"I have no plans, Jomar. I've settled at Deep Creek. I'll likely go back to hunting savages."

"You hunt them?" Timber said.

"They prey upon fawns, cubs, and other young animals. I've developed an intense dislike for them," I confessed.

"Then you've killed them before?" Timber asked.

"Oh, yes, a great many," I replied.

"How many?" Jomar inquired, leaning forward.

"I do not keep count. It would be unfitting for a warrior. I would guess eighty. Maybe a hundred."

My supposition was met with silence. The food was good. The old woman proved to be Jomar's aunt, a pleasant lady with a gentle smile. She didn't talk much.

"You've taken a great interest in my woman," Jomar said. "I would grant you the gift of hospitality."

"Of what would this hospitality entail?" I asked.

"You may take Nora to the guest quarters with you for the night. Perhaps that will quench your attraction," Jomar suggested.

"Nora has not expressed a desire to share my furs," I replied.

"It is not her choice. She is my woman to gift as I choose," Jomar persisted.

"That is where we differ, my new friend. You have a thriving community here. Industrious. Courteous. Welcoming. But this abuse of your womenfolk must end. The laws of Minerva, Juno, and even Apollo leave no doubt of this."

"We care nothing of your laws," Timber said.

"That will change," I answered.

"As our guest declines your hospitality, I claim my right," Frendar said, getting to his feet. "I joined you on the quest to find her. I will have her for the night."

He reached to take Nora's arm.

"No!" Nora said. "I will not!"

"He has the right," Jomar confirmed. Frendar pulled Nora to her feet and started for the door.

"You should not do this," I warned, sipping my ale.

"I'll take the risk," Frendar said, dragging Nora out into the rainy courtyard. I finished my ale and stood, nodding to my hosts.

"Thank you for an educational evening," I said.

"Tenay, what are you going to do?" Jomar asked.

"Enforce the law," I replied, tugging my leather hat down against the rain.

"We have traditions," Jomar said. I turned to face him.

"Leader of the Kamalandi, you do not know of Imperial Legionnaires, except by reputation, so let me be clear. I would rather not hurt Frendar more than necessary, but if anyone interferes, your people will suffer. Do you understand?"

"You won't kill him?" Jomar pressed.

"I won't kill him. As a favor to you," I answered.

Frendar stopped in the middle of the courtyard when he saw me coming, still holding Nora's arm.

"Let the woman go," I instructed.

"If I don't?" he responded.

"You will face a warrior of Minerva."

Frendar released Nora's arm and drew a hunting knife. Nora backed away. A bell rang from the gate tower. At first I thought the bell was a call to arms. If they thought an untrained mob would intimidate me, they were wrong. But it was not a call to arms. On the contrary, the people retreated to their huts, watching from the doors. Only Jomar, Timber, and the elder, Burry, came forward.

"We will not interfere," Jomar promised.

I unbuckled my sword and threw it to Timber. Then I drew my long knife, showed it to Jomar, and hurled it into a fence post.

"Do your best," I growled at Frendar, showing I had no weapons.

"I am not afraid. After dealing with you, I will teach Jomar's insolent woman a lesson," Frendar boasted.

Giving the tall lad no time to react, I charged shoulder first, knocking him into the mud. As he tried to get up, I circled around, peppering him with short kicks. He raised his knife, seeking to fend me off. I faked a move as if to take the knife away, and then kicked him in the face. His nose bled. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He tried to rise again. I let him reach his feet before making a wide sweep with my leg to send him back into the muck. The knife was twisted from his grasp.

"Let me up. Fight me like a man," Frendar groaned. I grabbed his legs, rolled him over face down in the sludge, and knelt on his back, bending his arm at the elbow. The more he struggled, the more it hurt.

"You will apologize to this woman and beg her forgiveness," I demanded. "And swear to never treat a woman as property again. From this day until your death."

"No! No, I will not," Frendar answered.

"Then beg mercy from the gods."

I used his own knife to cut a long strip of leather from his coat sleeve and bound his hands behind his back.

"What are you doing? Stop! Stop!" Frendar yelled, trying to wiggle free. But my grip was too strong. I'd grown up fighting bullies much larger than I. This kid wouldn't have lasted two minutes in my world.

I sliced his pants down one side, then the other, leaving him half-naked, and lowered the blade to a highly sensitive area.

"What is that? What are you doing?" Frendar cried.

"Don't worry, I've worked on ranches," I replied. "I know how to geld a stallion."

"No! No! No!" Frendar screamed, fighting frantically.

"May Apollo see you through this trial," I replied with great sympathy.

I glanced to see Nora standing ten feet away, horrified. Jomar, Timber, and Burry were standing back, nervous but not daring to interfere. Tightening my hold, I lowered the knife to the sensitive area once again. The tip tickled his flesh.

"I yield! I'll apologize," Frendar shouted.

"Too late," I replied, applying pressure.

"No, no, no! By the gods, no! My lady, I apologize. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Frendar begged, tears filling his eyes. "Please forgive me. Please."

The courtyard was silent except for the pattering of light rain. Every person in the village was watching from their doors, hardly breathing. Frendar stopped struggling, waiting for the verdict.

"Yes. Yes, I forgive you," Nora said, dropping on her knees next to him. "Tenay, please let him go. He's just a boy."

I waited, giving everyone a moment of suspense.

"I will honor the lady's request," I agreed.

With a quick slash, I cut the bindings from Frendar's wrists and stood up to retrieve my sword from Timber. Jomar gave me a crafty look.

"You never intended to cut him, did you?" he whispered.

"He needed a lesson," I confirmed.

"You have taught lessons before, haven't you?" Jomar guessed.

"I was an army brat, raised in barracks. Not all of my bunkmates liked each other. There was fighting, and stabbing, and occasionally someone got killed. Especially on Saturday nights. What you saw tonight wouldn't have raised an eyebrow."

"There are problems I wish to speak of. Of the other towns, and the savages," Jomar requested.

"Do you have more ale?" I replied.

* * * * * *

Stranded on a barbarian world, Tenacious faces both savages and civilization. But he realizes these descendants of crashed spaceships have lost sight of the gods. Laws that he has sworn to uphold.