“Just some peasant slaves who grew up in these mountains.” Lucius fixed his steely gaze on the pater.
He shuffled nervously, taking a half step away from Lucius. “A peasant who can raise armies? There have been rumors for years—”
Lucius narrowed his eyes and filled his gaze with all the steel and barely contained rage he had boiling under the surface. “I’m going to stop you right there. I didn’t like the way you were looking at my friends earlier.”
“If we give them to the Parthians, they might—”
Lucius half drew his gladius, interrupting the pater. “You have two choices. You can come with us and risk a Parthian arrow in the back, or you can continue this line of thought and die right here, right now with Roman steel in your guts. Only one is guaranteed.”
Tiridat stood up straighter, steeling himself. “Perses Ferrata, as pater, I ord—”
Lucius pulled the sword the rest of the way out of its scabbard and flipped it around, shoving it into the pater’s neck just hard enough to dimple the skin. The little man quaked and blubbered, steam rising from his crotch. Lucius looked at him in disgust.
“On this mountain, I give the orders. You say one more thing, and I put this through your throat.” He gave a little push to emphasize the point, drawing a bead of blood. “If you understand me, nod.”
The pater gave a wobbly nod.
Withdrawing the point of his sword, Lucius wiped the drop of blood off on the pater’s shoulder. “I’m glad we understand each other. And just so we’re clear, if you so much as give Tigran or Ariazate a glance I don’t like or speak their names to anyone, I will kill you and leave your body for the buzzards.”
Lucius received another shaky nod. He held the pater’s gaze for a few moments more, disgust plain on his face, then sheathed his sword and mounted up, leaving the little man standing. The pater could betray his god’s will and use Lucius’s friends to endanger their mission, but the fear of Lucius’s sword weighed heavier. The pater caught up to Lucius, but ensured he stayed behind the centurion and out of reach of his sword.
Lucius caught up with Josephus and Tigran. Josephus opened his mouth to speak but clacked his jaw closed when he saw the stormy look on Lucius’s face. After they rode for a while, Lucius picked up the pace when they found a decent stretch of trail to safely gain some ground on. Once the trail got too steep, they dismounted and continued.
When they heard hooves beating on stone, Lucius yanked his gladius and stepped to their rear, Josephus joining him. Seeing it was Mylitos, Lucius lowered his sword, though kept it out in case he had company behind him. The scout yanked back on his reins, drawing his horse to a skidding stop.
“What’s the word with our friends?” Lucius asked.
“They’re stopping. It looks like they’re setting up camp,” the Illyrian scout replied.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Tigran cleared his throat. “Lucius, I think we might have something else to worry about.” He pointed toward the dark clouds roiling around the peak of the mountain.
The thick, black clouds already appeared to be adding more snow as they wrapped around the upper reaches of the rugged behemoth looming over them. The rain they’d fought through in the central mountains had already given the mountain its wintry start.
“Well, that’s just fucking great.” Lucius stared at the clouds. He’d been too worried about what was behind them. “Let’s find shelter. Quickly.”
They hadn’t risen above the tree line yet. The wind picked up, and they scrambled up the trail, looking for any combination of features that would work to keep the impending weather off them. As the clouds covered the sky above them, the first spits of moisture slapped into their faces, driven by the wind. Growing desperate, they set up the largest tent over a leeward nook in the rocks that had enough trees to give solid shelter and used the other tents to set up a windbreak for the horses.
With the Parthians already hunkered down, Lucius built a fire while Mylitos and Josephus assembled food they could heat up in a pot. The pater sat out of the way, sulking and casting sullen glances at Lucius, though he kept his eyes from Tigran.
“I hope your sister stays out of this mess,” Lucius said.
Tigran scooted closer to the fire, sticking out his hands to warm them. “Zati knows how to deal with the weather. We grew up in these mountains.”
Though his words were confident, the tone conveyed the boy’s concern for his sister. Once Lucius got the fire going, he sat back and let his two legionnaires work over the fire to prepare their meal. Tigran, staying close to the fire, took out his tsiranapogh and provided music.
With their meal finished, Lucius set up their watch. Mylitos took the first watch, Josephus the second, and Lucius the last. Curling up in his blanket and cloak, Lucius heard Mylitos grumble about snow before he fell asleep.
Lucius bolted awake to the sound of a cut-off scream and horses whinnying. Scrabbling into his caligae, he grabbed his sword and sprinted out into the dark, snowy night to hooves clattering on stone as the horses ran away. Mylitos joined him a moment later.
“You go left, I’ll go right,” Lucius instructed.
Not waiting for an affirmation, he swept to the right. The tent they’d set up as a wind block was trampled into the ground.
“Centurio, over here!” Mylitos cried out.
Running over to the scout, he found the Illyrian crouched over Josephus.
“His throat is cut.”
Lucius looked around, trying to figure out where the danger might be coming from. After a few moments, Mylitos joined him, pulling himself away from their dead comrade.
“Tigran?” Lucius called, not remembering seeing the boy after he bolted out of bed. He heaved a sigh of relief when the young Armenian poked his head out of the tent. “Are you OK?”
The boy nodded, his eyes flicking about. “The pater is gone.”
Lucius cursed. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
“What? Why?” Mylitos asked.
“He tried to talk me into turning in the boy to the Parthians to save our necks.” Lucius looked at the body of Josephus, steam rising from the blood around the gash in his neck. “I didn’t think he’d resort to murder.”
“We’ve got to get the horses, or we’re as good as dead,” Mylitos said.
“Right. Let’s grab a couple torches.” When they had lit torches, Lucius set a hand on Tigran’s shoulder. “You stay here inside the tent. Keep your sword in your hand.”
