Lucius stopped and turned, waiting a moment for everyone to catch up. “Thunder snow?”
Tigran gave a curt nod. “Yes. Make too much noise and the snow can wake and come down the side of the mountain, fast as lightning and loud as thunder. You don’t want to be carried down the mountain in its embrace.”
Lucius nodded vigorously. “No. I don’t think we do. Let’s keep our voices down. Besides, we don’t want them to carry to hostile ears.”
“Sorry, Centurio,” Mylitos whispered.
“Neither of us grew up in mountains like these.” Lucius looked down at the boy and squeezed his shoulder. “Fortunately, we have a knowledgeable guide to keep us alive.”
Tigran beamed at the compliment.
“Let’s keep walking. We’ve got a lot further to go than we’ve come.” Lucius returned to the front to plow forward and push snow out of his way.
Mylitos was right, though. If their pursuers valued their mounts and their lives, they’d be forced to dismount and lead the horses or they’d risk broken legs and dead animals, not something that would do them any good, though the fresh meat would be useful. Despite the energy from his encounters with the divine, their food supplies were growing thin, and dried meat and a bit of fruit weren’t the most rounded or filling of meals. They’d have to keep going if they hoped to get a meal, assuming they didn’t die from exposure or tumble down the mountain or take a Parthian arrow in the back or get eaten by one of the di inferi.
When he rattled off the short list of the current dangers, he almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of them. The only one on the list that made sense to him was the Parthian arrow. He flexed his left hand, feeling the strain in his forearm around the scar that went through on both sides from the arrow he’d taken. The rest of the list didn’t match up to the dangers he knew about as a legionnaire.
It was a dangerous business mixing up with gods. One had singled Lucius out in Antiochia, now he owed allegiance to three who’d set him on a mission. According to the oaths he’d taken upon entering the legions, he couldn’t enter into any sort of contract. It was why legionnaires couldn’t marry until they were discharged from the legions.
He shook his head at himself. What were human contracts to divine beings? The imperator who’d given him the mission could be dead by now. As frail as he looked, Lucius didn’t see the old man recovering. He could return to a new imperator who cared nothing about the mission Trajan had sent them on.
Life was complicated enough as an officer in the legions, but now he’d made his own life immeasurably more difficult by accepting the mission of the gods. Though he probably had no choice in the matter. Mithras didn’t seem a kind deity. Even if he hadn’t obliterated Lucius on the spot for refusing, the god could have cast him into the snow with nothing but a mortally wounded friend, a boy, and a horde of blood drinking monsters on their scent. He’d have been overwhelmed and killed, torn to pieces, his blood turning the snow pink.
That evening, they weren’t so lucky in their hiding places, but once again, Tigran, a child of the Armenian mountains, guided them. He showed them how to build a burrow in the snow that would keep the winds and encroaching drop in temperature at bay, the snow den acting as insulation, albeit a cold one.
The frigid night meant poor sleep as they huddled together, trying to combine their heat and cloaks to make more layers. When the morning sun’s first light forced Lucius from his dreams of monsters and dying in the snow, he welcomed the opportunity to get out of their packed snow cave and keep moving. When he reached into the pouch where he kept his rations, he found one lonely strip of jerky and a couple of dried Armenian plums.
By the time midday rolled around, his stomach rumbled from the lack of food and the exertion of fighting through the snow. He’d put on a good layer of fat on their way from Antiochia, the legion bulking up on high energy food so they’d have reserves before going into high elevations, but his body had chewed through a lot of that already, and he had no idea when they’d make it to a place where they could get more food. If they weren’t being pursued, he’d stop to do some hunting, but what was there to hunt this high up and this late in the season?
“Cent…Centurio.” Mylitos caught himself and lowered his voice. “I thought I saw something behind us. A flash of light, maybe sun reflecting off armor.”
“In all this snow? Are you sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you?” Lucius joined the legionnaire and stared off in the direction he pointed.
“It’s possible, sir, but once you get used to the monotony of the snow, you can start to pluck out differences.”
He’d relied on the soldier’s eyes before. Lucius’s eyes were good, but the young legionnaire’s were better, or at least they used to be before his encounter with the gods. Raising a hand to shade his eyes, he let his eyes settle so he could filter out the white glare of the snow. Even through the cloth, it was bright.
“There. I think I see it.” He watched for a while longer, more slashes of light emerging.
The wind shifted and blew at them from the south. He thought he heard metal and maybe a voice or two.
“Shit. I think they’ve found our trail.” Not that it was hard without more snow to cover it or a wind heavy enough to push about what was already on the ground.
“Do we pick up our speed?” Mylitos asked.
“No. Let’s keep it steady for now. I don’t want to burn our energy early and not have it when we truly need to make a break for it.” He returned to the line where he’d stopped and forced his way into the untouched snow.
The path they were on descended steadily throughout the afternoon. Lucius forced a few short breaks, letting them catch their breath. Their pursuers seemed to be getting closer, possibly risking their horses to make up ground, though they couldn’t go much faster than the trio. There would be no way to shake them at this point without intervention from the weather gods. Lucius hoped that when the sun went down, the Parthians would set camp, but when the torches flared to life, he gave up that hope and forged on into the darkness.
Exhausted and with growling stomachs, Lucius, Mylitos, and Tigran staggered on, their steps growing weak and unsteady. When the boy took a tumble into the snow, they fished him out, giving everyone a breather.
“If anyone has any food left, bring it out. We’ll share what’s there and keep going. I don’t fancy our chances if they catch up to us.” Lucius gestured behind them with his head.
The boy pulled out a handful of dried Armenian plums while Mylitos pulled out a few strips of jerky.
“You two share that so we can get moving again.”
Mylitos shook his head. “No, you take some too. There’s enough for three of us.”
Tigran nodded in agreement as they split the food into three meager piles. Lucius didn’t have the energy to argue, and the loud grumble of his stomach overruled him anyways. Taking the food, he shoved it in his mouth and savored the feel of it. He pulled out his waterskin and washed it down, then shoved more snow into it before returning it to his place in the front of the line.
He tried to keep his mind focused, but fatigue was fighting a winning battle, and their enemies were gaining. Soon they’d be in arrow range. But all they could do was carry on, hoping against the odds that they’d get a break. When they came around a blind corner and found a deep ravine waiting for them, Lucius thought their luck had run out.
“Lucius, look!” Tigran pointed down the edge of the ravine.
He pulled off the cloth he still had over his eyes and squinted. A shadow of a different shape appeared to cross the ravine.
“Shit! They’re shooting at us,” Mylitos cried pushing up next to Lucius.
“Scutum out, Mylitos.” Lucius unslung his shield from the carrying case strapped to his back and pulled it out. “It looks like that’s a bridge. Let’s make a break for it. Tigran, you lead the way. Stay away from edge. I don’t want you tripping and tumbling over.” When no one moved into action, Lucius straightened up. “Go! That’s an order.”
They snapped to. Mylitos got his shield out while Tigran did his best to run to the bridge. Lucius pulled his helmet on and quickly tied the leather straps to snug it into place.
“Stay right behind me and keep that scutum against your body. If they get off a pot shot at this range, it’ll keep you alive.” Lucius didn’t wait for a response before plunging forward into the path Tigran had made.
A few more arrows fell into the snow. They still didn’t have the range, though it wouldn’t be long before they did. It was a race—one they were ill-equipped to win.
