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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5892284" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'">*** </span></p><p> The city guard hauled the remains of the three assassins away, and the witnesses confirmed the Companions hadn't been the ones to break the peace, so the moment of madness was over.</p><p></p><p>Markus was about to head home to bed when he realized something: He had been seen helping General Calvinus. And his contact didn't have a problem selling information to both sides, so if he wasn't in trouble with Senator Denius yet, he would be soon enough. </p><p></p><p>Nedel came ot his rescue. "I'm staying here for the night.", he told his friend. "Just because these men failed doesn't mean that Denius has given up, so I'll still be walking in Calvinus' place tomorrow. You can take my apartment for the night, until you know if it's safe to return to the estates."</p><p>***</p><p>Nedel held his breath as they left the building, and tried to keep his feet moving in a proper march step. The face he wore wasn't his own, but somehow that didn't add any confidence.</p><p></p><p>Two soldiers marched ahead of him, one to each flank, and more marched behind. Back, somewhere in the luggage train, walked a man wrapped in a blanket, bearing the armor and personal gear of General Calvinus ne Caesar, his face turned towards the ground.</p><p></p><p>The skin between Nedel's shoulders itched as he walked, but not with the itch a man can scratch. Rather, it was the anticipation of the arrow or blade that he expected any moment.</p><p></p><p>Of course, he knew that it wouldn't be an arrow. It would be a dozen. Hadn't it taken over 20 dagger thrusts to kill Julius Caesar? No one would expect the real Calvinus to fall from a single arrow. </p><p></p><p>As they walked though, he began to relax. It wasn't that he felt any safer, but simply that he grew more philosophical: An assault intended to kill the General would be so fast and overwhelming that he'd probably be dead before he knew it had even begun.</p><p></p><p>But as they passed windows and alleys, crowded squares and open shops, no attack came. And finally they were on the outskirts of the city. He'd had to renew his spell once, to maintain the seeming, but he'd made it out alive. Now Calvinus himself took the lead, now that they were away from the obvious ambush spots, and the General himself lead them the rest of the way to the camp of General Marcus.</p><p></p><p>The procession came to a halt as they approached the edge of the military encampment. Nedel could see that saplings had been felled and lashed to stouter threes to form a fence, marking the perimeter. Minor earthworks had been dug, making the camp even more defensible.</p><p></p><p>But what held his attention was at the front of the column. The two Generals were standing face to face, guards flanking each. Then, as one, each raised their right hand to their chest then extended it in a salute, and in one voice they both cried, "Hail Caesar!"</p><p></p><p>Calvinus' soldiers found that the south end of the clearing had been extended and made ready for them, and they began to erect their camp with the sure routine of long practice.</p><p></p><p>And the two Generals retired to the command tent, and were not seen again for the rest of the day.</p><p>***</p><p>Marcus made his way across the field, keeping his eye peeled for a certain ragged child. The boy hadn't been at their usual meeting spot, but then they weren't scheduled to meet until sunset. Still, he knew that every pickpocket in town would be out working the crowd at today's event.</p><p></p><p>He spotted several young men, and got something of an education in street technique. Some worked in pairs, some played cut-and-run, and a few clever ones seemed to be able to lift items while their hands were carrying a burden, or tucked into their robes. He bumped against such a one, with a hand resting firmly on his own purse, and discovered that the "arm" was merely a well stuffed sleeve. The child's real arm was tucked inside his robes, reaching out through well placed slits to ply his trade.</p><p></p><p>But the specific thief he sought was lost in the crowd.</p><p></p><p>The event itself began with a priest calling the blessings of Nike upon all competitors, the proctors sweeping all the spectators from the field of play. The blessing was real, for even though magic was illegal in the events, it was deemed that the best way to avoid anyone cheating was to grant the same divine aid to all.</p><p></p><p>There were fortunes being wagered on the outcome, but the presence of one competitor seemed to be holding the attention of everyone on the field. The Kergen towered over his opponents, and was looking over the assortment of javelin standing near the line. Some were long and slender, some were heavier. One stood out though. It was nearly 8 feet long, and adorned with bronze rings and feathers, clearly a war trophy of some kind.</p><p></p><p>The city champion set the mark well, hurling his javelin nearly to the end of the pitch. This was the target that all others would be aiming at, and it would take a mighty throw to even make the distance.</p><p></p><p>Music played and money began to change hands again as more wagers were placed. Suddenly the Kergen was the favorite. He didn't throw until the second set, which built the anticipation, as well as the number of wagers on his throw.</p><p></p><p>To the surprise of no one, he was given the heavier war spear, which seemed to please him. He raised it over his head, shaking it as if calling troops to battle, then surged forward towards the line and let fly.</p><p></p><p>The air went still as the crowd took a collective breath and held it. Then there was rejoicing and merriment, and laughter. And one single roar of rage. The javelin had carried less than two thirds of the distance, and wasn't even on a good line towards the target. </p><p></p><p>And no matter how the great Mountain Orc raged and roared, he couldn't drown out the laughter that followed him as he retreated to his camp.</p><p> [FONT=&quot]***</p><p>Markus headed towards the Kergen's camp, the huge javelin bouncing on his shoulder with each step. He noted a number of human guards stationed at that end of the campground, and they faced the swamp, rather than the teeming sea of tents that filled the field.</p><p></p><p>"Is it all right for me to go to the Vandal camp?", Markus asked.</p><p></p><p>"One man, going in there?", the guard asked in surprise. "You might not come out, you know. That champion of theirs looked ready to kill when he came through."</p><p></p><p>Markus nodded his agreement. "I'll just talk to the Orc over there. He can carry my message to Kergen."</p><p></p><p>He approached the Orc guard, who looked at him with open hostility. "Will you take this to Kergen?", he asked, offering the great javelin.</p><p></p><p>The Orc recognized the weapon, and shook his head. "Not for my weight in Elf meat.", he declared firmly.</p><p></p><p>"But I really want to give it to him.", Markus declared.</p><p></p><p>"Ah", said the Orc, suddenly giving that Orcish grimace that mixes a smile with a baring of teeth. "That I can help you with. Come along, and you can give it yourself." </p><p></p><p>Markus found himself being hustled down the bath, a heavy hand on his shoulder guiding and urging him on.</p><p></p><p>As he entered the clearing he could see that the Kergen was still foaming at the mouth. He had ripped up a sapling tree, and was chewing on it, and all of his men were standing as far away as the limited space allowed.</p><p></p><p>"Kergen!", called the guard. "This human has come with a gift!"</p><p></p><p>The Mountain Orc's head snapped around, a torn piece of timber still in his teeth. He saw the quivering Cleric, and recognized what it was he carried.</p><p></p><p>"I thought you might want to have this.", Markus offered. Then good sense prevailed, and he dropped the weapon, turned and fled as fast as he could.</p><p></p><p>A heavy javelin nearly split the tree it struck, less than a foot from his head.</p><p></p><p>Markus had wanted the Kergen angry, and for better or for worse he had succeeded.</p><p>***</p><p>Markus was very worried about his 'friend', and was somewhat relieved to see him at the pastry shop where they had been meeting.</p><p></p><p>"I'm surprised to see you here, all things considered.", the boy began, as he signaled one of the slaves over. "The way I hear it, there's a price on my head, thanks to you."</p><p></p><p>"Now that's not true!", declared Markus, firmly. "I never gave your name to anyone."</p><p></p><p>"Well, the tale is being told that you swore to bring me in.", the boy countered. "Don't worry though. You were in a tight spot. I would have done the same to you, if our positions were reversed. In fact, I still could.", he added, laughing. "I could obtain Denius' protection by naming you as the one who sold him out. "</p><p></p><p>"I had to tell him something.", Markus said, sweating. "But I'd never actually do it."</p><p></p><p>"It's okay. Lots of my friends would sell me out.", the thief explained. "We'll probably laugh about this later on. Meanwhile, shall we get down to business? What's your interest today? Politics? The games? Smuggling?"</p><p></p><p>Markus looked down at his pastry, which remained untasted and was getting cold. "I think we need to end this.", he said quietly. "Maybe we will laugh about this later, but if Calvinus has me followed, and his spies see me meeting with you, it could get you killed. So here's the rest of what I owe you, and a bit extra. Keep your head down, at least until the Games are over. Once Calvinus leaves town, you should be safe."</p><p></p><p>The boy nodded, sweeping up the scattering of coins. They vanished into the folds of his tunic, uncounted.</p><p></p><p>"Okay. I'm not afraid of Calvinus or his men.", the thief assured his friend. "I have a lot more friends in this city than he does, but it is foolish to take chances. Fortuna's smile is notoriously fickle. And Denius is already looking for you, by the way. I didn't name you, you were seen at the fight. And there aren't that many Clerics of Jupiter in Athens, so it wasn't that hard to figure out it was you. Here we call the god by his real name, Zeus. If you need a place to hide, I have a few bolt holes around that you’ll fit into. For a price, of course."</p><p></p><p>The pair parted ways as they had met, and Markus never did ask the boy's name.</p><p>***</p><p>The games swept by with few further developments. Seeburn put on a decent showing in the Shot put and Diskus, while Sylus surprised everyone by actually winning the Archery contest.</p><p></p><p>Seeburn had pinned his hopes on the 100 Yard Dash, more than the other games, for he excelled at speed of foot.</p><p></p><p>When race day came, he found himself in the same heat as the Kergen, who laughed at the puny Humans. "You'd better run, pink-skins!", he growled.</p><p></p><p>His threats were met by a line of grim smiles, and they all settled down to race.</p><p></p><p>"I'll beat you myself.", Seeburn said. "Just like I beat you in the Javelin."</p><p></p><p>Kergen glared at the Celt with pure, raw hate in his eyes, and the highlander returned that hate, measure for measure.</p><p></p><p>Then the trumpets lit the morning with their brilliant tones, and the call came down: "On your marks! Get set! Go!"</p><p></p><p>And they were off. Kergen and Seeburn were quick off the line, with Kergen gaining a slight lead. But the other runners swept past the both of them like antelope, running light and free. By the time the dueling pair had their attention back on the race, the other runners had completed half the course, and no matter how hard they pressed, they couldn't overcome that lead.</p><p></p><p>Kergen had suffered another humiliating defeat, his only satisfaction being that he had outrun the Scot.</p><p></p><p>And again, he retreated to his camp, accompanied by laughter.</p><p> </p><p> [/FONT]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5892284, member: 6669384"] [FONT=Arial]*** [/FONT] The city guard hauled the remains of the three assassins away, and the witnesses confirmed the Companions hadn't been the ones to break the peace, so the moment of madness was over. Markus was about to head home to bed when he realized something: He had been seen helping General Calvinus. And his contact didn't have a problem selling information to both sides, so if he wasn't in trouble with Senator Denius yet, he would be soon enough. Nedel came ot his rescue. "I'm staying here for the night.", he told his friend. "Just because these men failed doesn't mean that Denius has given up, so I'll still be walking in Calvinus' place tomorrow. You can take my apartment for the night, until you know if it's safe to return to the estates." *** Nedel held his breath as they left the building, and tried to keep his feet moving in a proper march step. The face he wore wasn't his own, but somehow that didn't add any confidence. Two soldiers marched ahead of him, one to each flank, and more marched behind. Back, somewhere in the luggage train, walked a man wrapped in a blanket, bearing the armor and personal gear of General Calvinus ne Caesar, his face turned towards the ground. The skin between Nedel's shoulders itched as he walked, but not with the itch a man can scratch. Rather, it was the anticipation of the arrow or blade that he expected any moment. Of course, he knew that it wouldn't be an arrow. It would be a dozen. Hadn't it taken over 20 dagger thrusts to kill Julius Caesar? No one would expect the real Calvinus to fall from a single arrow. As they walked though, he began to relax. It wasn't that he felt any safer, but simply that he grew more philosophical: An assault intended to kill the General would be so fast and overwhelming that he'd probably be dead before he knew it had even begun. But as they passed windows and alleys, crowded squares and open shops, no attack came. And finally they were on the outskirts of the city. He'd had to renew his spell once, to maintain the seeming, but he'd made it out alive. Now Calvinus himself took the lead, now that they were away from the obvious ambush spots, and the General himself lead them the rest of the way to the camp of General Marcus. The procession came to a halt as they approached the edge of the military encampment. Nedel could see that saplings had been felled and lashed to stouter threes to form a fence, marking the perimeter. Minor earthworks had been dug, making the camp even more defensible. But what held his attention was at the front of the column. The two Generals were standing face to face, guards flanking each. Then, as one, each raised their right hand to their chest then extended it in a salute, and in one voice they both cried, "Hail Caesar!" Calvinus' soldiers found that the south end of the clearing had been extended and made ready for them, and they began to erect their camp with the sure routine of long practice. And the two Generals retired to the command tent, and were not seen again for the rest of the day. *** Marcus made his way across the field, keeping his eye peeled for a certain ragged child. The boy hadn't been at their usual meeting spot, but then they weren't scheduled to meet until sunset. Still, he knew that every pickpocket in town would be out working the crowd at today's event. He spotted several young men, and got something of an education in street technique. Some worked in pairs, some played cut-and-run, and a few clever ones seemed to be able to lift items while their hands were carrying a burden, or tucked into their robes. He bumped against such a one, with a hand resting firmly on his own purse, and discovered that the "arm" was merely a well stuffed sleeve. The child's real arm was tucked inside his robes, reaching out through well placed slits to ply his trade. But the specific thief he sought was lost in the crowd. The event itself began with a priest calling the blessings of Nike upon all competitors, the proctors sweeping all the spectators from the field of play. The blessing was real, for even though magic was illegal in the events, it was deemed that the best way to avoid anyone cheating was to grant the same divine aid to all. There were fortunes being wagered on the outcome, but the presence of one competitor seemed to be holding the attention of everyone on the field. The Kergen towered over his opponents, and was looking over the assortment of javelin standing near the line. Some were long and slender, some were heavier. One stood out though. It was nearly 8 feet long, and adorned with bronze rings and feathers, clearly a war trophy of some kind. The city champion set the mark well, hurling his javelin nearly to the end of the pitch. This was the target that all others would be aiming at, and it would take a mighty throw to even make the distance. Music played and money began to change hands again as more wagers were placed. Suddenly the Kergen was the favorite. He didn't throw until the second set, which built the anticipation, as well as the number of wagers on his throw. To the surprise of no one, he was given the heavier war spear, which seemed to please him. He raised it over his head, shaking it as if calling troops to battle, then surged forward towards the line and let fly. The air went still as the crowd took a collective breath and held it. Then there was rejoicing and merriment, and laughter. And one single roar of rage. The javelin had carried less than two thirds of the distance, and wasn't even on a good line towards the target. And no matter how the great Mountain Orc raged and roared, he couldn't drown out the laughter that followed him as he retreated to his camp. [FONT="]*** Markus headed towards the Kergen's camp, the huge javelin bouncing on his shoulder with each step. He noted a number of human guards stationed at that end of the campground, and they faced the swamp, rather than the teeming sea of tents that filled the field. "Is it all right for me to go to the Vandal camp?", Markus asked. "One man, going in there?", the guard asked in surprise. "You might not come out, you know. That champion of theirs looked ready to kill when he came through." Markus nodded his agreement. "I'll just talk to the Orc over there. He can carry my message to Kergen." He approached the Orc guard, who looked at him with open hostility. "Will you take this to Kergen?", he asked, offering the great javelin. The Orc recognized the weapon, and shook his head. "Not for my weight in Elf meat.", he declared firmly. "But I really want to give it to him.", Markus declared. "Ah", said the Orc, suddenly giving that Orcish grimace that mixes a smile with a baring of teeth. "That I can help you with. Come along, and you can give it yourself." Markus found himself being hustled down the bath, a heavy hand on his shoulder guiding and urging him on. As he entered the clearing he could see that the Kergen was still foaming at the mouth. He had ripped up a sapling tree, and was chewing on it, and all of his men were standing as far away as the limited space allowed. "Kergen!", called the guard. "This human has come with a gift!" The Mountain Orc's head snapped around, a torn piece of timber still in his teeth. He saw the quivering Cleric, and recognized what it was he carried. "I thought you might want to have this.", Markus offered. Then good sense prevailed, and he dropped the weapon, turned and fled as fast as he could. A heavy javelin nearly split the tree it struck, less than a foot from his head. Markus had wanted the Kergen angry, and for better or for worse he had succeeded. *** Markus was very worried about his 'friend', and was somewhat relieved to see him at the pastry shop where they had been meeting. "I'm surprised to see you here, all things considered.", the boy began, as he signaled one of the slaves over. "The way I hear it, there's a price on my head, thanks to you." "Now that's not true!", declared Markus, firmly. "I never gave your name to anyone." "Well, the tale is being told that you swore to bring me in.", the boy countered. "Don't worry though. You were in a tight spot. I would have done the same to you, if our positions were reversed. In fact, I still could.", he added, laughing. "I could obtain Denius' protection by naming you as the one who sold him out. " "I had to tell him something.", Markus said, sweating. "But I'd never actually do it." "It's okay. Lots of my friends would sell me out.", the thief explained. "We'll probably laugh about this later on. Meanwhile, shall we get down to business? What's your interest today? Politics? The games? Smuggling?" Markus looked down at his pastry, which remained untasted and was getting cold. "I think we need to end this.", he said quietly. "Maybe we will laugh about this later, but if Calvinus has me followed, and his spies see me meeting with you, it could get you killed. So here's the rest of what I owe you, and a bit extra. Keep your head down, at least until the Games are over. Once Calvinus leaves town, you should be safe." The boy nodded, sweeping up the scattering of coins. They vanished into the folds of his tunic, uncounted. "Okay. I'm not afraid of Calvinus or his men.", the thief assured his friend. "I have a lot more friends in this city than he does, but it is foolish to take chances. Fortuna's smile is notoriously fickle. And Denius is already looking for you, by the way. I didn't name you, you were seen at the fight. And there aren't that many Clerics of Jupiter in Athens, so it wasn't that hard to figure out it was you. Here we call the god by his real name, Zeus. If you need a place to hide, I have a few bolt holes around that you’ll fit into. For a price, of course." The pair parted ways as they had met, and Markus never did ask the boy's name. *** The games swept by with few further developments. Seeburn put on a decent showing in the Shot put and Diskus, while Sylus surprised everyone by actually winning the Archery contest. Seeburn had pinned his hopes on the 100 Yard Dash, more than the other games, for he excelled at speed of foot. When race day came, he found himself in the same heat as the Kergen, who laughed at the puny Humans. "You'd better run, pink-skins!", he growled. His threats were met by a line of grim smiles, and they all settled down to race. "I'll beat you myself.", Seeburn said. "Just like I beat you in the Javelin." Kergen glared at the Celt with pure, raw hate in his eyes, and the highlander returned that hate, measure for measure. Then the trumpets lit the morning with their brilliant tones, and the call came down: "On your marks! Get set! Go!" And they were off. Kergen and Seeburn were quick off the line, with Kergen gaining a slight lead. But the other runners swept past the both of them like antelope, running light and free. By the time the dueling pair had their attention back on the race, the other runners had completed half the course, and no matter how hard they pressed, they couldn't overcome that lead. Kergen had suffered another humiliating defeat, his only satisfaction being that he had outrun the Scot. And again, he retreated to his camp, accompanied by laughter. [/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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