An Inheritance (part V)

The Story of Isocrates

map of the region

Ch. 5

Eos appeared, at long last; the sky was a kaleidoscope of gold, and saffron. Isocrates had not moved from his spot near the fire, and even now he was reluctant to extinguish the flames. Both of his hands ached, from having tightly gripped his spear all throughout the night; he continued to hold it just as tightly. The more he thought about his encounter with the horned stranger, the more he was perplexed; the image was ingrained in his mind’s eye. He still was unsure what to make of it – or if he saw anything – but he would not tarry there.

Stripe had only recently stirred, and was already terrorizing the local fauna. Isocrates went to check his snares. He found each and every one of them empty; it seemed his luck was holding – that being the worst kind.

Another sleepless night did not do him any good either, they were only compounding; when he stood, he was faint. He gathered his gear, whistled for Stripe, and set off, eager to put the basin behind him, as soon as possible. The lake lay ahead, he had to make his way around it, keeping to the bank – so as to avoid the trees. Of course, he could only do this until he reached the opposite side, at which point he had to pierce the dreaded tree-line.

As he went along, he maintained a wary lookout, but he could not shake the feeling that something was watching him. The sound of Stripe padding along behind him was reassuring; had he been alone, he might have taken off running. He came out the other side, physically unscathed, but mentally traumatized – for what reason, he could not explain. Now that it was over, he felt silly, and not the least bit embarrassed; yet and still, he breathed a sigh of relief.

The sun had now risen above the crags in the east, cutting a sharp horizontal across the wall up ahead. There were no more signs of rain; the sky had settled on a striking shade of violet, in contrast to the dreariness of yester. Isocrates led the way through another patch of grassland – this side of the depression was similar to the last. They reached the concave rockface; this time there was no corridor available; instead, it was an uphill climb.

A series of ramp-like shelves made the going easy enough, but soon the temperature became an issue. For more than a week, the weather had been unseasonably cool; now it was back to what one expected at the tail-end of summer. Isocrates was already sweating beneath his mantle; he crested the ridge, into the full brunt of Helios. Having arrived there ahead of Stripe, he stopped to wait.

He turned around and was afforded a sweeping view.

Being that his vantage was elevated, by something like twenty meters, the entire basin stretched out before him. In the green expanse, the lake mirrored the sky up above; like a pasture of cornflowers, encircled by pines. A truly striking vista, but he was haunted by the thought of what had occurred there – he shuddered involuntarily.

After Stripe joined him, he continued northward, over naked stone, with the sun beaming down. His mantle came off, at once; and was folded into another bundle, which he went on to add to his load. The water in his skin was quite warm, but still refreshing; he gave some to Stripe, before putting the skin away. Soon, he was looking for somewhere to sit for a moment, but there was no shade, and he would languish in the open.

The ground itself was baking, the heat emanating towards the sky in a wavy pattern, obscuring the line of sight. After a ways, the course led them into a ravine, with a gentle stream running through it, where the sides met. The moment that the stream became visible in the distance, Stripe ran ahead – and proceeded to jump in.

Isocrates made his way down to the bank, and watched as Stripe paddled to-and-fro, having the time of his life. The far side of the ravine was sheer, serving as a natural barrier, but providing some much needed shade. Standing there in the relentless heat, he decided that a brief dip might not be a bad idea, after all. Stripping out of his clothing, he dove in as well.

Nearly having been cooked alive, the water felt incredible; he was like a molten slab, that was being quenched. It also did wonders for his state-of-mind, serving to clear the fog of exhaustion – at least, for the time being. He came out of the stream invigorated, prepared for the final leg of his journey, although he still was not looking forward to it. First, he would eat something; he had been so focused on getting out of the basin, that he had skipped ariston.

As he chewed a leathery mutton-strip, Stripe exited the water and came and sat in front of him, licking his chops.

“The next time you snag a marmot – or anything else, for that matter – we’re splitting it down the middle.” Isocrates said authoritatively, before handing over one of his last strips.

Stripe took the prize, and settled down to enjoy the morsel – even he had trouble chewing it. The temperature continued to rise; the sun was directly overhead. Isocrates picked up, and moved on.

He kept to the ravine, which was taking him northeast, as the stream flowed from the highlands, for the Pagasetic Gulf. Stripe followed, but ended up back inside the water – several times – Isocrates had to keep stopping to coax him out. Eventually, the wall on the far side of the stream fell away, leaving behind a bank like the one they were on.

The goal was to cross over; he waited till they reached a spot beyond a cascade, where it was shallow enough to wade. That way, he was able to keep his clothing from getting wet, and to keep his baggage from becoming waterlogged. He made his way to the other side, and up out of the ravine, reaching the southern edge of the Crocian Field. The place was so named for the purple blossoms that carpeted the landscape, for as far as the eye could see.

But it was not so idyllic; a tent-encampment – comprised of hundreds of soldiers – covered a vast area, serving as an eyesore. Although Isocrates was technically part of the same army that they were, no one wants a war on their doorstep. Nor even rumors thereof, for it rarely fails to manifest – once freed, demons tend to run amok.

The outskirts of the encampment were less than a kilometer west of his position; as such, he headed that way. He held up a hand, shielding his eyes from what was an intense glare, as Helios had progressed well beyond the midpoint. A warning bark from Stripe caused him to look over his shoulder, at which point he saw a pair of figures making a beeline towards him.

As they drew near, it became apparent that they were but fresh cadets – little more than children, their throats freshly tattooed. They both carried spears, and wore suits of lamellar, but their size made these look more like costumes, than uniforms.

“You there; state your purpose!” Shouted one of the lads.

Both kept their distance, on account of Stripe.

“My business is none of yours.” Isocrates replied, not in the mood to be accosted by whelps.

“But we’re on patrol!” Yelled the other lad, his voice sounding like a plea for help, rather than a statement of fact.

“And what does that have to do with me?” Asked Isocrates.

The youths looked to one another, seemingly unsure how to respond; Isocrates made for the encampment.

“Halt!”

Came a tremulous command, from behind him; he paid it no mind – it was as if he had gone deaf. Stripe seemed more interested in the lads, but followed Isocrates, and so did the pair of inquisitors.

“Identify yourself!”; “What were you doing in the ravine?”; “Have you anything to eat?” – the questions kept coming; the one pertaining to food was repeated several times.

Isocrates sighed; he could remember those days.

He stopped, and took a moment to produce a loaf of bread from his pack; breaking it in half, he gave one to each, “Now stop pestering me; my dog is quite hungry too, and he likes fresh meat.” Said he, and this time when he left, the youths remained where they were.

Stripe sniffed in their direction, and both of them took flight, although – little did they know – he only wanted to be petted. Whining in frustration, he turned and went after his master.

Isocrates was roughly thirty meters from the camp, when someone there took an interest in his presence, and came out to meet him.

“Isocrates, is that you?”

He heard the man exclaim, though with the sun in his eyes, he could not discern facial features. The difficulty was only temporary; the distance between them became as nothing – with focus came recognition.

“Alkandros, what are you doing here?” Isocrates asked, as they came together, and went on to clasp wrists.

“I was just about to ask you that.” Replied Alkandros, as Stripe arrived to give him a proper sniffing. “This has to be the hound that you so often spoke of, although you never said that he was this big.” The man added, patting the dog on the head.

Stripe very nearly broke his tail off, wagging it.

“How many times must I tell you not to bother people?” Isocrates said, pointedly.

Stripe moped off.

“He’ll have to be put into a pen, with the other dogs, but you know the rules.” Said Alkandros.

Isocrates nodded; he did know the rules, but his mind was somewhere else, “I came here to take care of some business, with Tersios.”

Alkandros made a face as if he ate something distasteful, “Still with the old habits, I see.”

Isocrates only shrugged – there was nothing to say.

“I haven’t seen the scoundrel, although I can guess where he might be.” Alkandros offered.

“Could you show me the way?”

“I suppose; follow me.”

Isocrates went along, and as they were walking, he asked, “You never told me why you were here.”

“It should be obvious; war is brewing, and they need men.”

“You chose to extend your enlistment?”

“Better that, than returning to the farm, and breaking my back there.”

“I’m not so sure that I would agree.” Said Isocrates.

“That’s easy for you to say, in that you were born with noble privileges – some of us have to work for a living.”

“There are other professions.”

“But none are as fulfilling, or offer so much opportunity for one to advance.”

“You also have the opportunity to get struck down.” Isocrates made sure to point out.

“Risk, and reward.” Alkandros replied.

“I’ll leave it up to you, then.”

“You may not have a choice, for much longer; they say Ovinus is talking of reinstating the draft.”

“He got his time out of me.”

“He may want a bit more.”

“How could that possibly be necessary? I thought that he was only force posturing.”

“I’m afraid not; there’s already been multiple skirmishes…nothing serious yet.”

Isocrates frowned – they were past the rumor phase.

“Things are moving quickly.” He noted.

“Indeed, and we must protect the homeland from tyrants.”

“If you’re forced to fight, how is the one forcing you not tyrannical?”

“Careful what you say, lest it be construed as treason.”

“Should I not be allowed to express my own thoughts?”

“What should be, and what is, are two different things.” Responded Alkandros. “We don’t make the rules.”

“Some are too eager to enforce them.” Responded Isocrates.

Now it was Alkandros who frowned.

He took them to where the horses were kept in a large pen; beside it was a smaller enclosure, full of hounds. The de facto pack consisted mostly of Laconians, which were built for speed, and vulpine in their appearance. A few Molossians were included – though none quite as big as Stripe – and some mutts, on a spectrum between the breeds. Stripe was added in with the others, and customary introductions were exchanged through the sniffing of backsides.

Isocrates located the stable-hand in charge, and entrusted his gear with him for safekeeping. It felt good to be free of it, after lugging it for the last two days; his shoulder was thanking him for the decision. With Stripe properly secured, the taciturn guide led him into camp.

Thus far, they had remained on the edge, but now they threaded their way through the chaotic jumble of soldiers, and tents. Most were busy preparing dorpon, as the shadows were steadily lengthening with the onset of even. Isocrates saw a few faces he recognized, but most were strangers, as there were folk from all throughout the region.

They came upon an area where raucous soldiers crowded round a pit, inside of which, a cockfight was underway. Isocrates did a quick scan of the gathered spectators, locating Tersios in their midst, with his two goons. Turning to thank his guide, he found that he had already departed, without so much as a simple farewell. Isocrates shrugged, and went over to join Tersios.

“Long time, no see.” He said, upon reaching him.

Tersios reacted with a look of surprise, only just noticing his arrival; his men appeared similarly confused. In the makeshift arena, the miniature gladiators were going at it.

“I thought you came up here to play knucklebones.” Isocrates added, choosing to remain cavalier.

“I came here to gamble, and this was the biggest game in town.” Replied Tersios. “A coin is a coin.”

“Which one are you betting on?” Isocrates asked.

“Neither, in this bout; they seemed to be too evenly matched.”

“What do you look for?”

“Weakness.” Tersios replied, with a subtle grin. “Now, why are we meeting here; did harvest time come early?”

“Nay, that would be good news – I’m here with the opposite.”

“I certainly hope not; we came to an understanding.”

“My neighbors denied my efforts.” Isocrates explained.

“You clearly didn’t put in too much effort to persuade them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We got here only last night;” replied Tersios, “you had to have left on our heels.”

“I was three days behind you.”

“Then how did you arrive so soon after us?”

“By way of the pass; you must have taken the scenic route.”

“What pass?”

“Would you like that I should draw you a map?”

“It might come in handy; but presently, I’d like to believe your money is good.”

“It is, I simply need time.”

“I’ve been more than patient, now I must insist on the deadline.”

“I’m pretty sure that I still have something coming at harvest; you’ll get that – the rest, you’ll have to wait for.”

“You’ll pay me in full, on the date that we agreed upon.” Tersios stated, matter-of-factly.

Now in the pit, the champion was held aloft by the referee - the other bird lay motionless at the man’s feet.

“It’s impossible, when I have nothing else to give.” Said Isocrates.

“Your neighbors will agree to the increase that you asked for.”

“I just told you; they refused my request.”

“Oh, but Isocrates, you just don’t know how to talk to people.” Tersios replied, flashing that smile of his.

(to be continued…)

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