Warrior of the Ages (Warriors of the Ages) Read Online Free PDF Page A

yard and did as he bid, their exit both silent and instant. Then, only the sound of Wolves running in circles in the field out back, chasing imaginary rabbits, remained. He muttered another prayer of thanksgiving for the solitude of his veil. The hustle of twelve thousand living in the confines of an Arc had long ago appealed, but for a long time now he had preferred not to get too attached to his clans. Soon enough he’d have to get used to a new one anyway.
     

     
    TRYING TO SLEEP that night in the oppressive heat wasn’t working. Scenes from what may have led to Honor’s being shot kept flashing through his mind, like the distant lightning flickering outside the veil. When thunder began to rumble within the veil, Wolves started scratching at the front door and whining. Kahtar turned on his side and held a pillow over his exposed ear. His bedclothes were fresh and their clean smell made him remember that morning, before Honor had wiped every other thought out of his mind. It seemed so long ago now, but the memory came back clearly.
    The woman, Beth White, danced into his head just as rain began to fall inside the veil. Refusing to allow forbidden thoughts to take any form, he closed his eyes and breathed the clean scent of rain, wondering if the woman had any idea what rain was supposed to smell like. For some inexplicable reason, he really hoped she did. Sleep came easy then.
    Longinus’s sandals soaked with the blood of his kinsmen and mixed with the dust of the road. It made a gruesome mud that caked and dried and made the sandals as heavy as his heart. Disguised with the weapon, helmet, and cloak of a Roman Centurion, he plodded a path over a hill where few dared trespass. The red cloak was far too short and the metal helmet squeezed his head, biting against his exposed ears. Small groups of people, mostly women, huddled at the bases of ruined trees sobbing and wailing in grief. Consumed with their own misery they paid no attention to him.
    So close to the walls of the city the pain and suffering of these wretches provided him safe passage. The remnants of the Centuria searching for him were unlikely to come here. It was a place even hardened soldiers avoided. Two similarly dressed real Romans stood arguing nearby, debating ways to torment one of their victims and not paying any attention to him. Longinus heaved woodenly onward. If the Romans noticed his unusual size or ill-fitting clothing, they showed no sign of it. He held the stolen spear reassuringly in his hand and kept to the path. There were only two of them and he would kill them only if forced.
    The call of Longinus’s people sounded faintly in his mind, wordless voices beckoning, whispering for his return to the safety of the Arc. It was time to leave this dark place and he wanted only to make his way down the hillside to them. Heart aching, Longinus moved past the cruel despair of wailing strangers, their pain pressing against him like the dark clouds gathering overhead. The Romans ignored him until he was close enough to touch them. Then one of the soldiers turned towards him and ordered, “You! Halt!” Longinus’ hand slid down the shaft of the spear and he turned to face them, but both soldiers returned their eyes to their victim.
    “Just check for a pulse,” the darker of them said, a Tribune.
    “I’m not touching him,” the other replied. With barely a glance at Longinus, the Tribune motioned to the bloodied mess of a man bound in the tree and ordered, “Check him for signs of life.”
    “Do you need us?” The second voice of one of his warriors spoke into Longinus’ mind. He replied silently with a firm negative. To prove it and hasten his escape, he stepped forward. Longinus didn’t raise his eyes to the body hanging in the twisted old olive tree. He had seen enough inhumanity today. Sensing an odd mixture of both death and life in the ravaged flesh above, he hefted the spear higher. It would be a kindness to dispatch the man.