Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 4 - Sowing

395 B.C.E. - The Village of Falerri, Warmarch through the Acerian Valley, Deep Winter, Month of December

From His Memory

Falx

Falerri. He supposed once it was a tidy little town but certainly did not look it now. Smoke from the burning outlying farms hovered over the town itself, obscuring it in a filthy cloud of gloom. He could make out the town's walls from his position on the next hilltop. Trash and sewage were strewn about. Idiots. A common enough practice, to keep their town clean while under siege, and to make the attackers suffer from the stench of rotting garbage. No one ever thought about how terrible the stench would be for the occupants of the town.

"Warlord, are we attacking towards nightfall again?" At his side, Quintus narrowed his gaze at the town. He, too, would assess the walls' weak points, the best area of attack.

"Yes." It was an odd tactic, attacking with only a few hours of light before they would withdraw to their camp. It served a dual purpose. Frightening the townspeople, making them wonder at the insanity of the man they called 'Urtoer.' No one would sleep well in little Falerri tonight. It also served to test the defenses, giving Falx the night to refine his strategy for the next day.

The rustle and clink of armor was the only sound as the first manipular approached. The three lines of soldiers were moving faster than Falx liked.

"Quintus, slow down those dogs."

Quintus would have grinned if he was the type to do so. "They are eager for bloodshed, Warlord."

Falx cursed. "It's their blood that will spill tonight if they run up to the walls. Concentrate on attacking the ballista. Pull the Flight back, damnit," Falx snarled as he watched the Flight edge too close into firing range of the heavy wooden ballista.

The belators slowed, and the attack commenced as planned. The walls shook, and lights poured on as the defenders lit their lamps and torches. Falx could hear the screams and shouts, the swish of wings as the Flight scanned from the skies, the rumble and snarls of the legion. A moment went by, and he frowned.

"They are not defending themselves."

"Yes, Warlord, see there?" Quintus pointed to the first line of belators. They were kneeling under their shields as a hail of white-fletched arrows came their way, falling just short of their formation.

Gods. White-fletching. Peace. The Fyrrin demon snarled.

It was over quickly. A messenger approached from the town's headman with a proposal of peace. An offer to Falx. Slaves in exchange for his mercy.

"Warlord?" Quintus murmured to Falx as he hesitated.

Falx was intrigued as much as horrified at the offer. It was a first, but he did not like the look of the headman. A weasel darting furtive glances left and right, shuffling his feet. Still...

"Agreed."

Hours later, the decision still sat wrong on his demon's shoulders. The beast wanted blood. "I have set aside a few of the women, Master Falx. Pretty enough, should fetch a good price." Marcus pulled the heavy thread through Falx's spare boots as he spoke.

"What do you mean, Marcus?" Falx looked up from the maps he was studying. Falerri was a mere signpost on the road to Veii.

"Three females, Master. Fine girls. I instructed they be held in a supply tent rather than the pens."

"They will not be worth more if they are innocents, Marcus. Let the men have them. They know not to ruin any of the slaves." Falx was grim. Yesterday two of his soldiers had violently raped a fleeing slave. The Acera female had been pinned to the ground between tents, so panicked that she could not scream to alert any rescuers. They had nearly killed her. She may, in fact, still die in the harsh conditions of the war march. Falx's punishment had been swift and brutal. Both men had been whipped until their backs were bloody and raw. Rations were cut in half, and their status was demoted from second battle line to first. Let those drunkards fall to an Acerian arrow. The message was clear. Have fun with the slaves, use them, but do not abuse them; do not ruin them or harm them irreparably. The harems of the Tasuri nobles needed to be filled.