Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 24 - Praedial Larceny

 395 B.C.E. - The Warlord's Camp, Tasurian Peninsula, Late Summer, Month of Sextilus

From His Memory

It was ridiculously hot. The loathsome heat hovered in the air so thick it could be seen, wavering in front of Falx's eyes as he stomped over the dried, cracked earth to his command tent.

"Twenty more warriors arrived in camp this morning," as usual, Tems greeted him with the update. His lifelong friend looked grim and battered. The fate of them all hung in the balance. Each day they remained outside of Rune, outside of the emperor's control, outside of Falx's father's control, was another day they risked losing everything. Or... they could win everything. Twenty more belators was a good day unless they were like that group from a couple of weeks ago. Those incompetent, entitled males had lasted all but a half-day before Quintus had literally booted them from the camp. They probably still bore the marks of his sole on their scales.

"This is fast becoming dangerous, Tems," Falx told him. "Bored soldiers find trouble. If they can't find it, they make it. We need to move out soon." Falx grit his teeth as his friend glared at the array of maps spread out in front of him. He wanted to either go to battle or take his female to a nice, cool spring and fuck her until she wept from pleasure. Both, preferably. The heat was weighing on Thania, and she would love the chill.

Gloom and depression were weighing her down. She was sleeping often, her fatigue so deep that that she often did not seem to hear Falx when he spoke. His own mood was foul as well, he knew, and had been since his father had sent a missive - Falx was banished from Rune. The army was to return to his father's command.

Falx ignored it. His father could take command of his warriors when Camillus strapped his old ass into battle-armor and came to the camp himself. Falx wasted no time in wondering if his father would come. The male had avoided every battle for the last decade until Falx cleared the way, and all danger had passed.

"We need plans," Tems muttered.

Plans. Falx had to plan for his next conquest. He was no scholar, no politician. He was a demon of war, and it was through war that he would officially take back command of his army.

"I hear my cousin has entered talks with the shaper leader; Brennus is his name. He is demanding gold to leave Rune. Decimus must be furious. He doesn't like to part from his hoard," Tems said.

"Word is that the Senate has offered tribute if the shapers leave Rune," Quintus spoke quietly as he entered the tent. Falx's demon sneered. Bribes. How utterly humiliating.

"Perhaps we can use this," Tems muttered.

"I don't believe the mongrels will invite us to the ceremony, Tems."

Tems smirked. "Let the Senate give their money to the shapers. What good is gold without an army? Decimus will give you official command if only to pay back the Senators for this embarrassment."

Falx could not contain his low snarl. "So, we wait?"

"Yes, Falx," Tems rolled his bloodshot eyes with a sigh.

"Iron instead of gold," Falx laughed sarcastically. "That is how you win freedom. Blood, not bribes.

More information about the shapers trickled in as spies returned from the city. It was a small group. Nothing to Falx's army, but Rune had decimated their power by exiling the Warlord.

Many Runions had fallen ill. The plague was strengthing its grip on the citizens. They were living in filth. The fools had left their dead unburied and unburned in the streets. At times, if the wind blew in from the north, Falx could smell the rot from the festering corpses from a half-league away. Rune was eating itself alive. They needed him.