5. Maneuver

"Those Exonian wusses!" 

Julius wadded up the dispatch sent from the frontline and hurled it at the brazier. Hunching over a mahogany desk, he slammed both palms at the map spread before him. Outside the yurt, gales of wind whipped the yak skin, lattice walls creaking. 

He glared at the map, his mind racing. 

His own advantage resided in the natural fortress of the higher ground. Lorenzo must have expected him to stay put, taking defense in a pitched battle, whose pros were as prominent as cons: While he challenged his enemy to an impossible siege, he risked passivity in immobility.

Between the Dam and Lorenzo's encampment, the Uruk River ramified into Lesotho and Aztak. He crooked a forefinger, gliding it across the map, and knocked on the valley plain north to Lesotho. "Call the men," he said to his squire. "We'll meet Lorenzo where he'll try to cut off our supplies." 

As the squire bowed and dashed off, his mind sunk back into pensive plannings. 

Small light peeped through the wall flaps fronting the yurt, followed by a swish of light footsteps. 

Julius lifted his eyes. 

Behind a pole that held the yurt, Ariadne revealed half her face, her cheeks puffing, her lips a pout; her hazel eyes widened like a kitten caught off guard. "Don't mean to disturb," she grumbled. 

Julius smiled. "What are you doing here this late?" getting to his feet, he scolded her. "Where are your servants?"

"You know how I hate to be followed around," she protested, glancing up at him.

He clinched her. "But you'll have to get used to it now. We need to get you to safety. And once you leave, I'm afraid you'll be escorted every minute."

"I told you I'm not leaving!" She shook her head with force, trying to push him away. 

Taking forward a step as he held her cheek, Julius bored into her eyes. "Listen," he said softly, "you must take the cargo ship from the North Port and return to Pethens. Hardien Aelius will meet you at the Port. You're still a Uranus, after all, and Marcus is still your father. He won't hurt you no matter how this will end."

"I won't!" she cried. "Why would I want to be safe without you?"

"Do you trust me?" 

She hastened, then nodded, sniffing her nose. 

"Then trust me this time like before. I've promised to take you to all the corners of the world and get you home one day, so I will." He smiled, his eyes lingered on hers as he took in all he needed to remember. "Think of our son, eh?"

She looked down. 

The wall flaps flipped as the squire returned. "Commander!" Upon seeing Ariadne, he slurred. "I, I, I'll be b-back." 

Julius whirled to the front. "Speak now!"

"The east flank is calling men from outposts. All other cohorts are at your command. Sir!" 

Julius swivled back to Ariadne, 

Who had regained her composure. She returned a smile, warm and reassuring, her eyes the shape of the crescent moon; the light brown brands of her iris flickered like flame, her canine teeth scraping her bottom lip. 

"Go," she said. "Don't worry about me. I know what to do." 

Taking a long look at his love, he kissed her on the forehead before spinning on his heel. 

Slate-black clouds tumbled, brewing a storm. Under the darkened sky, his legion stood, ready for the march. Scanning his men at large, he saw, however, only the hue of her eyes flickering like embers. 

I've promised to get you home one day – he heard his words, those he had said – With or without me – and those he hadn't. 

***

The gibbous moon hung by a churning floss of cloud. Eagles swooped across the sky like sickles swinging in the backdrop of the soughing woods. Behind the foothills north to the Lesotho River lined half of Julius legion. A slope of hills bristled with traps slid down before them, splashing on the north bank of Lesotho. 

Approaching from the shadowy corner of the trench, a man a little under six foot tall emerged into the swaying torch light. Clean-shaven and sturdy, he had rugged features, his pale blue eyes straddling a broad nose upon high cheekbones. 

"Commander," reported Tribune Quirinus Lorentius Silvius. "The boy Pollux has sent another message. Lorenzo's men are moving tonight."

Julius uncinched his sword and traced lines in the dirt with the tip of the scabbard. "To cross the Aztak, Lorenzo could either march all the way back south to the river plain - a choice quite unlikely as it'd be too time-consuming. Or, he could go up north through the Sky Gate Bridge." He paused, tapping with his sword at where he drew the upstream of the Aztek.

"Should we engage them at the bridge?" asked Quirinus. 

Julius shook his head. "If we engage them in the middle of the bridge, they'll fall back. If we pursue, we place ourselves at a disadvantage as they could attack us from a wide shooting range on the other bank. If we hold, we'll corner ourselves into an internecine stalemate. Winter is upon us. It can't be good to hold out for long."

Quirinus stooped over the roughly drawn map and pointed between the two lines. "We can ford the Lesotho tonight, and wait for them by the plain between the two rivers."

"Open ground," Julius mused, stroking his scruff. The last time he shaved, Ariadne helped him. She cut him by accident and licked his wound. It tickled still. "No," he resumed. "We will lose our edge on the plain that lends them agility. They have an open ground behind them for retreat if they lose, and many new routes for supplies we can't possibly cut off. And if we lose, we'll have the Lethoso behind us." Prodding at their current location on the rough drawing, he scoffed. "We'll wait here. We'll wait for them to cross both rivers, lure them to these woods, and launch sneak attacks. Tell the men to rest well and keep warm while Lorenzo braves the blistering welcome of the north." 

"Aye." Quirinus bowed before turning on his heel. The shadow he left trailing behind him soon blended into the cavernous night. 

Julius heaved, his eyes wandering up at the gibbous moon while he brooded over the fate of men, those who would die, be them his or Lorenzo's, and whether their deaths would be worth it. 

He shook his head.

***

At the break of dawn, the first bout of screams shuddered the woods. Some fell into ditches studded with spears; others were tangled in webs that shot up to midair. 

Julius raised an arm over his head. "Archers under my command!" A line of flame arrows pointed up at the sky as if a new horizon rising along the heel of mountains. "Fire!" 

A salvo of shots slung out windward down the slope like meteors across the sky. Caught on fire, the woods fluttered in red waves, driving Lorenzo and his men southeast. 

Julius mounted Sling Silver, a white stallion with a gleaming mane. Leading the cataphracts, he pursued their foes to the gorge where the route bifurcated. 

A narrow passage cut straight into the steep rocks; around it, a wider road meandered gradually to height. Julius tugged the reins and leaned back as he brought the stallion to a halt. His men drew up behind him. 

"Should we send scouts?" asked Quirinus. 

Julius shook his head, then raised his chin at the narrow passage. "They've left trails along both routes. What does it say to you?"

"They split?"

"That's what it looks like, true." Turning Sling Silver around, he regarded Quirinus with a faint smile. "But would you split your men when you're hard-pressed in unfamiliar territory? What would you do if you were Lorenzo?" 

"Regroup, hold up a defense, and seek opportunities to turn it into an attack." Quirinus glowered, his eyes pensive. Tossing a glance at the brooding shadow of the snow mantles, he muttered. "While the wider road seems to provide an easy retreat, it also makes it easier for us to pursue. But up in the mountain, they can regroup, hiding behind the rocks above the trek, and attack us if we follow." 

Julius favored him with a nod. "Send a message for backup. Tell them to enter the gorge from the north. The direction of the wind favors us. Use it and smoke out the enemy. After the horror they've just had in the woods, smoke should suffice. Once they double back, we'll capture Lorenzo alive." 

"Why alive?" Quirinus snorted, jutting an eyebrow above the other. "Can't we just lop off his head and send it to Penthes in a box?"

"We need him to trade for my father," Julius intoned. Gazing into the south across the Lesotho River, he sounded more assured than he felt. While he could end the world for his father, he doubted if Lorenzo meant anything to the Uranus. "The more men we capture alive, the better chance we can hope for the leverage," he added. 

***

Smoke bloomed from behind folds of rocks and spread windward like unfurling sails. Men were routed, stampeding out from the gorge. Fear ricocheted in their screams for life that rose to a crescendo before coming to a brusque stop. Circled by Julius' cataphracts waiting at the south entrance of the gorge, they layered against one another like scum amassing along the edge of a stagnant pond. Their faces were streaked with gore and soot, as were their tattered vermilion surcoats. 

Julius rode up front and leaped off Sling Silver in the same beat he drew out his sword. He grabbed a man, a centurion, and barred his blade against his larynx with just enough pressure to draw a thin streak of blood. "Shall this end in gratuitous bloodshed? Or may we work out a plan?" Pausing for his inference to register, he resumed. "Lorenzo Lucretius Legidus!" he thundered, "I call upon you to come forth as a man so all men can be spared!" 

No one spoke, only the caterwaul of the valley waxing malice. Eyes of different colors looked upon each other in befuddlement until they all fell upon a man with a crested gray helm. 

Lorenzo lifted the visor, revealing the prominent Legidus' nose, his green eyes large and pensive upon a gaunt face weather-beaten at altitude. He trudged up toward Julius and managed a smile. 

"What a beautiful horse!" He admired Sling Silver. "I've heard many legends about your mount, and yet it still exceeds my imagination!" 

Sketching a bow, Julius returned the courtesy. "Lord Lorenzo," he said, his voice measured, his tone amused. "While I've heard many praises about you and long to be your friend, the manner of your presence chafes my patience." 

Throwing back his head, Lorenzo laughed. "Your father has raised you well. He should be proud." 

Julius squinted, boring into those large green eyes. Something felt off. It had all been too easy as if Lorenzo was handing him the victory. "Infantry!" he ordered, raising his voice without taking his eyes off his captive. His sword hand coiled around the hilt. "On your marks!" 

At his words, soldiers launched out from behind the cataphracts, and Lorenzo dropped his sword to the dirt, then to his knees, followed by his men. 

Julius shoved the centurion squirming under his arm back with the rest of the hostage. Then, crouching before Lorenzo, he interrogated him with his eyes. 

"What is it, lad?" Lorenzo smiled more, holding his gaze. 

"What did you do?" 

"What do you mean?"

Julius mused on the plaster of a smile whittling away at his assurance. 

"What's that smoke?" Murmurs rose from behind him. 

Julius looked to where the men gaped. Gushes of new smoke roared from the direction of his campsite. 

"Ariadne…" Jolting back, he snatched Lorenzo's throat. 

"You've got me, general," Lorenzo choked and croaked. "For being on the winning side, you could use a bit more cheer." 

Julius tightened his grip. He grunted, hurling the wizened man at a rock. 

A hand patted him on the shoulder from the back. He flicked around. 

Quirinus Silvius bore into his eyes with his head bowed. "You should return, general. Take the fastest cohorts, and leave the hostage here with me. Don't worry," he added, snapping at Lorenzo. "So long as I breathe, they live." 

Julius snuffed up the sulfuric air. "Be safe," he said, clapping Quirinus on the side of his arm. "We'll open a cask when you return." 

The other man pursed his lips, essaying a faint smile, "Aye!" he said, then, swung to his side, he brought forth Sling Silver by the bridle. 

Julius took the rein and leaped to mount "Camillus! Ennius! Pompeius!" he thundered, calling out the decurions. "Gather the riders and follow me!" 

If anything happened to Qurinus, he wouldn't know how to face his men. And if anything happened to Ariadne, he wouldn't know how to live with himself. Inclining forward as his legs gripped, he whispered to his mount. 

The stallion charged.