Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 2

  “You should have seen the look on your face big brother!”

  Athos smiled in response, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. “You got me, good little brother. Did you find a tree with vines growing on it as I asked you to do?”

  Kristophor turned around and pointed to the northeast, “The tree is about eighty paces in that direction. Just like you told me to find, it had a vine growing on it.”

  “Thanks, little brother,” Athos set off in the direction his little brother had indicated. He looked around once again, spotted the spear and picked it up, “I heard a wolf a little while ago, but it sounded like it was a ways off. There was no reply to its howl, so I think it may be the only one in the area. Stay here and guard the buck.”

  Athos took little care in his movements, wanting to get to the tree with the vines as quickly as possible. It was becoming difficult to see, and Athos almost missed the tree entirely, but managed to spot it at the last moment as he walked by. Good job, little brother.

  The tree Kristophor had found was perfect. Several vines curled their way up the trunk. Athos pulled out his hunting knife from his belt and set to work. He needed three sections of vines to tie the three branches together into a triangle. Then he would be able to drag the buck through the mountainous forest.

  Athos’ work was interrupted by a loud snarl, followed quickly by a pained yelp. Kristophor yelled, “Athos wolves have come to eat the buck!” Athos slipped the hunting knife back into his belt and broke into a run toward Kristophor. As he ran heedlessly through the forest, branches snagged at his clothing and scratched his face.

  The worried teen heard more snarling, and another anguished yelp. This one almost immediately fell silent. Athos charged back onto the path his spear at the ready. What he saw horrified him. At least ten wolves surrounded Kristophor and the corpse of the buck. One wolf had an arrow through its neck and laid on its side whimpering softly. Another had an arrow protruding through its left eye, the beast’s other eye stared up at the sky lifeless.

  Just then two wolves launched themselves towards Kristophor at the same time. Kristophor saw the one to his right. He turned and shot an arrow right into its gaping maw. Kristophor did not see the other animal leaping at his back. Athos heaved back and cast his spear at the snarling beast. The spear struck the wolf on the right side changing its trajectory. It landed just behind Kristophor and cried out in agony as it impacted the ground.

  With two more wolves slain, eight of the beasts remained. The two of snarling creatures became aware of Athos and turned to face him. The other six closed in on Kristophor. Athos’ mind raced, frantic for a solution to save Kristophor. There was nothing else he could do! “Kristophor climb the tree behind you.”

  Kristophor dropped his bow and leaped onto the tree, but not nearly high enough. A wolf lunged at his unprotected back and knocked him off the tree. Athos raced forward trying to get to Kristophor, but the two fiends facing him blocked the way. The wolf on his right snarled and leaped at him. As it sailed through the air, the beast’s maw opened in anticipation of sinking sharp teeth into the soft meat of his throat.

  Athos ducked under the animal. As he did so, his right hand hit the ground and clutched a rock. Picking up the rock, he turned just in time to see the other beast on his left side leap for his throat. The teenager brought the rock down onto the wolf’s head just as it crashed into his chest. Using his left arm, Athos pushed the stunned wolf off of him and jumped to his feet. The scene he beheld made his heart sink and blood run cold. Kristophor had failed to get back up. His throat had been ripped open, and his lifeblood pumped into the forest floor.

  The remaining wolves were dragging the corpse of the buck away from Athos and Kristophor’s dying form. Athos took three steps forward and yanked his spear out of the dying wolf. The animal yelped loudly. A moment later its last breath rattled through its throat. He felt the presence of an uninjured wolf behind him.

  Athos turned and saw the beast sailing through the air. He brought the spear up, and the wolf’s momentum carried it onto the spear. Blood spurted from the wound in the animal’s chest and covered Athos. He let the weight of the corpse carry the embedded spear tip to the ground. Placing his foot on the wolf, he yanked his spear out of the dead body.

  The stunned wolf had just stood up and shook its head to clear its vision. Athos turned and cast the spear at the defenseless animal. The spear sank deep into its side, and the beast cried out in pain. Next, Athos laid Kristophor on his back and held his hand. Athos’ eyes filled with tears and he couldn’t contain the emotions welling up inside him, “I’m so sorry little brother.”

  Kristophor coughed and then tried to smile, “I killed a buck today Athos.”

  “Yes, you did! I’m so proud of you.” He kissed Kristophor on the forehead. As he pulled back from the kiss, the light faded from Kristophor’s eyes.

  Athos screamed in rage. He scooped up Kristophor’s bow and gently removed the quiver from his back. He yanked his spear out of the dying wolf’s side. The animal yelped in response, and blood leaked more freely from the hole left by the spear. Athos ran down the path in the direction the wolves had dragged the buck out of sight. On his back, he had slung Kristophor’s quiver, in his left hand, he held the bow, and in his right hand, the spear dripping with wolf blood.

  Athos charged after the wolves as they retreated slowly with the corpse of the buck. His mind was overwhelmed by the emotions swirling around inside. Just like when cold air meets hot air and a thunderstorm forms. His grief met his rage, and the resulting storm inside his mind exploded into being and tore at the very fabric of his sanity.

  The teen paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and used the willpower in his mind to put down the grief. This left the rage. It took him only a minute to catch up to the wolves. Oblivious to the threat, the animals worked together to slowly dragg their prize toward safety.

  The wolves became aware of Athos’ presence staring at them. They dropped their prize and snarled at Athos. Athos, filled with rage screamed back at them. He sounded like a crazed wild animal. The lead wolf, a huge bitch, was less frightened by this crazed apparition in front of her than the rest of the pack and moved to attack him.

  The bitch bared her teeth at Athos and snarled. The teen grabbed an arrow from Kristophor’s quiver, nocked an arrow on the bow, and pulled the bowstring back with all his strength, and took aim at the charging bitch’s right eye. It was as if time itself came to a stop and there was only the bow, the arrow, and the yellowish gleam of the bitch’s eye as the moonlight reflected off of it. He released the arrow and an instant later it slammed into the eye destroying it. The wolf collapsed in a heap as its momentum came to a halt.

  The death of their pack mate spurred the surviving members into a charge. Athos pulled another arrow from the quiver and fired on the five remaining wolves. He once again targeted the lead animal. As he released the arrow, he knew immediately that it would not fly true. This time, the arrow went high. It nicked the top of the wolf’s head as it went by and slammed into the back of the animal. The beast yelped in pain but continued to advance.

  Athos pulled another arrow from the quiver. The wolves were in a dead run and only twenty feet from him now. Their eyes glowed in the pale moonlight of the clear autumn evening. He nocked the arrow and pulled back on the bowstring. Once again, he targeted the lead wolf’s left eye. He released the arrow and cursed his bad aim. The arrow missed wide right this time.

  The arrow continued to fly along the path it had been fired upon. To the right of the lead wolf and a little behind was another animal running toward Athos. The tongue lulled out of its mouth as the arrow pierced the beasts' nose and continued into the brain. The stricken animal never felt the impact as its brain immediately shut down. The momentum of this wolf carried it a few more steps before it pitched forward and collapsed. The dead had briefly walked the earth. . .

  Athos again pulled another arrow from the quiver. The lead wolf, with the arrow s
tuck in the middle of its back bouncing up and down as it ran, was a mere ten feet away. Desperate, Athos nocked another arrow and aimed for the gaping maw. The animal’s glistening white teeth shown clearly in the silvery moonlight against its gray fur. The mouth of the wolf salivated as it anticipated biting into the soft flesh of Athos’ throat.

  Athos loosed the arrow, and it leaped from the bow. The shaft covered the distance to that gaping maw in the merest instant and sailed into it. The arrowhead buried itself in the back of the wolf’s throat with a yelp that pierced through the thin mountain air. The lead wolf went tumbling end over end twice before it came to a halt and lay still.

  Athos dropped the bow and picked up his spear. He had dropped it at his feet when the wolves charged. The three remaining wolves closed in a line abreast of each other. As one they leaped at Athos. He turned the spear horizontally and grasped it with both hands like it was a quarterstaff. His timing would have to be perfect for this to work. As one, the animals crashed into his upheld spear. As they did so, he pushed the spear up. Two of the wolves went sailing over him.

  The third wolf bit down on the spear and landed on Athos’ chest as his back struck the ground. He grabbed his hunting knife from his belt. At the same time, the wolf released its grip on the spear and lunged for his face. Athos smelled the fetid breath of the wolf mere inches from him. The gaping maw closed in on the soft flesh of his face. A fraction of a moment before the sharp teeth could sink into his nose; he brought the hunting knife up through the bottom of the wolf’s jaw forcing it shut. Blood poured over him from the wound.

  Athos sensing the wolves behind him recovering, pushed the body and spear off and rolled to his right. As soon as he was on his stomach, he stopped and began to rise. A wolf landed in the spot where he had just had been, prompting him to look up. What he saw made his blood again turn to ice. In mid leap, the last animal was two feet from landing on top of him.

  The gaping maw opened in anticipation of the delicious treat it would enjoy at the downward end of its arc. Desperate, Athos grabbed an arrow from the quiver and brought it over his shoulder. In one fluid motion, he jammed the arrowhead into the right eye of the beast as the wolf’s open maw reached for his neck! The now dead animal crashed into him and once again knocked him over.

  Athos pushed the corpse off of him, but it was too late. Sharp teeth sank into the flesh of his right arm. The wounded arm exploded in agony. He brought his left fist down onto the wolf’s head. The blow turned his hand numb, but the animal didn’t seem to notice. In a panic, he patted around with his left hand feeling for something, anything to get the beast off.

  Athos’ hand found the thin shaft of an arrow he had buried in the other wolf. He yanked it out and brought it down into the wolf’s back. The sudden pain caused the wolf to release his forearm. Blood ran freely from the puncture wounds and torn flesh of his right arm. Ignoring the pain, he rolled away and jumped to his feet.

  The wolf took a step back as Athos towered over it. He kicked the beast as hard as he could with his left foot. The enraged animal snarled, but the impact pushed the beast back a foot.

  While the wolf backed up to get enough room to leap at him, Athos reached down and grabbed the spear. The surviving beast leaped at him. The teen brought the spear up just in time, and the animal crashed into the shaft and bounced off. The wolf landed on its side stunned for a moment and then stood up. Athos took a step forward and brought the spear down in front of him. The spear pierced the animal’s back pinning it to the ground. The wolf yelped in agony and twitched as its life blood ran out onto the hard earth.

  Athos sat down on the ground and took a deep breath. He looked up into the sky and spoke, “Rest easy now little brother. One day we will be reunited in God’s Kingdom. Until that day keep a seat warm for me.” Exhausted, he let out a sigh and began trembling. He closed his eyes and let the blackness take him.

  Chapter 2

  August 1st 636 Damascus, Syria Province, Byzantium

  The sweat on Athos’ brow dripped into his eyes. Annoyed, he wiped it from his forehead for what seemed like the thousandth time. He looked up at the merciless yellow orb above. The skin on his face felt like it was boiling. Like the other members of the 5th Parthica, there was no escaping their tormentor, the Sun, on this August day.

  “Why do we have to drill every day in this heat?” Athos asked.

  Constan laughed at him, “Lad, you will understand one day.”

  Athos shook his head fervently in disagreement. The young recruit tried to adjust the shield attached to his back but it was no use, “I’d like to understand today. I’ve asked around, and the officers have never made us march in August with all of this gear on.”

  Constan chortled at Athos’ ignorance, but he too was feeling the effects of the march. He smiled back at Athos. The scar on the left side of his face gave him a somewhat goofy appearance. Especially with the eye patch, “Think of the bright side. We aren’t marching up the side of a mountain with this gear on.”

  Athos shot back, “Let me guess you and the rest of the veterans won the war with Persia by marching uphill both ways.”

  Constan removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick salt and pepper colored hair, “Aye and under fire the entire time! Those clever bastards built their fortresses on top of mountains. I swear it was nigh on impossible getting to those infernal places much less breaching the walls.”

  Athos pointed at his chain mail, his Spatha, and the ax strapped to his back, “Let me guess everyone was wearing all this gear plus an eighty-pound pack.”

  Constan replied, “No, we also had to carry a spear. Is there a point to this whining or you just trying to get me to kill you, so you don’t have to sweat anymore?”

  Athos ignored the barb and thought to himself, Surely that heat couldn’t have been worse than today. I feel like my skin is boiling off my bones.

  The silence was interrupted by Baltazar, Athos’ best friend, “Come on Athos ease up a little on the old man. You’re still smarting from getting your arse handed to you in shield and sword practice earlier today.”

  Athos rolled his eyes and snorted, “Spinning more tales Baltazar? Everyone here knows you spent most of the drill on your back looking up at me!” Constan and a few others laughed at the jibe.

  Baltazar frowning replied, “Yeah, but at least I didn’t drop my shield on my foot in the middle of shield wall practice!”

  Athos grimaced at the memory. His foot throbbed in sympathy just thinking about it, “I’m not sure why we even practice that outdated formation.”

  Constan replied, “You young pups aren’t getting any smarter. You’ll appreciate the lesson when some Persian is trying to put an arrow into your arse!”

  Athos nodded in understanding, “Testudo is one of the few Latin terms I’ve ever heard. I

  don’t know much about history though. I’ve heard our unit is named after a real person. Do you

  know much about the original Ironman? People have said that he was a great warrior and that is why we are named for him.”

  Constan’s face broke into a grin; he loved telling stories, “Aye, he was born into the Empire long ago. In his day the Empire stretched from the Pillars of Hercules to the Tigris River in Mesopotamia.”

  Athos interrupted, “I can’t imagine a day where barbarians were a far-off problem.”

  “Indeed, back in those times outside of the frontier area, barbarians were mainly tales of hairy savages parents told to frighten their naughty children. Not like today.” Constan’s eyes fell as he added, “A day in which the damned Goths occupy our sacred capital in Rome.” Constan spat on the ground to emphasize his displeasure at the current state of affairs in the world.

  Athos asked, “How did the Ironman become so famous that Emperor Heraclius named the 5th Parthica after him?”

  Constan replied, “You see it happened like this. Many centuries ago the 5th Parthica was

  charged with guarding a bridge across the mig
hty Tigris River in Mesopotamia.”

  Athos interjected, “Which bridge?”

  Constan, became annoyed, “How the hell am I supposed to know which bridge exactly? That’s not part of the story, lad.”

  Finishing their march around the walls of Damascus. Nikas shouted, “Right face!” The lead men of the 2nd Kentarchia of which both Athos and Constan were a part, turned right and began marching down the Roman road to Palmyra. The road very quickly led them away from the lush green lands surrounding the Barada River into the open desert.

  After each Kentarches finished commanding the right turn onto the Palmyra road. Constan continued his story, “A conflict long ago broke out between the Roman Empire and the Parthians.”

  Athos jumped in again, “Who were the Parthians?”

  Constan’s cheeks turned crimson, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it is extremely rude to interrupt your elders when they are trying to weave a good yarn?”

  Athos answered innocently, “No.”

  Constan sighed, “It was a rhetorical question. Apparently, they don’t make them too smart in Armenia, eh? The Parthians were the predecessors of those dastardly Persian bastards that cost us so much blood during the war. “

  This time Athos managed to remain silent, so Constan continued the story, “The treacherous Parthians were responsible for the complete destruction of the legion known as the 5th Parthica. They were butchered to a man by those sons of whores. Legend has it that the final legionnaire standing was a man of pure iron. This Ironman stood in the middle of the bridge over the Tigris and held the entire Parthian army off for twenty minutes. It was an amazing feat. Whenever the enemy swung a sword, he was not there to receive the blow. In contrast, his sword drank deeply of Parthian blood.”

  Athos interrupted again, “He had a gladius, right? Shorter than the Spathas we use now.”

  Constan smiled at Athos’ knowledge, “Indeed, the gladius was a twenty-two inch blade used for thrusting attacks. Our Spatha is thirty-nine inches in length and is used primarily for cutting attacks.”