Chapter 164: Crossfire over the Market

Cassian could only trust that Milo would recall how to work free of knots once the soldiers moved on.

Leaning close to the boy’s cheek, Cassian whispered. "Milo... I have to go to where your mother is. These men are taking me there. Do not be afraid. Work the cloth free when the sun comes up, and live well."

Whispering his goodbye, Cassian reached his open hand through the moss into the light...

He closed his eyes, bracing for rifle fire or the concussive blast of a grenade.

In that pause, moments from his past flickered across his memory: boyhood lanes in his village, lighting lamps at a wayside shrine, stonecutters brawling by the river, his late wife on their wedding morning, and Milo’s newborn hand curled around his thumb.

Seconds slipped by. Nothing came...

Cassian opened his eyes.

His hand remained unmarked in the damp air of the shaft. The glare of the magnesium flare had died away.

He pulled his arm back through the vines, pressing himself flat against Milo.

He leaned his head against the limestone, listening to the courtyard above.

"Two more wedged in the drainage culvert."

"Clear the trench, Felix."

"Moving, Corporal."

"Curse you Gallic dogs! The Consul will—"

A blow cut the sentence short.

The soldiers had never aimed at the shaft; they had caught two garrison guards hiding in the stone culvert beside the wellhead.

3 rifle shots cracked above, followed by the thud of bodies falling into the mud.

Cassian did not move. In his arms, Milo twitched against his cloth bindings, then settled as he felt his father’s chest against his back.

400 paces outside the southern perimeter of Arretium...

Ignis lowered his monocular. "The breach is through," he said, stowing the glass in his pack and bringing his bolt-action needle rifle forward.

He blew stray grit from the bolt raceway, touched 3 drops of oil to the locking lugs, and cycled the action twice to check the travel.

Behind him, 14 men waited in the ditch, each returning a silent signal.

"Section 6... move."

In a close column, the section cleared the unfortified orchards and entered the outer lanes.

With the perimeter posts bypassed, the approaches lay deserted.

"The garrison is falling back on the magistrate’s citadel," Ignis said, leading them through narrow alleys toward the gunfire.

Without scouts to guide them through the street grid, the section moved by sound.

As they reached the administrative quarter, blasted courtyard gates and bloodstains marked the pavement.

"Commandos don’t leave much standing," a corporal muttered.

"They’re selected from the frontier regiments," Ignis answered, keeping pace. "They wouldn’t wear the black insignia otherwise."

Rounding a corner, Ignis caught sight of a Roman guard kneeling behind an overturned wine cart, a crossbow aimed toward the main avenue.

Ignis did not break stride...

Drawing a trench knife from his harness, he closed the 10 paces in 3 strides, drove the guard’s chin up, and ran the blade into the base of the skull.

The man dropped without a sound.

Ignis stepped over the body, his expression flat.

During his 6-month officer course in the vaults of the Aegis Citadel, live execution of condemned outlaws had been mandatory to eliminate hesitation at close range.

It was a rite reserved for candidates marked for field command... a crucible his father had quietly approved.

Behind him, the recruits stepped past the pool, keeping formation.

Gunfire rattled 50 yards ahead, where 8 legionaries held a barricade across a lane, firing toward an unseen position up the street.

Ignis raised a closed fist, then gestured toward the flanking walls.

2 men vaulted onto the low roofs on either side of the alley, while Ignis and the remaining 10 dropped to one knee, carbines trained on the exposed line.

A legionary turned, his eyes wide as he spotted the muzzles.

A volley cut down the lane, tearing through bronze mail and dropping the detachment onto the stones.

"Clear, Sergeant!" a private called, stepping into the intersection.

A rifle round snapped off the cobbles an inch from the soldier’s boot, sending him sprawling.

"Get down!" Ignis barked, dragging the private back by his webbing. "Never cross an open junction before recognition is given."

Ignis fired a white flare cartridge into the gap between the roofs.

Across the square, 4 men in blackened gear emerged from the smoke, carbines leveled at Ignis despite the gear insignia on their shoulders.

Their tunics were torn and scorched. They carried the hard, feral edge of veteran border commandos... men accustomed to night raids along the demarcation line.

Having grown up around Lucius, Commander Valerius, and Silas, Ignis did not flinch.

The lead commando lowered his muzzle as Ignis flashed his brass tally and gave the nightly countersign.

"Keep your men in hand, Sergeant," the Tribune said, his voice raspy from smoke. "If the flare hadn’t shown the gear on his pauldron, his head would be open."

"Understood, sir. It will not happen again," Ignis said.

The Tribune turned toward the street. "You 2 on the eaves... take the higher gables. I need crossfire over the eastern market lane."

"The rest of your section, take up rear security behind my breachers."

"Sergeant... on me."

Ignis dropped into position beside the Tribune behind a stone horse-trough.

The situation was simple: 4 commandos had baited a group of Praetorians from a cellar in the market, but their own marksmen were pinned 2 blocks back.

The Tribune handed Ignis a range slate to set elevation and windage for the roof rifles.

Ignis checked the smoke against the gable, calculated distance and crosswind, and called the adjustments to the roof.

Moments later, 4 commandos sprinted from the market lane, followed by 12 Praetorians with muskets and drawn blades.

"Fire!" Ignis called.

A volley broke from the gables and the trough together, catching the Praetorians before they could close.

In 4 seconds, all 12 lay across the street...

The Tribune gave a dry laugh, clapping Ignis on the shoulder as he stood. "Keep your head on your shoulders and you’ll hold an officer’s commission before the snow clears."

Ignis gave a brief nod, falling into step behind the senior officer.