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Chapter 15: A Disagreement of Sorts
🕑 Added 2025-01-09 17:00:03 +0000 UTCChapter 15: A Disagreement of Sorts
Tiberius unfolded his arms, studying the bard. He had no doubt that his phrasing was quite intentional. Yet even if he did not entirely understand what Marcus meant, he could still learn much from the piece of information.
At first, Tiberius had assumed Marcus was nothing more than a fop. That assumption hadn't been entirely disproven, to be fair. But the more he learned about him, the more he had to admit the man seemed strangely competent. So competent, in fact, that Tiberius wasn't sure whether it was to be believed—perhaps it was all a deliberate facade to make Marcus appear more knowledgeable and influential than he actually was.
Still, the explanation didn't make sense. It was shortsighted, for one, and meant that Marcus's act would come tumbling down as soon as his deceptions were discovered. Although the information his men could independently verify had all proven remarkably accurate so far. It also stood starkly at odds with the bard's claim that he didn't currently have any influence. Would it even benefit him to hide something like that?
Tiberius considered that for a moment. How severe was this "disagreement" between him and the king? Did it reach the level where one would consider inciting open rebellion? That would certainly explain Marcus's siding with the Legion, yet it still left too many questions. The man didn't strike him as a firebrand rebel, and though revolt may be easier to spark at the fringes of a territory, Habersville had thus far seemed to be a poor choice for such a thing. Not to mention that Marcus had not yet suggested open aggression toward Novara. If anything, knowing that the man had a bone to pick with Novara might make him seem more trustworthy, not less.
Tiberius spun the implications over in his mind, considering the potential fallout of any political maneuvering. It was entirely possible that he and his men were being manipulated, provided just the right information in the right light to nudge them down the path of some grander scheme. But even if that were the case… could he do anything about it right now?
Marcus had proven to be a valuable and accurate font of information thus far—something that they desperately needed in their current situation. That alone was enough to keep him around. And even if he were maneuvering them toward open war with Novara? Tiberius suspected that they would find themselves on a collision course with the country regardless. After all, he doubted they would take very kindly to a new empire establishing itself on their territory. Even one so great as Rome.
He'd hoped that his silence might prompt the bard to elaborate further, but was disappointed. Even a few more pointed questions did nothing more than make it clear that Marcus would say nothing more on the matter. He let out a long breath and nodded.
"Very well," Tiberius said. "Is there anything else?"
Marcus shrugged one shoulder. "No."
He scrutinized the bard one more time. If the king had exiled Marcus over this "disagreement," then that would provide valuable context for his actions thus far. But as it stood, Marcus appeared to have left his former life voluntarily and was now currying favor with the first powerful force he encountered. That hardly inspired confidence.
Still, the fact remained that he was a valuable asset. Tiberius decided that only time would reveal Marcus's true character. For now, he'd simply keep his suspicions to himself. "You're dismissed."
Marcus fluidly stood and bowed—though not low enough to be obnoxious—before spinning toward the tent's exit with a dramatic flourish of his cape. Just before pushing the flap open, however, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
"Ah, there is one minor thing. Do you know where I might find Secundus?"
Tiberius frowned, a little caught off guard by the question. "Which one?"
"There are multiple?" Marcus asked, seeming surprised.
"Of course," Tiberius replied, "It is a popular name in Rome, as many families are blessed with two sons."
Fewer were blessed with the creativity required to come up with a more unique name than "second," it seemed. But Tiberius didn't voice the thought aloud. He simply watched in amusement as Marcus seemed to let the comment slide. "Then… is there a centurion by the name of Secundus? He may be one of those in charge of conscription—handling the new recruits and auxiliaries."
"Ah. That Secundus. Good man," Tiberius nodded. "Ask near the officer tents. Those men will have a better idea of his current whereabouts."
After giving Marcus a few brief directions, the bard finally swept out of the tent. He watched him go. Secundus might not have been the most intelligent centurion. Still, he was loyal, hard as nails, and wouldn't tolerate the kind of nonsense Marcus might try to pull. With that in mind, Tiberius felt no hesitation in sending the bard his way.
Once alone and free of prying eyes, Tiberius shook his head and shared a quiet chuckle with his aide. Then, he returned to his reports. Before long, yet another interruption made itself known. A string of golden text materialized before his eyes, blocking his view of an inventory report.
[An area boss in your territory has been successfully defeated!]
***
Quintus waved away the floating text, continuing to scan the area for threats as the unnatural darkness began to dissipate. He half expected others to follow. Something that explained what exactly an area boss was or what the consequences of defeating one were. But even as the seconds ticked by, nothing more came. The system was as terse and as unhelpful as he'd been told to expect.
Not that he had much experience with it, of course. But it seemed to be the general sentiment shared by the locals. He had mixed feelings about relying on their impressions, but having information was a good thing. Even if it was biased.
The last echoes of the queen spider's screeching faded into the woods around them, leaving only the quiet skittering of many legs in its wake. Just as he had hoped, the moment the queen died, the other spiders ceased their assaults in favor of slipping back into the cover of the darkened trees. The already receding darkness lifted even further as they disappeared.
Once it was clear that the battle was won, Quintus dropped his shield and immediately pulled his waterskin from his shoulder. He poured water over the puncture wound in his arm, letting it wash through the hole left by the queen's fang. It burned fiercely, and Quintus gritted his teeth against the pain, hoping he'd flushed out any venom that had entered. He could feel his arm was going numb, but at a slower rate than Brutus's leg had. Perhaps the fang going all the way through had actually been a blessing. It meant that the majority of the venom wasn't sent directly into his bloodstream.
After binding the wound as best he could, he moved from soldier to soldier, checking on their injuries. Nearly everyone had at least a few bites across their bodies. They did their best to wash the wounds with water, but it was clear their combat effectiveness was greatly diminished.
The man who had gone down beneath a tide of spiders was still breathing, but only just. The rest of his muscles had seized up, leaving him frozen in a curled-up mass of blood and venom. At least he seemed to be unconscious for the moment. Brutus had made it through somehow, likely due to the panicked defense their charge had elicited from the spiders. However, his condition had worsened as well. He could hobble along, but his leg was completely numb, and two other Legionnaires struggled to walk. Most of the others could still wield either a shield or a sword, but not both.
Despite their condition, they couldn't withdraw yet. The damned barrier of spiderwebs was still in place, meaning they had no clear path back to camp. They would need to venture deeper until they found a way around. Besides, Quintus was almost certain that the bulbous corpse below them had to be the queen of this nest. And where there was a queen, there could be eggs—eggs which could grow into a much bigger problem if not dealt with soon.
The mood was somber as they took a brief rest, did what they could for their unconscious comrade, then hid him amongst the trees. The rest of the men continued deeper into the forest. They couldn't afford to leave anyone to guard him. Despite the small amount of breathing room they'd earned, they all knew that the battle wasn’t truly done. Not yet. And if the web-infested forest held any other threats like what they had just survived, they needed all of them to have a chance. Otherwise, they would lose a lot more than just one soldier. The best way to help him would be to quickly find a way out of this mess.
The contubernium formed up as well as they could, continuing to press forward. After a few minutes of walking in silence, a scout signaled for them to stop. They crept forward much more quietly until they rounded a final copse of trees rendered nearly unrecognizable under a thick coating of webs. Quintus had to keep himself from swearing under his breath.
A large clearing stood before them, its periphery draped in layer after layer of thick webbing. What small parts of the trees themselves remained visible beneath the blight looked dull and ashy, stripped of their leaves and deprived of sunlight by the spiders' presence. Scattered all across the edges and ground of the area hung cocoon-like protrusions of various sizes, also made from spider silk. They clustered together like moldy grapes.
They had to be eggs. And there were millions of them.
Quintus heard quiet footsteps as Septus approached from behind to whisper in his ear. “Sir… we can't crush them all. Not ourselves."
"Agreed." Some of the larger cocoons—approximately the size of a person—wiggled ominously in the torchlight as he watched. "However… I don't want to risk more hatching overnight. That would add to our problems."
An idea struck him. Perhaps if those trees were truly as dead as they seemed, they would make for fine kindling. It might be enough to cook the remaining spider eggs and simplify their task.
Quintus gestured for a torch and stepped slightly away from the group. Carefully, he touched the flame to the wood of one of the dead trees, holding it there for a moment. He hoped that maybe some sap would catch or perhaps some dead leaves.
As soon as the fire made contact with the webs, it flared. The gooey wet strands of spider silk caught fire, burning like fresh pitch. The resulting conflagration sent Quintus stepping backward for fear that it would burn off his eyebrows.
The fire spread quickly from one strand to the next. It continued to burn in a liquid heat that seeped into the wood, branding the dry trunk like a lightning strike. The wood began to steam before catching fully, the entire tree going up in a matter of seconds.
"Uh, sir?"
Quintus rushed back to the group, following Brutus's outstretched hand to see where he was pointing. The flames raced upward and began spreading to the neighboring trees with alarming speed. The previously silent nest had exploded into activity as panicked spiders swarmed, seemingly without the direction or intelligence they had displayed before.
Quintus drew his sword, and the other legionaries followed suit. But the spiders didn't take notice. They were too busy fleeing or withering away from the light and heat produced by the conflagration.
"Effective," one of the men remarked.
"Yes. A bit too effective…" As the fire continued its advance, Quintus's gaze alighted on some of the larger cocoons hanging down within the clearing. They were longer and slimmer than the rest, motionless for the most part. Most had split open to reveal empty interiors. But three remained intact, and two were moving and squirming as though it was alive.
"More spiders, maybe?" Someone asked. "Perhaps they feel the heat."
One of the scouts focused for a moment then swore under his breath. "Shit. Sir, I think those might be people in there."
Quintus swore under his breath, eyeing the fire. The cocoons were on the opposite side of the clearing from it, but with how quickly it was spreading…
He made a decision quickly. "Cut them down. If they're human, we bring them back with us."
Half the group sprinted toward the hanging bundles while the other half held their positions to cover a retreat. With a leap off a low-hanging tree, Quintus's [Heavy Blow] slashed through the web holding up one of the bundles while two of his men prepared to cut down the others.
Reaching down, he sheathed his sword and drew his knife in one smooth motion, slicing open one end of the webbing. It was harder than he expected—more like sawing through a tough animal hide that had been dried for days or even leather armor. He felt the heat around him intensify, sending beads of sweat down his face before he managed to see inside.
As expected, this was no spider. Instead, he was met with a woman's birdlike face. Her features appeared pinched and haughty, almost resembling those of a Britannian. At least, what he'd heard of them. He'd met scant few of the people, even though one of his old Legionnaire buddies claimed that they made great wives if one was willing to invest some effort in civilizing them. He'd even taken one for himself, though Quintus regrettably had never found time to meet her the last time he'd been in Rome.
The flames continued to spread, and the clearing had already become uncomfortably hot. As soon as her face was freed, the woman gasped loudly. Her shrill voice pierced the air as her squirming redoubled. "Let me go, you creepy-crawly little—!"
Quintus had to stop his sawing to avoid harming the woman as she continued to scream. He snapped at her in annoyance. "Be still, woman, or I can't free you."
She blinked, quieting for a moment as she seemed to focus on Quintus's face. "You… you're not a spider. Who—" Her words cut off, eyes widening as they darted around the clearing. "H-help! Get me out of here!"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Quintus grumbled as he called back to his men. “This one is human! Bring the others," Quintus ordered, “Quickly!”
The other two sacks fell, and without bothering to free their occupants, the soldiers slung the captives over their shoulders and began to run. Quintus slung the partially freed and still panicking woman over one shoulder, wincing slightly as his wounds protested. He wasn’t sure if the other two were dead or not. But there was no time to check. They would have to take the risk.
Together, the group turned and retreated. The other half of their contubernium slashed at panicking spiders as they scrambled away, ensuring that they had no chance to block their path. Fortunately, the spiders no longer moved in the intelligent, coordinated way they had before. Their random movements suggested that they may not have even been able to erect a barrier at this point. A few corpses of larger spiders lay curled up near the rear guard.
Their feet crunched over a few fresh spider corpses as they rejoined their comrades and set off at a run. At least, as quick of a run as they could manage. Between their burdens and wounds, a quick jog was about all they could manage. Every man was either assisting a wounded comrade or carrying a captive, and Brutus was barely keeping up. But still, they didn't stop.
The woman let out an uncomfortable shriek in Quintus's ear. "T-the fire! It's getting closer! Go faster!"
Quintus smacked her on the side, trying to stop her from wiggling and overbalancing him. “Hold still, you—”
He managed cut himself off before he said something ungentlemanly. The woman seemed to get the message and froze, but didn't stop whimpering in fear. He didn't need to turn around to understand why. He could feel the intense heat on his back. The webs were sparser this far out from the main nest, but the trees were still mostly dead from lack of sunlight. He could practically feel the flames licking at the back of his neck.
“Pick up the pace!” Quintus called to the men. They did their best, but there was only so much they could do with so many injured. The woman added her panicked prodding to his orders in a grating tone. Quintus ignored her, as did the rest of the men. He just hoped that the noise wouldn't attract any other curious predators.
They moved as quickly as they could, ducking low to stay beneath the black smoke that quickly filled the air. The scouts ranged ahead, directing them down routes with fewer webs and dead trees to try and gain some ground on the flames. After what felt like an age of running, they finally reached the site of their last battle.
At Quintus's command, the men slumped against the trees for a quick rest. There weren’t enough webs here for the fire to catch quickly, and its leading edge had fallen behind them. They could use this chance to recover before making one last push for camp.
Their injured comrade still lay where they'd left him. Claudius stepped forward to check on him, calling back over his shoulder. "He's still alive! Not in any better shape, mind you, but he's alive."
Quintus dumped his burden on the ground—eliciting a small squeak of indignation—before stepping toward the man. Somehow, he had managed to drag himself to a tree and was sitting up, his eyes half-lidded as he breathed slowly. He didn’t seem aware of their presence. But he was alive.
Nodding, he took a quick inventory of his men. Everyone was accounted for, and he made sure the wounded were being tended to before crouching to cut the rest of the webbing off of the woman. The absence of immediate threats allowed him some extra time to really examine her.
The woman's dark hair was cut short, falling just below her chin. Her narrow cheekbones, pinched features, and slightly upturned nose marked her as some kind of foreigner to the region. At least, that's what he assumed. Her appearance was unlike any Quintus had observed in Habersville. She wore simple robes of thick cloth that had been stained with dirt and venom. Small bite marks speckled her arms, though not as many as some of his own men bore.
Her appearance simply raised more questions. What was a woman doing out here? The spiders had obviously captured her at some point. Perhaps they had ambushed her caravan while she traveled?
Once she was freed, she flopped bonelessly to the ground. Quintus offered her a hand, but she only managed a slight wiggle.
“Thank you,” she gasped. “I thought I was a goner. W-what about my team…? There should've been two other guys with me, about my age.”
Quintus looked over to the other cocoons. By this point, enough had been cut away for him to make out the figures of a bulky, wriggling man and another scrawnier one hidden beneath the webs. The scrawny man appeared to be unconscious, but breathing.
"They are here." He said simply. "They, too, live."
She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I… I need to heal them. I can do your people too. Not all of them, but… guh… one second, I can't even move like this…"
She began muttering something under her breath. A glowing light appeared from her hands, washing over her in a soft wave. A little color returned to her pale face and her eyes lit up slightly as the punctures began to disappear.
The woman sat up, panting slightly. "Hah… that's better. Sorry, had to take care of myself first, you know? I won't be helping much of anyone if I can't move."
She reached up for Quintus's hand, but he had already stepped back. He eyed her with newfound suspicion, one hand on the pommel of his gladius. "You're a witch."
