Chapter 8: The Art of War
Geoff whistled as he made his way to the command center. Soldiers and Centurions rushed passed him, heading to the gates. Why didn't the Praetor call me earlier? One of the passer-bys ran into his shoulder and kept on moving. Dammit, I'm like a fish swimming upstream. I'll take an alternate route, he thought.
Geoff turned around the corner and was surprised to see the path almost completely absent of soldiers. A sole soldier was leaning against a building halfway down the path, lighting a pipe. Geoff continued forward, and the soldier caught his eye.
"Big battle today," the soldier rumbled gently. "Care for a light?"
Geoff raised his eyebrows but accepted the offer. The Praetor can wait, it would serve him right for putting me in such a damnable job to begin with, he thought.
Geoff turned around and took a puff. "This is good stuff," murmured Geoff. He felt himself becoming drowsy. He didn't even notice that the soldier pulling him deeper into the alleyway. "But I think I've had enough, the Praetor..."
Geoff's words were cut off. He tried to speak, but his body wouldn't respond. He thought that was bizarre, until he realized that it was because a rope was pulling tight against his neck. Now why did I...
Geoff sank to the ground, and the soldier dragged the body behind a stairwell. The soldier smiled. He had a glint his eye.
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Artimus and Calmar lined up with the rest of the Mages on the battlements, about 80 in all. The optiones arcana, a stern-looking young woman with striking reddish-orange hair was pacing up and down the battlements, rebuking soldiers over the tiniest mistakes.
When she got to Artimus and Calmar's position she scowled at both of them. "Late again I see," she growled. "I swear by the Gods, if one of you two screw up I'm sending both of you off to Cyprus! Now get 'out the way, you blokes!" She plowed through the two mages and went down the battlements in a huff. Artimus turned to Calmar with an exaggerated aghast look on his face.
"Rawr, look it me, I'm big scary optiones arcana lady, watch me roar in fury," mocked Artimus.
"Oh, shut up" came a voice below the two mages. Calmar jumped in surprise and looked around. "Down here," growled the same voice.
Calmar looked down to see a black cat with an angry expression on its face. "Oh, it's just Knall," said Calmar with exaggerated relief. "Artimus, why do you allow that cute little pussycat up here? His luxurious coat will get singed."
Artimus shrugged. "Meh, he goes where he wants. But more importantly, what I want to know is why are you doing defending that witch-ard? I'll have no companion of mine sit in her confidence!"
Knall casually lounged and examined his claws. "I don't know what you're talking about; she's a nice woman once you get to know her."
"You're only saying that because she feeds you!" snapped Artimus.
"You haven't ever fed me!" replied the Cat.
Artimus threw his arms up in exasperation. "You're magical! You don't need to eat!"
"Yes I do," growled the Cat. "You've never asked me about it."
"What are you talking about?" argued Artimus. "What about the pasta I made last night? You said you wouldn't touch it!"
The Cat turned his nose up. "That's because it was YOUR pasta, you twit. You used a burning hands spell to heat up the pot! It was singed to a crisp!"
Artimus threw his hands up defensively. "That's how I like it! How was I supposed to know that magical beasts have bad taste?"
Calmar rolled his eyes and left to check on his soldiers. And I should probably check on Artimus' soldiers too, he thought with a sigh.
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Hoskuld stood in the center of the scrying room, with his hands clasped behind his back. He heard footsteps coming up the spiral staircase in the center of the room. The click of the heels distinctly belonged to the optiones arcana. Hoskuld remained focused on the northwest panel.
The optiones arcana reached the top of the staircase and joined Hoskuld on the outcropping. She brushed her hair out of her face and saluted. "All mages are standing at the ready, Praetor," she said crisply.
"At ease, Tiberia," murmured the Praetor. "I wonder...why do you think the Gauls are coming without siegery?"
Tiberia turned to study the northwest panel, but remained at stiff attention. "I must confess that I do not know," she admitted cautiously, "do the Gauls have the technology? I have not heard of them using siegery before."
Praetor Hoskuld lowered his gaze, and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The Gauls are amazing architects. This fortress is a testament to their ingenuity. So, why aren't they bringing siege weapons? They're coming down the roads anyway. How can they expect to take the fortress with brute force?"
The Praetor paused, and Tiberia shifted uneasily. "Perhaps," started Tiberia, "perhaps they know something about the fortress that we don't? A secret entrance, or a perhaps a glaring weakness?"
The Praetor shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I've worried about that myself. But if that was the case, they would have attacked years ago, when much of the fortress was still unexplored and booby-trapped."
Tiberia twisted her mouth and nodded. "That's true. Perhaps this is a suicide attack? The war has been going on for years. Perhaps they see it as an honorable death."
The Praetor smiled. "That is very insightful of, Tiberia. I didn't know that you were a student of Gaul culture."
Tiberia clicked her heels and smiled "Second rule of war, know your enemy," she quoted. "Once, I saw a pack of five Gaul archers rush a full cohort, using their arrows as crude daggers. I had cast comprehend languages before the battle so I could converse with one of our Gaul scouts. They died while screaming at the heavens for honor." She sighed. "Gaul culture? I'd hardly call that culture."
Praetor Hoskuld turned to face Tiberia. "I wouldn't be so ignorant, Tiberia. Tell me, have you ever studied Gaul artwork before?"
Tiberia took a step back in surprise. "No, Praetor, I have not. The only art I study is war."
Hoskuld smiled. "Ah, but art is war. I obtained a pair of Gaul paintings a few days ago, and I have been studying them ever since."
Tiberia looked from side to side uneasily. "You use the enemy's artwork to design battle strategies?"
Hoskuld nodded and turned back to the northwestern wall. "You'd be surprised what one can learn from artwork. For example, Roman artwork is neatly organized and crafted to perfection. The best way to fight it is to introduce chaos to battle, most likely through ambushes and guerrilla warfare. On the other hand, Greek artwork focuses on the individual and triumphs intellectualism. They can be easily read and smashed with concentrated blows."
Tiberia snorted. "Well, if you say so Praetor. Then, do you expect chaos in this coming battle?"
Hoskuld slowly shook his head. "Gauls do not appreciate art. It took me nearly three months to find a merchant with those pieces. Vercingetorix is a clever defensive strategist, but I haven't seen any of his offensive strategies until now. I don't think he could read us so easily."
Tiberia blinked slowly. "Well, that may be. But lack of siegry, it indicates a suicide attack, yes?"
Hoskuld sighed. "I doubt it. The Gauls are a very honorable people, but they also have a deep amount of respect for life. Vercingetorix wouldn't throw lives away without a reason." Hoskuld paused. "The second rule of warfare is to know your enemy. But the first rule..."
"...is to know yourself," concluded Tiberia.
Hoskuld nodded and lowered his gaze, deep in thought. Tiberia waited impatiently.
"In any case Praetor, I was thinking that the mages should open up with fireballs at maximum range, and the switch to missile fire for the rest of combat. With some luck, we will break the Gauls before they make it to the walls."
Hoskuld nodded his assent absentmindedly. "Yes, that sounds appropriate, optiones. You are dismissed."
Tiberia saluted and took a couple steps down the staircase. She paused and turned back to the Praetor. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking...what did you see in the Gaul paintings?"
The Praetor clasped his hands behind his back and looked back up at the northwestern panel. "Nature. A deep love and respect for nature."
Tiberia shook her head as she descended the staircase. How does that knowledge help in warfare? She snorted and re-arranged her hair. That Praetor is most certainly the strangest superior I've served under. He had better know what he is doing.
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