Loyal to What Pt III
At the order of Lucius, all the officers on that ridge overlooking the Grand Canyon dispersed and returned to their units in the ranks behind them and the sun got lower and lower. Nothing beyond the sound of footsteps around the encampment, or the occasional low spoken order was heard as more and more time drifted by. The sun eventually disappeared in the west, giving way to the night, and fires across the camp were lit as each soldier in crimson began the slow task of continuing onward. As enormous as the event of the day was, there was still more work to do as the Legion set about its new direction after the death of its legate.
Aleron was seeing to the encampment duties of his Prime Century, the 101st, ensuring the units needs were tended to in the silent aftermath of the execution. When he was done, there were no new orders for him or the other officers, but that was being slowly attended to as the night went on. Eventually, Aleron found himself standing by his century's central fire, silently warming his hands from the northern Arizona winds with a number of other decani and veterans, just waiting. Not a word was spoken around that fire, but the distant voices of other legionaries telling their soldiers where to go, where to stand watch, what supplies to tally, went unheard by Aleron and the men surrounding that flame. All of their minds were still focused on the death of their legate as each man stared into that fire, remembering their legate's silence, and wondering where it would take the Legion next. Aleron didn't have to wait too long because eventually, Aleron felt a hand on his shoulder. When Aleron turned to see who it was, he saw the face of Lucius whose face was dim in the flickering flame. With a gesture of the head and the quiet words, "Centurion Aleron, a moment," Aleron departed the huddle of officers around the campfire and stepped to the side with the head Praetorian. Beyond the reach of the glowing fire, Aleron and Lucius faced one another in the darkness before the praetorian spoke;
"Centurion Aleron, I have your new orders for you here."
Aleron saw the black figure of Lucius move to pull something from a satchel and Aleron briefly looked back at the faces surrounding that flame. Each one was maskless and still staring into the fire caught in recollections of the commander they were still trying to forget out of obedience to Caesar. Suddenly, Aleron felt a letter get placed in his hand, and Aleron understood why Lucius had pulled him to the darkness. Lucius had no intention of letting other commanders see that he was just as distraught as the rest of them. Aleron, gripped the letter in his hand before Lucius said plainly;
"Read it on your own time... There'll be more details in the letter, but you are to return to the camp atop Fortification Hill and assist in the construction of a stronghold. You will be helping lead the defense of Arizona along the Colorado River alongside the 86th, 73rd, 68th and 55th centuries, reporting to the Praetor of Flagstaff until further notice..."
Lucius paused and Aleron pocketed the letter. The two stood there silently for a moment, both lost in more recollections of the day before Lucius added simply, "Anything I can clarify, Centurion?"
Another silence lingered as Aleron tried to find something to ask that would assist in his directive. However, Aleron experienced the same thing the other commanders approached by Lucius did, his mind was too focused elsewhere. So, all Aleron could say was, "No, Praetorian. No directive clarifications are required."
Aleron felt the letter in his pocket once more and Lucius too was lost in thought before he processed Aleron's reply and gave a simple goodbye, "Alright, Centurion. Read the letter as soon as possible and set out immediately. The sun will rise tomorrow and so will the Legion..."
The dark figures of Aleron and Lucius nodded at one another before Lucius said, "I bid you vale, and true to Caesar, Centurion."
Aleron replied with his vale and true to Caesar and immediately the praetorian set off to another nearby century encampment, leaving Aleron alone in the darkness. Aleron didn't stay there long, instead, his mind returned to more memories of the Legate that he wished to forget, if not out of adherence to the word of Caesar, then to further advance the Legion. Aleron concluded that the best way to move forward was to see about his new orders. So, Aleron returned to his place by his century's fire and was scarcely even noticed by the other officers. All remained silent when Aleron removed the letter from his pocket, unfolded it, and began to read it over in the dim flame.
The orders merely elaborated on the basic directive Lucius outlined. Aleron discovered the name of his new commander in Flagstaff, the roles of the different centuries along that new front in relation to his own, and what they were to do. The only detail in the order that stuck out to Aleron was the one that said they were to defend the Legion's Arizona territory while Lord Caesar and a large Legion force is campaigning in the east. Aleron briefly wondered who was left in the east to conquer if the goal was to gather more strength. Aleron thought back to all the years at the Interfector's side, seeing the fall of New Mexico from afar, and seeing to the taming of the Colorado Wilderness. He thought that maybe the war against the Brotherhood of Steel would resume, but even the continuation of that conflict would only seem to bring about more territory rather than people, so Aleron began to think even more. Thinking about the east and how hard of a campaign that was brought up even more memories of his time at the Interfector's side as well as his last task with the man. Aleron thought about those final days, helping his primus clear the road for the forces on their way up to Hoover Dam and Aleron cut his thoughts short before he found himself remembering that battle and the fate of the legate. Instead, Aleron's thoughts remained on those last days with the Interfector before he disappeared on that ill-fated expedition into the west, and there he remembered the news they received about all the auxiliaries that had been betrayed in order to supplement the Legion's assault on Hoover Dam. He remembered the pride he experienced when he heard that news, but he also remembered how it affected the Interfector. Suddenly, Aleron felt a strange feeling in his gut when he learned how dissatisfied his primus was at Lord Caesar's inclination to betray those who'd been faithful to the Legion and Aleron thought about the countless townships and communities from the Colorado River to the impassible plains of desolate wastes leading to Texas. The duelist began to fear the worst for those towns that had already provided the Legion so much without the sacrifice of themselves. At any other time, Aleron would have considered the idea of those towns being assimilated into the Legion with a legionary's glee, but with memories of the legate's end still hovering at the back of his mind, he found himself wondering how the Interfector would take the news, rather than how Caesar expected him to take it. Aleron concluded that Lord Interfector would not celebrate the news, but would instead trust that Caesar understands what he's doing while performing his own directives the best he could. Aleron decided that he would do the same, and set about his new tasks that would benefit the Legion in whatever his role permitted. If Aleron or the Interfector weren't sure if Caesar was leading them down the right course, both men, including the Legate could have at least taken solace in the idea that they performed in the Legion's best interest.
For the last time, Aleron re-read his orders in the light of the fire and continued to battle his future ambitions against the uncertainty of the Legion's current direction. As much as Aleron was hopeful about the future with memories of his friend the Interfector, the events of the current day continued to plague Aleron's mind as the officers of his century hovered beside that fire with him.
After a while, Aleron felt a presence behind himself and a brief glance showed that it was Gabriella, who wasn't permitted to watch the afternoon's events but made herself useful to the other slaves of the century. She stepped closer to Aleron to the point that he could see her out of his peripherals and felt her eyes studying him. He briefly thought back to first acquiring her, how he treated her, and what an excellent servant she'd become at his side. He considered how he should reprimand her for looking at him without permission, as he'd done in the first days, weeks, months, and even years after acquiring her, but then his mind returned to the Interfector and how he treated her. Aleron continued to look into the fire, feel her gaze, and remember the past in ways he'd never done before until he felt her hand gently pull his arm. The feeling made Aleron turn to her, and upon meeting the pretty tribal slave's aging face, he could see the concern in those eyes as they gestured to his tent at the edge of the century's circle. Aleron heard the silent message, but declined with a face that would not accept any offer of comfort in this time that demanded discipline and reflection. Gabriella went to lower her eyes, knowing Aleron was in no mood to speak with her. Aleron saw this understanding in her, and with a mind still elsewhere, moved her towards a place closer to the fire before walking away to clear his head in the cold breeze. Gabriella watched Aleron depart into the darkness and looked into the fire as the soldiers around her remained completely transfixed on the flickering flame.
Montano saw the approach of Lucius from across the small campfire near his personal command domicile. He watched the man walk in a slow-motion state towards himself and Montano wondered how it was possible that time had seemed to be going far slower than it normally did. Montano spent the past half hour after ensuring his century was ready to move out at dawn just sitting alone by that fire outside his tent. As Lucius continued his slow approach, Montano's eyes drifted to the central fire of his own century's encampment that was surrounded by over a dozen legionaries and officers locked in the same state of contemplation and forced memory repression that all soldiers across the Grand Canyon region were stuck in. Montano looked longingly at those soldiers around the fire and wondered if the presence and company of his subordinates would help speed up this terrible slowing of time, but he couldn't bring himself to approach them. As distant as his soldiers were, he could see their exposed faces in that fire and not one of them had spoken a word since joining the warming flame. No, if Montano was going to be stuck in the same terrible silence as everyone else, he preferred to do it alone. At that, he remembered that he actually wasn't alone as he glanced at Raquel sitting on the small stool next to him, holding her hands almost in the flame as her body was curled up to embrace the cold night. When his eyes returned to the distant fire populated by his soldiers, he saw the face of Falco standing just as silent as the rest of them, and briefly considered ordering him or one of the other staff officers to his company, but again, Montano concluded he'd rather be alone since he didn't really even consider the timid Raquel to be company. However, as his eyes went back from Falco to Raquel, he caught sight of Lucius who was almost close enough to talk. When Montano's eyes landed on Raquel, he saw her still shivering and saw Lucius stop on the other side of the fire as he stood himself up. Raquel hadn't even noticed who stopped before the flame, but her attention turned to Montano when he tossed the cloak he'd been using as a cushion onto her lap. Montano looked to Lucius and back to her before saying to the slave;
"Put on that cloak, warm yourself up inside my quarters, and prepare a fire for my return."
With a meek, "Yes master," Raquel stood up and put on the cloak, her eyes lingering on the praetorian for a moment before departing their company to set about her tasks.
When the slave departed, Montano turned back to Lucius, whose face glowed solemnly in the fire. Montano saw this expression in the praetorian's face and the immediate silence after the slave's departure left Montano knowing that Lucius was plagued by the same issues silently affecting everyone there that afternoon. Montano, as was customary, began the conversation with a praetorian in a manner seemingly devoid of the internal conflict he was still trying to forget existed;
"Ave, Praetorian Lucius. True to Caesar."
Lucius looked up from the small fire to Montano and replied in the theme of the evening. Lucius said, "Ave, Centurion Montano. I'm here to deliver your orders on behalf of Caesar."
Montano remained silent, a silence that every soldier in the region took as an answer of its own. Montano was thinking about how eager he was for the orders to arrive and how he couldn't truly muster the sense of eagerness he wanted in his mind or actions as the flame reminded him of the legate's incineration. Lucius handed Montano the letter, and Montano began unconsciously opening it to the surprise of Lucius. Montano noticed the look of vague surprise on the praetorian's face and was about to inquire about the apparent issue when Lucius said offhandedly with a tinge of pride and relief;
"Centurion Montano, you truly are an inspiration to all commanders of the Legion."
Montano met the face of Lucius, briefly curious about the reason for such a remark when he found himself unconsciously folding the letter back up. Montano did not need to hear an overview of the directive he'd been handed or linger in the silence of what happened earlier that day, Montano only wanted to move on, read the new order from Caesar, and not look back at what happened in the defeat at the Dam, or the execution of the legate. What neither Lucius nor Montano understood was that Montano was impacted by the execution deeply. Montano, just like every other commander who received their new orders that evening, was just desperately searching for a distraction. Montano pieced all this together and met Lucius with the words;
"If Lord Caesar has orders for me, I will see that they are fulfilled completely to his satisfaction. The failure we saw at the Dam has been corrected this afternoon and that's all that is required to advance."
Lucius remained silent, hearing Montano's words as the example of service they were, and wishing that more soldiers were ready to charge into the future with blades out like Montano seemingly was. The only problem was that this demeanor of Montano was only a mask for what he was truly feeling. The truth was made apparent even to Montano himself when Lucius replied to Montano's conviction. Lucius studied the steel mask over the face of Montano, internally admiring the dents, chips, rust, and blood stained into the steel before meeting the black eyes inside the expressionless metal face and saying;
"A soldier like you is certainly worthy of such a trophy mask..."
That lone sentence reminded Montano of what he'd been trying to block out since the immediate silence after the legate's death. The state of Montano would go into an even more confusing spiral, but Montano was momentarily stunned by the word of Lucius as he still managed to croak out,
"The praetorian is most generous with his words of honor."
At that, Lucius saw Montano as an example of how to handle the events of the day, and departed his company, leaving Montano internally scrambling to piece his world back together at the reminder of the face he wore. In an attempt to put his mind back on a course that would please Lord Caesar and further his conquests, Montano unfolded the orders paper only to see that the orders he'd been given were his worst fears made real.
Montano read the orders and saw that his first directive from Lord Caesar in the wake of this execution day was to take a 7 month respite period, one month for travel, and 6 months of rest before joining the new front in the east that was currently being established, a front in a land that too was something he wished he didn't have to join. Montano never truly enjoyed respite periods beyond what they could offer him sexually, but Montano didn't consider himself a young man anymore and didn't contain the sexual animosity he had towards Raquel or Clara anymore. Years of serving on the fronts in countless minor and major campaigns removed this desire from him to a large extent. Montano, especially in recent years, only really looked forward to the next fight, and respite was the last thing he wanted to do in the immediate aftermath of the defeat at the Dam or the execution of that nonexistent legate. The idea of being left with his own mind for 7 months before the next action was terrifying to him. He looked forward to these orders being straight into the next battle, but was sorely disappointed by being ordered to a prison of his own mind for 7 months until being released into the front of a land that only made Montano's current mental conflict even more overwhelming.
Yes, after 7 months of restful torture, the orders said that Montano was to join the "New" New Mexican Campaign. Montano froze when he read the words and his mind briefly scrambled for his own answers to the reopening of this campaign. "New Mexico was tamed years ago!" Montano's mind screamed. He read the outline of his duty in that front and saw that his role was to accompany Lord Caesar and Lanius across territories already under Legion occupation and resume what had started happening months earlier: The harvest of former allies.
Montano cared little for the idea of betraying townships and other tribes that escaped the first harvest, in fact, he like many other Legion commanders felt this was something that was long overdue. However, when Montano read that his primary duties on this new eastern front were largely confined to the territory of old world New Mexico, Montano was instantly reminded of his war experience in that land years earlier, his exceptional service under the legate who never existed... and the mask resting on his face.
Memories and images of his time under the old legate bombarded Montano's mind. He had already been forcing 100% of his mental energy into forgetting the old legate at Caesar's order, something proving difficult enough throughout the evening and night without any additional pressure. Now though, after knowing he would be stuck in his mind for 7 months only to return to a front that he'd already helped win for that dead legate, the idea of forgetting the legate was a completely unwinnable battle in Montano's mind. There at that fire outside his tent, sitting all alone, Montano panicked internally, in a way that he'd never experienced before. More memories of his pride towards the legate shot through his mind, and he couldn't help but recall in detail all the battles he'd fought in New Mexico under the legate's command. His mind flashed through the defeat at the Dam, all that failure, all that humiliation, and then all that honor, victory, and glory brought by the legate's 30 years of leading the Legion to astounding success. Montano tried and tried to focus on the catastrophe at the Dam, Montano watched the image of the legate's death play in his mind again and again, and desperately wanted to fulfill Caesar's demand by hating that failed legate and forgetting his existence, but Montano couldn't. No matter how he tried to focus his mind on the accomplishment of Caesar's word, Montano always found himself staring up at the legate from his knee on that little cliff overlooking Las Cruces. Montano saw the man in detail, the proud authoritative man of Legend who built the Legion to Caesar's demand, looking down at him while those three men decorated the crosses behind him. The duelist smiled abscently, remembering how young he was all those years earlier, and how proud he was to be recognized by the legate for all his hard work for Lord Caesar. Montano could not forget the Legate, the task was impossible, and the memory of what his recognition resulted in was still attached to his face in the most defiant manner possible.
Montano caught hold of himself shook the treasonous memories from his mind as forcibly as possible, and ripped that reminder of Caesar's nonexistent prior legate off his face. Holding the mask in his hands, he stared at it one more time, remembering all the pride that mask had given him over the years, and the image of the legate's death went through his mind one more time as he heard the orders from Caesar beyond the crackle of flame. Montano gulped as a last goodbye to the memories and trophies from that commander who led him to humiliation and set it down on a nearby crate as he stormed into his tent.
When the man entered the tent, he saw that Raquel had done as he instructed, but Montano had no further orders for her as he grabbed a blacksmith's hammer off his small desk and exited the tent without another word. Stepping back outside, Montano held the mask in place on the crate and began to smash and dent it into destruction by the dim flame. Montano felt the eyes from his soldiers turn to the noise only to immediately turn back to their respective mental battles as the mask was broken and dented by each blow of the hammer. He watched the dull golden lining and steel rivets along the deadened steel face chip and fly away with one hit after another, recalling how ornate and pristine it was when he first got it. Before he could recall the day and circumstances in which he first saw the gifted mask, a final blow of the hammer interrupted his thoughts when the dented and destroyed mask broke down the middle. At that, the hammer hovered over Montano's head and he saw that all the work he could do was done. For a moment, Montano was frozen, happy to have done what he did, but the mask was still in his sight, and he realized that had to change before even more memories of the legate could surface. Taking the two pieces of the mask in hand, Montano stepped towards his small fire and looked into the flame and felt the destroyed gift in his hand, knowing what to do... Montano, ready to completely remove any reminder of the legate who failed at the Dam and led him to victory in New Mexico, gently propped his arm back to toss it into the flame forever when he heard a voice near him say in a low tone;
"Stop."
Montano froze before he could finish removing the reminder and turned towards the sound of that voice. Out of the darkness, he watched a centurion emerge and step up to the fire. Montano didn't recognize the voice at first, but when the centurion entered the dim light of the fire, Montano simply didn't know what to think as Aleron took his place on the other side of the glow. Aleron averted his eyes from Montano who watched his approach towards the fire between them and Montano adjusted his grip on the mask. As Aleron warmed his hands in Montano's personal flame, Montano was still stuck in a perplexed state until Aleron's eyes returned to Montano's across the fire. The two remained silent, and both men studied one another. Aleron looked into the battered and scarred face of his rival, seeing the familiarity in the face he hadn't seen unmasked since that day at the Dam. Montano too looked at Aleron's face bearing the damage of just as many wars but without the extensive frontline record, remembering the ferocity and competence he showed at the Dam as well as Dog Town. Underneath all the scars of war and damage from years of service to the Legion, the two exposed faces could see the continuing internal struggle emblazoned on one another's minds. After a long, long moment in the silence, Aleron finally mustered enough energy to speak first. In a voice devoid of any judgement, authority, or condemnation, in a voice that couldn't assert anything other than a strange curious defeat, Aleron asked Montano;
"Why were you destroying that mask, Montano?"
Montano couldn't understand the question, Aleron's business in the affair, or the tone he asked it in, but Montano too could only reply in that tone characteristic of the ongoing mental defeat of every crimson soldier this night, "This mask is a reminder of the creature that failed Lord Caesar, Aleron. You should depart from me and tend to your own century this night..."
Montano unconsciously found himself holding the mask pieces closer to himself, almost in a protective state. He had to stop himself when he realized this and went to toss it into the flame again when something else stopped him, not Aleron's words, but Aleron's actions. Aleron took the word and suggestion of Montano, nodded, and after a quiet brief moment, turned away from the fire. The fact that Aleron accepted Montano's instruction without hostility or some procedural directive made Montano continue to linger in place and look back down at the broken mask fragments in his hand.
Aleron truly did intend to leave Montano to his own decisions, but upon turning to leave his company, Aleron felt his rival freeze. Aleron completely understood what was going through Montano's mind in relation to the mask, and the only difference between the two was the fact that one of them believed that forgetting Graham was possible. Before taking another step further away, Aleron turned back to Montano, seeing the man holding and staring down at the mask in clear hesitation of his decision to cast it into the flame. When Aleron saw this, he said to Montano,
"... I understand what you are thinking, but you should at least hold onto the remains of that gift..."
Montano met the eyes of Aleron across the fire as Aleron added, "... That mask is a valued Legion symbol of victory that you've earned through countless wars..."
The two locked eyes for another long moment, each one's face just as devoid of emotion as the other. Finally, Aleron turned to continue his departure when this time he froze at something. Before Aleron could step further away, his attention turned back to Montano who said defeatedly;
"... This mask is no longer a symbol of Legion victory... It needs to be erased..."
Aleron agreed with Montano's conclusion about the ultimate title of that trophy, and was about to return to his encampment after such a long walk to clear his head when Montano realized something. Montano realized that it was himself who was lying. Montano understood that he earned the mask, that it was a symbol of what the Legion had achieved under the legate, but realizing he didn't need to erase it made him clutch the mask in his grip tighter. As Montano felt his fingers curl around and begin bleeding against the sharp fragments, he relished in the distracting pain and his anger grew and grew at what he'd done. He had no desire to destroy the mask he was so proud of, but the more blood that ran between his fingers, the more he remembered that it had to be done in order to carry out Caesar's orders to forget.
Aleron watched the blood drip from Montano's hand, and Aleron nodded in acknowledgment of Montano's words. At last, before Aleron could turn to depart once more, he watched Montano's defeated face sink further into Caesar's victory as his bloody hands finished the work. Montano tossed the mask onto the fire and Aleron said;
"I hope you earn another symbol of Caesar's victory, Montano... I bid you vale."
As much as Aleron intended to turn and walk away, there was something inside of him that prevented his doing so. Aleron's attention diverted towards the steel mask resting atop the burning stack of logs. Clearly the steel face would survive the heat of a small campfire, but both men looked at it turn even more blackened as the fire burned around it. The decision to toss the mask in the fire was accepted by both men, both seeing it as a necessary symbol of carrying out Caesar's instruction, but as the two watched the mask fragments survive and endure the surrounding flame, their minds immediately returned to the image of their legate. Each duelist watched that broken expressionless face become more and more black in the middle of the fire and remembered all the times that a Legion flame had erased a person, tribe, or nation, and how their legate, even after that day, was continuing to survive such an inferno even if it was just in memory. Montano had expertly carried out Caesar's orders, but even in doing so, the memory would endure. As satisfied as Montano was at casting the symbol into the flame, the more he watched the mask remain, the more he understood that his final gesture was meaningless, and the idea that Caesar's orders were impossible to fulfill landed Montano's mind on the same conclusion that Aleron had reached earlier that evening. A defeat that Aleron willingly accepted was something that Montano simply couldn't out of obedience to Caesar. As Montano came to this realization, his mind panicked at thought of yet another failure in this mental war, but all that changed when he looked up from the flame and saw Aleron's face. A face that knew and accepted the failure that Montano couldn't.
Aleron looked up from the futile efforts of that flame against such a strong symbol, and saw the refusal to accept this defeat in Montano's eyes. After such a long time, Montano said to Aleron;
"That mask was not a symbol of Caesar's victory. It was a symbol of temporary victory for final defeat..."
These were the thoughts that Caesar had ordered Aleron to arrive at, and ones that he promised himself would remain the outward orientation in all he did going forward, but hearing the words and seeing the face of Montano as he delivered them made the world stop. As the men looked into each others' eyes and the mask sat enduring the fire, both men realized that they were no longer plagued by the image between them so long as they could see the internal conclusions their rival had reached. True to his outward conviction, but unable to reconcile that with his inward position, Aleron, after a moment of silence, said;
"I don't believe you should have destroyed it, but I understand why you did..."
Aleron paused, and neither man looked from the other before he added, "... Today has been overwhelming enough."
Montano briefly looked back into the flame, seeing that mask covered in the black of the surrounding inferno, but then returned to the eyes of his rival as those last words echoed in his mind. The more he stared at Aleron, and the more those words about the day repeated, the less he found himself thinking about the event so much as the apparent orientation of his rival.
Montano was not alone in this moment, for Aleron too found himself thinking less about the internal conflict or burning symbol before him, and more about the eyes of the other duelist. The more silence that passed in this moment, the more they were able to channel their focus away from what was truly bothering them and towards a desperately needed means of remaining true to Caesar as well as the Legion... The two men were more Legion and true to Caesar than anyone under Caesar or Lucius there at that massive encampment lining the ridge of the Grand Canyon, and the spark of a recruit that had learned what was required of them began to burn hotter and brighter than it had in a long time. The recruit learns to forget what the Legion, what Caesar did to their family, tribe, wife, children, chief, and loved ones by charging into the thunder of guns, smashing into the ranks of the enemy, by breathing in the smoke of battle between the sprays of blood, by slaughtering their new enemy in front for the glory of that banner or that emperor behind them... Aleron and Montano remembered this as they looked into the others' eyes, and in a night where every man in crimson was stuck in the worst prison a soldier of Caesar could endure, the duelists saw their out, and charged towards it fully aware of what it would take to escape.
"... Today has not been 'overwhelming,' Aleron. Today was a day of celebration," Montano lied.
A scowl of battlefield determination grew across the exposed faces of each man as Aleron lied, "I agree, the traitor got what he deserved..."
Another pause ensued as they internally strapped on their armor and heard the war drums in their minds. Montano replied as both intentionally poured gasoline on the flames in their minds, "... Clearly you had some form of issue with my adherence to Caesar's directive..."
No protest to Montano's accusation crossed Aleron's mind, instead, Aleron eagerly waited to lurch towards the bait before him, praying the hook that bait was attached to would be serrated and painful. Montano added, "... How can you oppose me destroying something given by that... 'Burned Man'?"
Both men had known that they'd caught one another by their hollow words, merely taking the words for the formality they were in an effort to bury the true issues in their hearts. The sinister scowl on Aleron's face grew even more as he replied to the eyes of Montano;
"Regardless the origin, it's still a symbol of Legion victory, your victory, Caesar's victory..."
Completely calm, but bearing the outward expression of the animosity they so needed, Montano read his rival's face and both men decided to skip to what they intended to happen. In a voice just as calm as the silence after the burning of the legate they both so loved, Montano accused Aleron of the orientation of Montano's own heart when he said;
"You don't think you can ever forget that traitor, do you, Aleron?..."
Neither man had moved a muscle in the following silence as the words sank into Aleron's mind and Montano embraced the internal blow of that confession. After a moment, Aleron inhaled deeply, eyes fixed murderously on Montano as he accused him of his own inward stance;
"... And you really cared for the Burned Man, or else you wouldn't have gone to the trouble over that mask..."
Both men held the others' position, the two were one in the same. Montano could never forget the legate, for he really did love serving under and fighting for him despite his defeat at the Dam. Aleron too could not forget the legate, for he knew the man as someone exceptionally important to the commander, mentor, and friend he so loved, something that couldn't change in either man's heart even at the order of Caesar. Where both knew the impossibility of forgetting Graham, only one fully intended to even try to remain true to Caesar's directive. Either way, the men knew that regardless of their true disposition towards the legate, the only direction the Legion or Caesar moved was towards the next battle and the two were already looking at the enemy.
The two remained locked in place staring at one another and ready for war, not even noticing when a stranger had stepped up to them. Veteran Decanus Falco had decided to approach his commander when he saw him discussing something with the centurion opposite the flame with a face he'd only seen before a charge. Falco took his place next to his centurion's fire and considered inquiring about the issue, but he felt the tensity radiating into the area around the two before even reaching the flame. Upon reaching his place next to the fire and realizing that neither centurion had moved a muscle, Falco didn't need to see who his commander was facing on the opposite side of the fire. Falco stood silently looking at Montano and Aleron for a few seconds before his attention was turned to the fire and what was sitting in it. At the image of that gifted mask sitting blackened in the flame, Falco briefly wished he hadn't approached his centurion, but was also thankful for the distraction it caused as memories of the afternoon began to resurface. Before Falco's mind could revert once more back to the years in soldier school for boys where he'd been taught to venerate the Burned Man, Montano, without looking at him, said to Falco;
"Follow us."
Falco had seen his centurion of 7 years fight with his rival a few times, and knew that this was what was going to happen as he followed the two east and away from Montano's 32nd Century encampment. Without protest, Falco marched silently behind the two duelists down a rocky path along the edge of the Grand Canyon, straight to a hidden little clearing on a lower part of the ridge less than a decent stone's throw from the nearest guard post for the 32nd's perimeter. Falco surveyed the small open protrusion of rock and brush, briefly wondering how the two had known this little hideaway existed when his attention was diverted to the east overlooking such an enormous marvel of nature. Falco looked out over the enormity of the canyon, seeing the thing in full clarity beneath a full moon, hearing the soft breeze rustle the bushes below the sound of the two duelists stripping their armor. The decanus began thinking about how neither centurion made a sound this night, recalling the previous conflicts he witnessed and how there was usually some preparatory talk, basic rules of engagement, etc, but not this time. Falco continued to look out over the canyon, and came to the strange discovery that neither man wanted to do this, they just had to. The silence of the entire night, and silence of the walk to this engagement showed him that there was no drive for this fight, it was just something that men of the Legion did when the alternative was despair. Upon seeing this, Falco understood the source of this silent fight to move forward, and began glancing into the depths of the canyon, a futile effort to find a smoking black carcass impossible to see even in the moonlit world.
Before too long, Falco's attention was diverted back to his commander who stood opposite his rival on that open rocky space. The two men were without armor, standing with blades drawn, and statuelike before Montano's head slowly turned to his most trusted decanus. Upon meeting his commander's eyes, Montano said the words, "Falco, make the call," in a voice devoid of any animosity or emotion whatsoever. The head of Montano slowly creaked back to the centurion before him, and with the moon high above, Falco said softly into the breeze, "Fight."
Falco watched the two's blades clash in an instant, and although the two fought ferociously, he noticed that neither man's face had changed from its expressionless state, devoid of life. Falco briefly believed that his commander was wearing his signature mask, but remembered where it was in the fire. With each smashing of steel against steel, the two grappled with one another as the slow seconds turned into a minute. Neither man let up, with each swing being just as vicious as the last, Aleron had taken Montano to the ground only for Montano to do likewise after regaining his ground as more seconds passed and each one landed more blows on the other. Two minutes in, Montano stood with his crimson tunic in tatters and Falco couldn't determine if the redness of his commander's garb was due to its color or if to the blood that continually dripped onto the rock around him. Aleron was in no better state, for his arms were already carved beyond belief, a dark stain grew on his left side, and his face was blackened and bruised enough to blend into the rock around him. Regardless of their condition after two minutes in, the two showed zero signs of exhaustion, their faces remained in a deadened state despite the new wounds, and the loud clash of steel continued ceaselessly. Neither man had let out one grunt, shout, or laugh at the pain, and not even the wind made a sound as the clashing blades slowly faded into the night's silence as the seconds went on and on and on.
There were no thoughts in either duelist's mind as they fought. Neither man thought of the Legate, the defeat at the Dam, Caesar, the Legion, or what their futures entailed. Their minds were completely focused on the next action they'd take to preserve themselves or end the threat in front while the silence between them stemmed from only memories that hovered like transparent ghosts in the background of their present focus. Minds seemingly blank, Aleron's vision showed his friend the Interfector between blows from Montano, and the image of the Bull he fought for. Montano could see all those triumphs and victories, and all the times he stood victorious over a field of corpses after each time he countered Aleron's blade, only increasing the savagery of his attacks when the image of Caesar began to overshadow the image of Graham... Nearing three minutes in, and the two did not let up a single bit while their blades became blunter and blunter. However, not even that prevented the blood from spraying or their minds from truly forgetting the memories that sat waiting for this conflict to end.
Falco watched the fight continue on and on, but was surprised when he discovered sound slowly returning to the world. Falco eventually started hearing the clash of steel again, then the shuffle of the duelists' boots in the dirt and rock, then the winds returned with the sound of crickets chirping in the night, and Falco looked up to the ridge above, seeing it lined with over two dozen masked men silently watching the fight below. Upon seeing this, Falco's mind went even more blank as his eyes went back to the duelists.
After a tremendous flash of sparks between the two's colliding blades, Aleron had smashed his leg into Montano's, sending Montano to the ground. Montano could not see the audience above through the dust created by their conflict, but in an instant, Montano had twisted his legs around Aleron's, sending Aleron to the ground as well. Aleron accepted the fall, narrowly missing Montano's head with his blade. Montano felt Aleron's blade slap the rock beside his head, tasted the dust in his bloody mouth, and threw himself on top of Aleron before he could regain his blade. Aleron embraced each blow to his face from Montano's elbow, fist, and blade handle as he felt his nose break, his lips tear open, and the blood pool flow coldly down his face in the night air. Despite this, Aleron did not make it easy for Montano as Aleron continued to carve away at Montano's abdomen with his partially pinned arm. The two's silent and violent battle went on as the dust began to settle until finally, the dust exposed the savage climax of the engagement to the audience above. As nearly dead as the two were, Montano remained on top of Aleron in the position of victory. In one silent moment, the two locked eyes through the blood streaming down both of their faces, and Montano managed to find himself holding his blade above his head, looking down at the nearly destroyed face of Aleron.
Montano's blade lingered in the air above his head as his eyes tried to make sure that the destroyed face below him was Aleron's. There, his blade stayed, this was it. This was what Montano wanted for so long, and he couldn't understand why he hadn't immediately ended Aleron. This moment wasn't but a couple seconds, but a million thoughts went through Montano's mind as he stared into Aleron's face, and for some reason, Montano couldn't seem to convince himself it was Aleron beneath him.
Aleron, looked through his one good eye still partially sealed by crusted blood at the equally mangled face above him and uncurled his fingers around the grip of his blade he'd lodged partially into Montano's abdomen. Aleron knew that Montano had won. Montano had earned it, and if Aleron wanted anything in this world, it was to go out like his Lord Interfector, for the Legion, and regardless of recognition for all he'd done to advance it. If that meant his death at the hands of his rival, Aleron was alright with that. Aleron looked through his blurry vision at the state of Montano's unrecognizable face, and to the blade hovering above before growing a smile at the sight of all those masked witnesses on the ridge above. In only a few seconds that felt like hours, Aleron came to the realization that his end was here and now, and it was just how he wanted it. Feeling that smile grow even wider across his face, Aleron knew he put up a tremendous fight as he looked one last time into Montano's face and coughed through the blood running down his throat;
"Do it... Montano."
The blood soaked words brought Montano back to reality, hearing that they were Aleron's words, as mangled as those words were. Montano heard the directive, and saw the image of Graham fall into the canyon flash through his mind, remembering the impossibility of forgetting Graham should at least be attempted in order to be true to Caesar. As much as Montano despised Aleron, he saw Aleron standing on that platform now wrapped in flame, and admired Aleron's submission to his end with his whole heart. Montano admired Aleron in this moment without any remorse for the first time ever, and was ready to carry out this act and move forward as the image of Caesar reigned unquestionably victorious in his mind. Montano nodded wordlessly at Aleron's command, and raised his blade even higher. Just as he moved to slam his blade into Aleron's skull, Montano was frozen in place by the distant words;
"Halt right there!"
Montano looked up from Aleron and saw the praetorian Lucius walking down the rocky trail with four other guardsmen through his battered vision. Montano saw this, and though neither duelist were ashamed of what they were caught doing, Montano's heart stopped. He turned to Falco who hadn't moved since giving the starting command, and then to the ridge above where he saw all those masked men looking down at him. The second he looked back to Lucius, he felt two sets of strong arms pull him off of Aleron and watched the two other guardsmen pick up the barely alive body of Aleron
Aleron was surprised he wasn't dead but was too beaten to express it or even protest what should have been his end. Montano felt himself smile when he felt the blade leave his grip and get pinned to the wall by the two guardsmen. Montano even laughed when he felt Aleron's blade get yanked out of his side, and as he awaited the jingle of shackles, he found himself thinking, "I wouldn't mind dying on a cross with that guy on the one next to me."
Montano slumped into submission at the arms detaining him but was surprised when the shackles never came and instead felt his side getting wrapped. Too weak to protest, Aleron also found himself being held up only by those guardsmen as his injuries were attended to. Aleron struggled desperately for consciousness, only seeing a glimpse of Lucius before muttering to himself, "Shoul've let'm." Montano, as angry as he was that he was being treated rather than immediately marched to a cross, felt a strange sense of victory as he was walked past Aleron.
As Montano passed Aleron who was already more unconscious than conscious, Montano said to him, "I won Alrom. Fight wel, century. Rember that, Ha!"
Having already lost more blood than most men could survive losing, Montano was delirious as could be, but the sensation of knowing he was about to kill Aleron made him bat the hands of those guardsmen away as Falco joined his commander's side. Lucius, who remained silently watching the two, saw Montano triumphantly stumble closer towards him before the scowl on Lucius's face ordered the four guardsmen;
"See that these two get to where they're needed. If this night prevents them from carrying out their orders, kill them."
Looking to the soldiers along the ridge, Lucius barked, "Return to your station, Legionaries! Tomorrow, Lord Caesar will rise!"
The legionaries departed, Montano stumbled ten feet up the trail before collapsing, and Aleron was carried back to his century's encampment by the guardsmen while Falco and the others proceeded to do the same for the now unconscious Montano. As the scene cleared, Lucius watched the two duelists disappear over the ridge with their escorts and looked into the Grand Canyon. There he stood, thinking about the horrific feud between two of the most senior battlefield centurions in the Legion before saying to the winds;
"I can't believe that story was real."
That story was real in the Legion's ranks, and the next morning would prove that almost all Legion stories have a similar theme. The Hidebark Monster would die and continue on to become the Monster of the East. Legate Graham would die and live on as the Burned Man. Some even say that the Interfector of Phoenix didn't die in the Divide, but survived to inhabit an eternal Hell in the Divide's depths. Then there's the story of the duelists. Although the story of the duelists was over in the Legion ranks with Montano's victory described above, the morning would come, and the two would live on. The duels of Montano and Aleron would continue to circulate in Legion camps for a long time afterward, but all the stories ended with the fight at the edge of the Grand Canyon where both Montano and Caesar reigned victorious. However, the intricacies of who each man was, what they held dear, was largely unknown to the common legionary, and regardless of who sat in the position of victory, the morning eventually arrived, and both continued.
What happened after this night was something not many lived to hear about in Legion camps across the southwest.