they intended to meet at when Gung and Loren returned, gesturing in another direction.
“There’s a large group, working their way down the street from the docks. They’ll reach the marketplace in a few minutes.”
“Good, that’s perfect. Pick him up,” the Immune ordered.
They grabbed the prisoner and broke into a jog, heading for the marketplace. Their orders weren’t to merely eliminate the enemy this time, but to send a message. None of the Legion soldiers knew exactly what was going on, but they knew the situation. The remaining members of the Garrison were badly outnumbered and clearly couldn’t win the fight without something tilting the odds to their side, so it was something of a relief that they weren’t being ordered into ranks to march out and meet the enemy.
It meant that someone at the top was thinking, and while that could mean trouble as often as anything else, they were already in trouble, so they’d take it and be happy.
They arrived in the marketplace well ahead of the Zealots they’d tracked and wasted no time slamming their prisoner up against the wooden trestle that normally served to mount the sign announcing to visitors that they’d located the market.
Tonight it would announce something else.
“Hold his arm out,” Sevarus ordered, drawing one of many daggers from his belt.
They slammed his right arm to the wood, holding in place. The man’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t break free against three strong men holding him in place. Sevarus slammed the blade into the exposed arm, digging into the wood behind the flesh and bone. He left it there for a moment, hefting a hammer casually as he looked in the man’s eyes.
“Did you really think you could come into my city and walk around like you owned the place?” he sneered before hammering the blade deep into the wood. Blood flowed wildly, and he figured he’d cut into the artery but didn’t care. Alive or dead would send similar messages, and arguably dead was more effective. “Put his other arm up.”
The grisly work was done in just a few seconds, really, maybe a minute at most from first blood to finished task. Gungsun yanked the broken hilt from the man’s bloody mouth, smiling darkly at him.
“You can scream now.”
They left him there, cursing them in at least two languages, and most likely more, generally screaming at the top of his lungs. All of that was exactly what they wanted, however, and as they headed out in one direction, they could hear the cries of shock come from the Zealots entering the market from the other.
“I hope the Commanders know what they’re doing, Immune,” Gungsun said with a grin as they ran out of the market, “because we’re leaving some pissed off Zealots wandering around the city.”
“Have you ever heard of a Zealot who wasn’t pissed off?”
“No, not that I can recall. Still, there’s pissed off and there’s enraged beyond measure.”
Sevarus shrugged. “They’re razing our city to the ground, looting what they see, and helping themselves to anything and anyone they wish. What worse could they honestly be if they were angry?”
Gung had no response for that, so the group just continued to jog into the night.
****
Through the city, small squads of the Legion Garrison engaged in similar actions. Sometimes driving the enemy to terror, other times to rage, always with a goal in mind. Their orders were both simple and enormously complicated.
On the one hand, the method of the madness was simple and straightforward. Picking off stray and vulnerable enemies was a time-tested skill, one that many in the Legion had even if the Legion itself didn’t prefer to fight that way.
The second part of the plan Centurion Cassius had brought to them, however, was something entirely different.
The Centurion and others in charge wanted the enemy to be herded, corralled, and generally either pushed or drawn into a specific part of the city at a very specific time. Getting them there
“There’s a large group, working their way down the street from the docks. They’ll reach the marketplace in a few minutes.”
“Good, that’s perfect. Pick him up,” the Immune ordered.
They grabbed the prisoner and broke into a jog, heading for the marketplace. Their orders weren’t to merely eliminate the enemy this time, but to send a message. None of the Legion soldiers knew exactly what was going on, but they knew the situation. The remaining members of the Garrison were badly outnumbered and clearly couldn’t win the fight without something tilting the odds to their side, so it was something of a relief that they weren’t being ordered into ranks to march out and meet the enemy.
It meant that someone at the top was thinking, and while that could mean trouble as often as anything else, they were already in trouble, so they’d take it and be happy.
They arrived in the marketplace well ahead of the Zealots they’d tracked and wasted no time slamming their prisoner up against the wooden trestle that normally served to mount the sign announcing to visitors that they’d located the market.
Tonight it would announce something else.
“Hold his arm out,” Sevarus ordered, drawing one of many daggers from his belt.
They slammed his right arm to the wood, holding in place. The man’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t break free against three strong men holding him in place. Sevarus slammed the blade into the exposed arm, digging into the wood behind the flesh and bone. He left it there for a moment, hefting a hammer casually as he looked in the man’s eyes.
“Did you really think you could come into my city and walk around like you owned the place?” he sneered before hammering the blade deep into the wood. Blood flowed wildly, and he figured he’d cut into the artery but didn’t care. Alive or dead would send similar messages, and arguably dead was more effective. “Put his other arm up.”
The grisly work was done in just a few seconds, really, maybe a minute at most from first blood to finished task. Gungsun yanked the broken hilt from the man’s bloody mouth, smiling darkly at him.
“You can scream now.”
They left him there, cursing them in at least two languages, and most likely more, generally screaming at the top of his lungs. All of that was exactly what they wanted, however, and as they headed out in one direction, they could hear the cries of shock come from the Zealots entering the market from the other.
“I hope the Commanders know what they’re doing, Immune,” Gungsun said with a grin as they ran out of the market, “because we’re leaving some pissed off Zealots wandering around the city.”
“Have you ever heard of a Zealot who wasn’t pissed off?”
“No, not that I can recall. Still, there’s pissed off and there’s enraged beyond measure.”
Sevarus shrugged. “They’re razing our city to the ground, looting what they see, and helping themselves to anything and anyone they wish. What worse could they honestly be if they were angry?”
Gung had no response for that, so the group just continued to jog into the night.
****
Through the city, small squads of the Legion Garrison engaged in similar actions. Sometimes driving the enemy to terror, other times to rage, always with a goal in mind. Their orders were both simple and enormously complicated.
On the one hand, the method of the madness was simple and straightforward. Picking off stray and vulnerable enemies was a time-tested skill, one that many in the Legion had even if the Legion itself didn’t prefer to fight that way.
The second part of the plan Centurion Cassius had brought to them, however, was something entirely different.
The Centurion and others in charge wanted the enemy to be herded, corralled, and generally either pushed or drawn into a specific part of the city at a very specific time. Getting them there
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