Free Altar of Blood: Empire IX by Anthony Riches Page B

the army six months before them both, and therefore by his own estimation a man of greater experience and cunning, grinned knowingly.
    ‘We wouldn’t want to set any higher expectation among your brother officers, would we, Centurion?’
    Qadir smiled thinly, recognising his comrade’s jibe for what it was intended to be, a reminder of the fact that they had all begun their military lives as simple archers, before their friend’s rise to command them which, given his birth, had been something of an inevitability.
    ‘Indeed, Husam. Why look professional when with just a little less effort you can remain a goatherd for the rest of your life?’
    His friend bowed his head in recognition of the returned insult.
    ‘How can we be of service, Centurion?’
    Qadir dropped his helmet on the desk of his quarter and gestured to them both to sit.
    ‘I have been selected to join the tribune and centurions Marcus and Dubnus in a delicate mission to the northern wastes. To Germania.’
    ‘You are clearly under the blessings of the goddess. Once more you have the opportunity to accompany your betters to a distant part of the empire, where unfriendly men will do their very best—’
    Husam fell silent as he realised that Qadir was smiling at him in a not entirely humorous manner.
    ‘That is correct. But you are mistaken in one thing, old friend. She smiles upon all three of us.’
    He turned away to place his vine stick on the office’s table, muttering quietly to himself.
    The younger of the two raised a tentative hand.
    ‘If I might enquire?’
    Qadir spread his hands wide, as if granting silent permission for the question.
    ‘Husam is your chosen man. I am your watch officer.’
    ‘And so you are asking me who is to lead the men while we are away from the city, Munir? Select someone. I very much doubt that there will be any call for our archers, here in Rome. They will be free to relax, and forget the horror of our recent battles against the Parthians. Whereas we will be reacquainting ourselves with the German forests.’
    ‘Cold, damp, miserably dark even in summer. There is little with which I have the urge to reacquaint myself. And their language, all that growling and gritting of teeth. I had not thought to sully my mouth with it again in this lifetime.’
    Qadir grinned at Husam.
    ‘With luck you won’t have to. The tribune hopes to be “in and out again” without ever being detected. But, just in case his fond wish for a boring and uneventful few days is denied, we are to take ten archers, including you two.’
    ‘Ten?’ The question was incredulous in tone. ‘What use are ten bows against a tribe of screaming painted lunatics?’
    His answer was an eloquent shrug.
    ‘I do not know, and I fervently hope not to find out. But, just in case the opportunity for that learning comes to pass, you must select eight more men to join us on this journey into the green half-light. And trust me in this, my brothers, you must not simply choose those men who are the most precise shots with their bows.’
    Husam nodded wearily.
    ‘I know. You want the best hunters, the stealthiest, and the most deadly shots when it comes to dropping a man with a single arrow.’
    Qadir nodded soberly.
    ‘I do. But I want them all to have one more essential quality, something which cannot be learned, but which must have been part of the man’s way of thinking when he fell out of his mother.’ Chosen man and watch officer stared at him in questioning silence. ‘Every man you select must have the ability to lose all fear of failure at the moment he releases the arrow, must be blessed with cold eyes that can measure the best point of impact for his last arrow even as the cataphract bears down on him in dust and thunder, knowing that if this last arrow fails him then he will surely die on the end of the horseman’s lance, or trampled under the hoofs of his warhorse. And, in the instant of releasing the arrow that he knows will surely fly true