It was the changing of the guard. Winter had lost its hold over the lands, and Spring, in all her glory, was taking over. Tender, green shoots of grass carpeted the ground. Newly minted leaves covered tree branches once bare from hibernation. In the sky, birds flew about and sang their unique songs for all to hear. Emerging from their wintery graves, daffodils, and crocuses were in full bloom. Their bright yellows, pale blues, and vibrant purples dotted the landscape. A river, fed by the melting snowcapped mountains to the north, snaked its way through the wilds. Its path took it roaring over a steep drop off and down a narrow gorge below. Shimmering rainbows danced upon the veil-like mist.

All of this, however, was lost on the solitary Roman soldier who stood at the edge of the river. He watched the currents. He watched mesmerized as they swirled and slithered beneath the surface. His dark thoughts, similar to the currents, lay hidden deep. Deep within himself. Swirling. Slithering. And, like the currents, his thoughts were just as dangerous. At least to anyone foolhardy enough to get close and fall into their unknown depths.

Could demons drown?

Were they indeed immortal?

Questions, as such, continuously haunted him.

Out of habit, he reached for the braided chain he wore around his neck. From underneath his armor, he pulled out a pendant. On either side of the smooth copper disk were engraved two images. Mars, the god of war, adorned one side while on the other was etched a wolf. Legend had it that the wolf was favored by Mars and so, in turn, was revered by the Romans.

Heartache leached into his very being. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the pendant between his calloused fingers and took a deep breath. The action dulled some of the pain in his soul. But not by much. It had been over three years past since his wife had given him the pendant.

Had it indeed been that long ago? To him, it felt like a lifetime.

A rare smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he recalled the reason for the gift.

His wife had given him good news that day. She had been with child. He, Darius Aramis, a Centurion in Caesar’s Roman Army, was going to be a father.

He opened his eyes. Still holding the pendant, Darius took a few steps and leaned over just enough to peer into the gorge below him. The wet stones beneath his booted feet were slick. Slick from the rising mist. One misstep and he would plunge to his death. He did not care though. He simply wanted answers and the demons that harassed him gone.

Darius stepped even closer. Now one booted foot peaked out over the edge of the cliff.

Could demons, in fact, be killed?

If given ample opportunity and the right incentive, it was possible to kill anyone. Or anything. However, to kill these particular entities, he would have to die with them, for they lived inside.

“Darius!”

Like dandelion fluff, his thoughts scattered to the wind at the sound of someone bellowing his name. He sighed. Clearly, death will be without a prize today.

“Darius!”

He knew without looking that Gabriel, one of his trusted soldiers, approached him.

Darius had been on sentry duty when the morning broke. He had gone down to the river to be alone with his thoughts. For one of his own men to come looking for him, he, apparently, had lost all track of time.

Placing a tender kiss upon the pendant, he once more deposited it underneath his armor for safekeeping. Mentally he gathered up all his demons and locked them away. For the time being anyway. Turning his back to the river, he sprinted up the steep embankment.

Out of the five men under Darius’ command, Gabriel was the newest and youngest. Gabriel had only been under his charge for over a year now. And within that time, the man had proven himself a thousand times over. Even though he was young, it did not detract from his skills as a warrior. And like his brothers-in-arms, Gabriel was a skilled swordsman. However, his real talent was with knives. He could throw a dagger from forty yards out and without fail hit dead center to the mark. His aim was true.

With purpose, Darius marched to where the young soldier stood waiting. “Gabriel.” He greeted.

Steely blue eyes surveyed Darius. “By the gods, what were you doing down by the river for so damn long, old man?”

Old man? Darius lifted a dark brow. A brow that hinted at a bit of grey. It was true dammit. He was old. At thirty-five, he was nearly a decade older than the young pup who stood before him. He should have been back in Rome, running for a senate seat. A position that he was sure his uncle, Marcus Silvius, would gladly buy him. His uncle was a powerful Roman. So powerful, in fact, Caesar himself thought twice before disagreeing with the man. Or so rumor had it.

“Darius, what had your attention? Something to be aware of?” The concern he heard in Gabriel’s voice pulled him back into the present.

Shaking his head, Darius answered, “No,” and glanced at the river behind him for a moment, then turned and clapped Gabriel on his shoulder. “Tis nothing of importance.”

Gabriel looked up. He gauged the sky as he slicked his blond shoulder-length hair back from his face. “We need to be on our way before the skies once more open up and drench us all.” It had rained off and on throughout the night. Emphasizing the fact, Gabriel shook his head like a mutt shakes water from its coat.

“Aye.” Agreed Darius.

The two men started for the clearing where they and the others had made camp the night before.

Absentmindedly, Darius reached down and pulled at the knee-high emerald sea of grass they walked through. “I for one,” he confessed, “will be glad to sleep in a real bed once more.”

Nodding, Gabriel agreed. “But first, I plan to fill my belly with a hot meal and stout drink. Then find me the most,” using his hands, he outlined the figure of a woman, “shapely female to warm my bed.” Winking at Darius, he continued. “Well, that is after I have buried my cock in her several times over.”

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed.

Darius could not help but let out a hearty chuckle. The vitality of youth, such a waste.

As they continued walking, Darius asked, “Is there anything other than rutting that occupies your thoughts?”

Gabriel stopped to ponder the question as if his life depended on it. After a moment, he ran to catch up. “Aye, there is only one thing that rivals a beautiful woman.”

“I dare ask what that would be.”

Grinning and putting his arm around Darius’ shoulder in a camaraderie fashion, Gabriel firmly declared, “Fighting! Fighting and Fucking. The two best things in this shit hole of a world, my brother.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Darius could not help but let a tiny grin trespass his stern features. It was short-lived when Gabriel suggested, “You might find a rare beauty yourself once we get to the post. It has been a long time si…”

Both men halted. The look Darius gave the young man had his words trailing off. Removing his arm from Darius’ shoulders, Gabriel held up both hands in a motion of surrender.

“Apologies, Sir. I did not mean to awaken painful memories.”

Down deep in his soul, Darius could feel his demons plunge and twist the dagger deeper into his heart. Their constant torment was a reminder that their purpose was to make every minute of his life a living hell.

A heavy silence fell over the two as they continued to the camp.

A short time later, the two men stepped into a clearing that was a flurry of activity. Horses were being saddled, weapons checked, and supplies packed up. Everyone was getting ready to move out.

Gabriel, looking contrite and not saying a word, went to prepare his things.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, Darius regarded the men under his command. Coming from far off lands, they were a motley bunch. Plucked from their families when mere boys, Rome had molded them into lethal weapons. Now, as men, they fought wars in the name of the Roman Empire. Darius and his men were from the Mounted Order and were well-known for their horsemanship. They held the title as Roman Knights.

Walking through the dismantled camp, each knight greeted Darius with respect. “Sir,” they addressed him and saluted with their right arm across their chest.

Sitting atop a huge warhorse was a giant of a man. Leaning over the pommel of his saddle, he scraped dirt from underneath his fingernails using a dagger. At six-foot-seven and over three hundred pounds of solid muscle, Thorn towered over them all.

“Everyone is ready, Domine,” his baritone voice rumbled, “to get this fucking journey over with.”

Thorn was a force to be reckoned with. Just the sight of the large man was intimidating. However, only to the enemy. Or to someone who had the misfortune of pissing him off.

Before Darius could agree with him, another of the men spoke up. “As we all are, you overgrown balding ox!”

Thorn said nothing but sent the other man a murderous glare. In turn, the other man simply laughed.

“Sage,” warned Darius, “you forget the last time you goaded Thorn.”

Sage was their tracker. One of the best. His ability to follow and hunt down anything – man or beast – was uncanny. Once, after a drunken night of revelry, someone had stolen his horse and coin. By the time the sun rose the following day, Sage had his horseback and a bloody, repentant thief in tow.

The same horse now munched away at young grass shoots underneath an old gnarled oak tree. Leaning against the tree, Sage crossed his arms. His handsome features broke into a challenging grin. Trying to corral the huge smile, Sage nodded, “Aye. I do. The women thought me quite handsome with the black eye Thorn gifted me.”

“How about a broken jaw this time, so you are not able to eat?” The big man pointed the dagger, still in his hand, at Sage and made to dismount.

“Stay where you are soldier.” A commanding voice threatened. With a huff, Thorn settled back down on his mount. Sheathing his dagger, he gave Sage a look of promise. A promise of his meaty fist smashing into his angelic face. Sage just smiled.

Luca, who had given the order, stared coldly at both men for a moment, then went back to saddling his horse.

Second-in-command, Luca was Darius’ closest friend. They had grown up together and had fought side by side. Over the years, each had unburdened their sins to the other. And, without a shadow of a doubt, both men knew that they could trust the other to carry all their secrets to the grave.

Luca nodded at Darius and then mounted his horse. Glancing at Thorn, Luca confirmed, “We all are ready to get this mission over with.”

A rough gravelly voice added, “Some more than others it would seem.”

Shayd.

He was the most mysterious of them all. Even though being a part of the group since the beginning, no one knew that much about him. And Shayd was not forthcoming with any information. Darius had once overheard him claim he came from a Shadow Walker clan in the East.

Shadow Walkers were individuals who could walk between the worlds of the living and the dead. What Darius did know about Shayd was that he fought with a skill beyond that of a mere mortal. Anyone on the receiving end of the man’s sword was already dead but did not know it yet.

The two remaining individuals that made up their group were civilians. A boy, no more than ten years of age, and his slave. The young boy was their mission. He was the reason Darius and his men were traveling through this forsaken land.

Over two months ago, his uncle, Marcus Sulla, a retired general turned senator, had come to him in secret.

His uncle had received a message from the commander of Bar Hill – a fort in the northernmost regions of Rome and near Antonine’s Wall in Britannia. Somehow the commander of the fort had gotten word that there was a plot to kill his only son. The commander wanted Marcus to arrange for his son’s safe journey to the fort. And the only man Marcus trusted was Darius and his knights.

Darius strode over to where the boy sat on a fallen tree. “How did you sleep, Atticus?”

“Fairly well.” The boy answered. Standing, he instructed his slave to get down on all fours next to his horse so that he could mount it. The slave struggled to get to his feet. The man was old, and the damp, cool weather tortured his arthritic joints. Darius stepped forward to help the slave, but the boy held up his hand, “He can do it himself. Can you not, Gannus?”

“Aye, young Master. I can.” With some struggle, the old slave got to his feet and mounted his own horse.

“When will we be at my father’s post, Centurion? I am tired of this travel. I wish to be at my father’s side by tonight, if not sooner.” Atticus spoke with an arrogance born of his station.

Darius heard the snorts and chuckles from his knights behind him but ignored them. “By nightfall, we should be at the garrison.” He answered.

Sage mumbled under his breath, “That is if someone does not go missing before then.”

Darius glared at Sage but said nothing in return.

“Do you know why my father summoned me?” Atticus questioned.

Marcus was a cunning bastard. His uncle had another reason why he had chosen Darius for the covert mission. And that was to get Darius as far from Rome and his troubles as possible. His uncle had good intentions, but the demons that stalked his dreams in Rome had followed him to this godforsaken country.

“Centurion?”

Darius had been instructed not to tell the boy the reason for the journey, “I do not.” But Darius wondered why uproot a boy from his way of life. The boy was safe in Rome. Why be hauled off to the ends of the world. It did not make sense.

Turning from the boy, Darius walked to where his horse was tied. One of the knights had saddled the animal already. Swinging up into the saddle, he took one last look around and then spurred his horse into action.

Everyone followed except Sage. He was about to until something caught his eye. Maneuvering his horse over to the edge of the clearing, he looked down. Frowning, he cocked his head to one side. There on a thorny vine was snagged a tuft of black hair. Fur, to be precise.

Dismounting next to the thick patch of thorny brambles, he swiped back and forth over the ground with his booted foot. Intrigued, he squatted down on his haunches to get a better look. Picking up a nearby stick, he flicked bits of dried grass and leaves aside.

Deep in thought, he barely noticed Shayd standing beside him. “What is it?” Shayd asked.

“Looks like we had a visitor last night.” Sage outlined a faint print for Shayd to see.

The man leaned down. Squinting his eyes, he tried to focus on the track Sage had found. “Hmmm. I can barely see anything. You sure you see a track?”

With the stick, Sage outlined the paw print. “If I had to guess, I would say a wolf sat here watching our camp last night.”

Sage stood and flung the stick away. He reached for the fur and plucked it from the thorny vine. “It was a large animal.” He held up the fur, “A rather large black one.”

“If there was a wolf here, our horses would have warned us. No?” inquired Shayd.

True, the scent of a wolf would have alerted the horses. That was what so puzzling to the tracker.

Mounting his horse, Sage replied, “Yes.” Then he shrugged his shoulders, “I do not know.” Shaking his head, he could not keep the uncertainty out of his voice, “Maybe the animal was upwind from us. But still, yet, the horses should have noticed a wolf that close by. It was definitely watching us last night.”

Guiding his horse along the edge of the thicket. Sage stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, perplexed.

Knowing that look, Shayd asked, “What? What did you find?”

“That’s just it. See?” Pointing to the thicket, Sage continued. “The prints are here close to the bushes and saplings. And there,” he motioned, “was where he sat. Watching.”

Shayd remained quiet and got on his horse.

“But what is odd,” Sage continued mostly for his own confirmation, “is that there is no trail leaving this area. I cannot tell which way the animal came or went.”

“You? Rome’s best tracker, and you cannot tell in which direction the animal has gone? “

“It is just strange.” Not baited into the good humor ribbing of his friend, Sage shook his head, “The animal’s tracks disappear. As if by magic.”

Before Shayd pointed his horse in the direction the others had taken, he joked, “You are losing your touch, brother. We will have to get rid of you now, for certain.”

Sage just sat atop his horse, scanning the area.

“Come on. We need to catch up with the others. It was just a wolf.” Shayd pointed out

Sage bent down from his horse and snatched up the tuft of fur from the vine. “Maybe we will see it along the way.”

“If so, then one of us will have a nice wolf pelt to keep them warm tonight.”

Both men spurred their horses into a gallop leaving behind them a mystery. A mystery that did not sit well with Sage.