Nolyn by Sullivan Michael J

Author:Sullivan, Michael J. [Sullivan, Michael J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sword & Sorcery, elf, swords, Adventure, sword, Science Fiction, Magic, Adult, Fantasy, Epic, elves
ISBN: 9781944145644
Amazon: 1944145648
Goodreads: 34807427
Publisher: Grim Oak Press
Published: 2021-08-03T07:00:00+00:00

Nolyn and Amicus met Legate Farnell in his tent on the heights north of the city. The legate was a career soldier. Nolyn could tell that from his uniform. He wore it in the privacy of his own tent. Not the helmet—the man wasn’t crazy—but he was more comfortable in the skirt and plates than in a pallium or tunic. His manner was another indicator. He stood straight, looked them in the eye, and never smiled. If he hadn’t spent years leading men in battle, he should have.

“Seventh Sikaria Auxiliary,” Farnell said, studying them with dark, shadowed eyes.

“Not anymore,” Nolyn replied. “There are only eight of us left, and we deserted, so I don’t think we can lay claim to that title any longer.”

Farnell nodded. At least Nolyn thought he did. The motion was so slight that he might have imagined it. The others in the command tent said nothing.

Not all legates worked in tents. Prohibited by imperial edict from setting up shop within the limits of any city, some commandeered farmhouses or barns. Nolyn recalled that the legate of the First Legion had once settled into a winery and called it the best headquarters ever. When tents were used, however, they all conformed to the same standards: a large square footprint with red-and-brown canvas walls held up by thick poles. Inside, floors were cushioned by overlapped carpets, and there was always a desk and multiple tables where staff officers worked. In Farnell’s case, he had four others in his tent. One was clearly the First Prymus of the legion and another a scribe, who scratched on a parchment, making a sound like a mouse gnawing through wood.

A young man—a runner—dashed in with a small scroll and promptly handed it to the legate. After a hasty salute, he left. Farnell snapped the seal, looked the parchment over, then re-rolled it into a cylinder.

“And you are Amicus Killian.” Farnell pointed at him with the end of the scroll.

“Yes, sir.” Amicus and Nolyn stood shoulder to shoulder just inside the big tent, holding themselves at attention in front of the big table covered in maps.

“Is that where you’ve been all this time?” the First Prymus of the Second Legion asked. He’d been introduced as Jareb Tanator, and he stepped forward to receive the scroll from Farnell, which he glanced at and then added it to the pile on the desk that was as covered with scrolls as the table was with maps.

“I joined the legion two days after the fight with Abryll Orphe,” Amicus replied.

“You ran away from the emperor?” Jareb asked.

Nolyn didn’t detect an insult. Tanator’s tone wasn’t snide. If anything, it lacked all emotion. Both the legate and the First Prymus were blank walls and would have made excellent card players.

We aren’t in chains—that’s something, at least.

“There’s no precedent for this?” Farnell said, then looked over his shoulder at the scribe working at the little table next to the big desk. His head popped up and quickly shook. “Didn’t think so.

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