Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire (35 page)

‘You are the warrior now,’ Falco sobbed, as if reading his thoughts.

‘So many years, Father. So many years I thought you were dead,’ Pavo shook his head as they stood back. A flurry of questions danced into his mind. ‘Your eyes,’ Pavo raised a hand, his fingers hovering just before the bloody sockets. Memories of the nightmare barged into his thoughts. ‘Gorzam did this to you?’

Falco smiled dryly at this. ‘Gorzam? No. He is responsible for many of the scars that lace my back, and for putting my men and I down into this chamber. But if that witless creature were to heat an iron to burn out my eyes, he’d doubtless pick the iron up by the hot end and injure himself. No, this happened to me before I was brought to the mines. After the fall of Bezabde, my men and I were taken to Bishapur. We were paraded in chains, marched before the spahbad in his palace, then taken to the Fire Temple. I was made an example of. The Persian Archimagus, he lifted the glowing iron from the Sacred Fire,’ his head dropped in defeat, ‘his was the last face I ever saw.’

Pavo shook with rage. ‘Ramak?’

Falco grappled him by the shoulders. ‘Pavo, do not be angry . . . ’ he said then broke down in a coughing fit. The coughs were dry and rasping, thick dashes of blood spitting forth with each one. The lung disease had its claws deep in his chest, it seemed.

Pavo saw the blood but could not make out its colour in the gloom. Red or black? He bowed his head and pressed his lips to the phalera, trying in vain to stifle his fury. Then another question rose to the fore. ‘This,’ he held up the phalera, ‘you sent it to me?’

Falco reached out, feeling the bronze disc and clamping it in his hands again. ‘I did, Pavo.’

‘The crone, how did she carry it from here to Constantinople?’ Pavo remembered the withered old woman who had hobbled up to him and pressed the piece into his palm on the day he was sold into slavery.

‘The crone? Is that what she was? I was sightless when she came to me. In fact, I wondered if she was real at all and not just a voice in my head.’

Pavo’s eyes darted this way and that, trying to make sense of it all.

Falco pushed the phalera back into Pavo’s hands. ‘It does not matter how the piece came to you. What matters is that you have had it these past years. I prayed it would give you strength, to remember me and all that I taught you. I have never felt guilt such as that which overcame me when I was first sent down here. I realised just how alone you would be, so far away.’

Pavo nodded, tucking the phalera into the waist of his loincloth, tears dripping from his chin. ‘Father, the phalera, the memories of you. They have made me everything I am today. I was never alone.’

‘That warms my heart like sunlight itself,’ Falco sighed, clasping both hands to Pavo’s shoulders. Then his face wrinkled in concern. ‘But I never wished to draw you here, to this gods-forsaken realm. Indeed, my few moments of rest and sleep in this place have been plagued with nightmares of you setting out to find me. Every time, I saw you, reaching out to me . . . ’

‘Across the dunes,’ Pavo finished for him.

Father gasped. ‘Before the sandstorm would pick up.’

‘And bury us both, deep below Persian sands,’ Pavo finished again.

A shiver crawled over Pavo as he and Father saw the reality of the nightmare. Pavo glanced up the main shaft. Nothing, not a glimmer of light. The nightmare had won.

‘How did you end up down in this chamber, Father? What did you do to poison the guards against you so?’

Falco let out a weak sigh. ‘We were betrayed.’

Pavo’s brow wrinkled. ‘Betrayed? By whom?’

‘It matters little now. You should not have come here, Pavo,’ Falco whispered.

From above, as if confirming Falco’s warning, a chorus of shouts broke out. Then came a scuffling of feet, rushing towards the shaft.

Pavo shot a glance to Sura. Sura stared back.

‘They’ve found the guard’s body,’ they said in unison.

A grinding of cane on rock sounded, growing closer and closer until the bottom of a ladder thudded down nearby. Pavo shepherded Father back from the ladder, Sura and the other slaves stepping away with him.

‘By the gods,’ Arius’ jaw fell agape. ‘They’re coming for us! They will not be satiated with the flexing of their whips.’

‘Then it is time,’ Falco growled as the group backed up against the ring of stalagmites, ‘we must go to the passageway.’ He jabbed a finger downwards as he said this.

‘The passageway?’ Arius’ face visibly paled. ‘No, death awaits us there, surely?’

‘What is life down here, but a slow, lingering death? You are one of the bravest I have ever fought alongside, Arius, yet you have forgotten your valour in this place. Now come!’ Falco hissed, backing away from the cane ladder, pulling Pavo with him. The ladder before them bent and creaked as a troop of yet unseen figures descended in haste.

Pavo stumbled backwards, following Falco and the others to the edge of the stalagmite ring. Here a narrow pathway wound through the jagged debris.

‘Tread carefully,’ Falco said, stooping to lift a knotted cane resting against the first of the stalagmites, then using it to tap his way through the tight corridor between the forest of stone.

The serrated ground felt like blunted blades in the soles of Pavo’s feet. Soon the jagged ground was replaced by the dry crunching of bones and wet slipping of putrid gristle underfoot as they passed over the pit of corpses amidst the stalagmite ring. The stench of death was rife here. The path was erratic, and every few footsteps saw someone slide or stumble, but after a few hundred feet, the stalagmites became shorter, blunter and free of the corpses of dead slaves. After that, the ground levelled out and a small cave lay ahead. Pavo heard the murmur of those pursuing them and made to hurry ahead, but Falco pulled him back from his next footstep.

‘Slowly, Son,’ he hissed. He stretched out to tap his cane on the white, circular bed of salt powder where Pavo’s foot hovered, then stooped to pick up a small rock.

Pavo frowned as Falco lobbed the rock onto the salt bed. The rock sat still for a moment, then the salt there puckered under its weight and a heartbeat later it was sucked under – gone, as if never there. Pavo nodded, then turned to Sura. ‘Slowly. Follow my father’s step.’

As they picked their way around the salt beds dotted over the floor. He peered into the darkness ahead and saw that the cave they were in tapered away and descended slightly as they continued along the path, the walls closing in swiftly and the ceiling growing ever-lower until it was only a little more than head height.

‘Where are we going?’ Sura hissed.

‘I fear you would not follow me if I were to tell you,’ Falco replied.

Just then, angry tones echoed behind them, from within the ring of spikes, by the wheel. ‘Find them!’ Gorzam roared.

Falco and Arius upped the pace, leading their comrades, with Pavo and Sura bringing up the rear. They hurried on until the cave became a mere passageway. The salt crystals studding the walls afforded the faintest hint of light and helped steer them round the deadly salt pits on the floor of the narrowing passageway. And there was something else – pools of black, glistening liquid. Then Pavo saw something sparkling up ahead. A solid wall of salt crystal blocking the corridor. A dead end.

‘Father?’ he gasped. Behind them, the footsteps of Gorzam’s party echoed ever closer.

Falco seemingly ignored him and tapped forward with his cane until he reached the dead end. The other slaves went with him, reaching out to feel the salt face there. They came to one large crystal – about the size of a man – resting against the dead end and took to prodding and poking at it.

Sura gawped at this, then at Pavo, then back down the passageway to the jumble of dark shapes approaching. One to the rear carried a torch, and the light from it was blinding, illuminating the corridor in a heartbeat.

Gorzam led the charge, leaping over and weaving round the salt beds, his pitted features twisted in rage, his spear clasped as though he was trying to strangle it. Twelve guards came with him, each wearing the same look of blood lust. Running along with them like a dog was Bashu. The man was pointing, repeating over and over;

‘The Roman, I saw him come down here. I told you!’ he spat, his cold gaze fixed on Pavo. ‘Now give me my place in the first chamber!’

Gorzam slowed and the twelve guards fanned out across the corridor as they approached, forming a wall of spears. Pavo and Sura took a step back then halted, feeling the edge of a salt pit at their heels. Pavo pulled the sharpened rock from the waist of his loincloth, holding it up in defiance. Sura stooped to pick up a jagged boulder and hefted it, ready to throw.

Gorzam swiped an arm at the corridor-end. ‘Kill them. Kill them all!’

The twelve rushed forward. Sura and Pavo pushed up shoulder-to-shoulder. The spear tips rushed in towards them like the fangs of a predator. Two of the guards loosed their spears and the shafts whipped past Pavo and Sura, piercing the frail bodies of two of Falco’s comrades, spattering the dead end of the corridor in blood. The other guards raced for Pavo and Sura. Pavo and Sura let loose a roar that had graced many a battlefield. Then a punch of iron piercing flesh echoed through the passageway.

Pavo felt the hot blood spatter on his face. He blinked, glancing at Gorzam and the guards, halted only paces away. The two guards at either end swayed and crumpled to the ground, pickaxes embedded in their backs. The rest had stopped in confusion, glancing to Pavo and Sura, their stricken comrades and then over their shoulders.

‘That’s what happens when you take a legionary’s spatha away,’ a familiar voice cried.

Pavo squinted to see the shapes rushing for Gorzam’s rear. Felix, Zosimus, Quadratus, then Habitus, Rufus, Noster and two other slaves, all bearing pickaxes. Each man bore the wild glare of a wounded war hound.

‘At them!’ Felix cried, sweeping his hand forward as if commanding a cohort. They raised their pickaxes and rushed for the guard line.

Gorzam barked at his guards, nine of them turning to meet the oncoming charge. The two parties crashed together, pickaxes and fists swinging, spears jabbing and tearing, blood splattering across the corridor walls and polyglot cries filling the passageway.

Meanwhile, Gorzam and one other guard stalked forward to deal with Pavo and Sura, Bashu sticking close to them. Gorzam thundered forward to plunge his spear at Pavo’s midriff. Pavo jinked clear of the first jab, the blade only scoring the flesh on his abdomen.

‘Ah, this will take some skill,’ Gorzam rasped. ‘I only want to wound you, you see. I want you to suffer, Roman – as I promised you when I killed that dog, Khaled. I’ll strip every inch of your skin then bury you up to your neck in salt to cure the wounds. Then you will truly know the meaning of suffering.’

Pavo dipped his brow and fixed his gaze on the guard leader, then lunged forward. The big guard stumbled back in shock. But Pavo’s wild swipe with the sharpened rock was easily parried by a swing of Gorzam’s spear. The shaft thwacked into Pavo’s wrist with a crack of bone. The makeshift blade flew from his grip into the salt pit behind him, disappearing in moments. Pavo staggered back, clutching his wrist. Then Gorzam ducked and swept his spear shaft round to smash it against Pavo’s ankles. The pain was blinding and he toppled to the ground. Gorzam lined up his spear over Pavo’s heart. ‘Or perhaps I should just finish you now, to have the pleasure of seeing the light dim in your eyes . . . just as I did when I threw that dog Khaled down the shaft. He was still alive, you know, just before I dropped him.’

Pavo’s heart thundered against his ribs and his breath came and went in short, snatched gasps through gritted teeth.

‘No,’ Gorzam mused, tracing the spear tip to Pavo’s groin. ‘A deep wound to the thigh and you’ll bleed until you’re weak as a lamb.’ His face lit up in anticipation as he thrust the spear down. Then he frowned as the weapon clunked upon something.

Pavo frowned too. He had felt the tearing agony of sword and spear wounds before. But there was nothing. Just a dull pain.

Gorzam lifted his spear, glowering at the tip, then at Pavo. The phalera medallion slid from Pavo’s loincloth, battered and bent where it had taken the force of the blow. Pavo snatched up and gawped at the piece, then gasped as Gorzam roared and hefted the spear to strike down for a killer blow. Pavo rolled to one side, the spear tip punching down, scoring his back. He tried to stand, but felt the ground slide away under him. Panic gripped his heart; he had rolled onto a salt pit. He was sinking. The salt sucked him down. He was waist deep, then it was up to his chest. He looked up and saw Gorzam watching on gleefully, his laughter filling the passageway.

Pavo knew he had but a heartbeat. His eyes latched onto the butt of Gorzam’s spear resting by the edge of the pit. He stretched every sinew and reached out to grasp the shaft, hauling at it with all his might. Gorzam growled, shaking the spear, but Pavo clung on and prised himself clear of the salt pit. As he felt his legs pull clear, he then drew himself up and thrust his knee up and into Gorzam’s guts. The big guard staggered, winded. Pavo wasted no time, shouldering him in the chest, sending him flailing, then toppling into one of the glistening black pools. Gorzam thrashed to get to the edge of the pool, his skin slick with the viscous liquid. Pavo backed away, glancing around for a weapon.

Falco, hearing the splashing, called back from the end of the corridor where he and his comrades chipped and battered at the salt crystal. ‘Put light to it – the black oil!’

Pavo frowned, then saw Gorzam’s dropped torch only feet away. He stooped and lifted it, then tossed it into the black pool.

Gorzam’s eyes bulged in panic. He cried out in terror, then the torch set light to the oil with a ferocious roar and an angry inferno. At once, the corridor shone like a beacon, orange fury leaping from the pool.

Pavo staggered back, staring at the thrashing, screaming figure in the midst of the flames. He spat on the ground. ‘Your last few moments are for my father, for Khaled and for all the others who have suffered under your yoke.’ Gorzam’s roars died away and his form sunk under the blazing surface.