Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (32 page)

“There’s no mercy in the hearts of the gods, Empress,” Septimus said quietly. “Not that I’ve seen, anyway.”

“I wish there was something we could do,” Valeria said.

“Pray,” her mother answered.

Paulus observed the fiery spectacle, his expression grim. “If any of them gets the idea to seek sanctuary here on The Wall, we may be in trouble.”

“The entry doors are sealed,” Septimus reassured him. “They won’t be able to reach us without scaling ladders. Pelonius designed this thing to keep out Karan’s giant Masters. They’ll keep out little Roman soldiers well enough.”

“If you say so.” Paulus swept his eyes across the impressive expanse of The Wall, then froze. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Valeria asked.

Pointing along the shore to the west, he said, “Look!”

There, against the nearly pitch black backdrop of the Haunted sea, twinkled a multitude of small lights, low on the horizon, that clearly were not stars.
 

Valeria shook her head, confused. “What are they?”
 

“Ships,” Paulus answered.
 

“War galleys,” Septimus corrected. “The lights are station keeping lanterns. I think we’re going to have more company, and probably not the kind we’d like.”

“Good.” Haakon shrugged, eyeing the scorpions and onagers that lined the top of The Wall. “More to kill before we die.”

“This cannot have all been for nothing,” Valeria said, shaking her head. “Even the gods cannot be so cruel.”

Paulus glanced at her. “Pelonius would say that you have forgotten everything he ever taught you about the gods.”

“If I am going to die,” Octavia announced, “it will not be here, trapped like an animal. It will be by my husband’s side.”

Valeria grabbed Octavia’s arm. “Mother, you can’t!”

“I don’t ask or wish the same for you,” Octavia told her gently, putting her hands to her daughter’s face. Leaning forward, she kissed Valeria on the cheek. “It may be that my life may buy you some time,” she whispered in Valeria’s ear. “If so, I beg you to use it wisely. And remember that your father and I love you more than all the world. And when we die, be it today or many years from now, we shall await you in the afterlife.” Then, looking at Septimus, Octavia said, “Your orders remain as those given by Caesar.” She looked at Paulus with great fondness. “Do whatever you can to keep her safe.”

“Yes, Empress,” Paulus managed, his voice hoarse with barely controlled emotion.
 

Septimus gave her a jerky nod, and she smiled at the wet gleam in his eyes. “Goodbye, Octavia.”

“No!” Valeria cried. “I’m coming with you!”
 

But her struggles were in vain as Septimus and Paulus held her back.
 

With the dignity of her station as the most powerful woman in all the Roman Empire, Octavia descended the steps into the torchlit bowels of The Wall. Haakon, head held high, followed silently behind her to open the heavy gates.

Valeria leaned against the cold stone of the parapet, wracked by sobs. Hercules, well attuned to her emotions, stood close by her side, nuzzling her with amazing gentleness for such a fierce creature.

Below, Octavia emerged into the staging area, an expanse of carefully laid stone that provided temporary space for stores and men coming from the adjoining pier. She was the image of Juno as she stood silhouetted against the flames at the edge of unbridled chaos, completely ignored by the terrified men who fled through the gate to disappear at a full run along the beach in both directions.

Unable to watch, Septimus turned to look back at the approaching ships. He couldn’t judge their distance, but knew they were drawing closer, and quickly. “The bloody pier,” he snarled. “Those bastards are going to sail right up and march off their ships, pretty as you please. All of our supply ships are gone, so there’s plenty of room. They won’t even have to get their feet wet.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped, his jaw hanging open. The pier wasn’t entirely empty. A dark silhouette that looked more like a small house with a mast was tied up at the very end.
 

It was the ridiculous craft Pelonius had built to test his theories about crossing the Haunted Sea.

He nudged Paulus.
 

“What?”

From his expression, the boy was in shock, which Septimus certainly could understand. But now wasn’t the time for giving up. “Look out there, at the end of the pier.”

Paulus squinted into the darkness. “Pelonius’s boat…” He whipped his head back to stare at Septimus. “But we’d never get away from even the slowest war galley.”

“D’you have any better ideas?”

Valeria, overhearing their conversation, rounded on them. “Stop it, both of you! We are
not
leaving. My father, our Caesar, is going to win this battle. He and Mother are
not
going to…to…” She glared at them, holding back more tears with a fierce act of will.

Septimus met her gaze without flinching. “If I could trade my life for your father’s or your mother’s, I would in a heartbeat, girl, and don’t you ever doubt it. I couldn’t think of any better way to die, come to think of it. Your father, Pelonius, and Marcus have worked a miracle here as it is, but it won’t be enough to save the day. Not even close.” Before she could protest, he took her arm and turned her around to face the blazing fortress where the first ranks of
Legio Hercules
were just beginning to emerge from the smoke not far from the gate, still maintaining their battle formation as they cut their way through the glut of men and even some dark wolves who were trying to make their own escape. “The historians will write about this battle in all its bloody glory, mark my words, and it will be a household tale a thousand years from now. But the history will show that your father was defeated.” He pointed to the eastern end of the fort, where the terrified survivors of the traitorous legions were even now being reformed, the centurions beating the legionaries with their vine staffs, reminding them of whom they should truly fear. A full cohort had already been reassembled and was marching in good order along the flaming wall toward the gate, mirroring another cohort marching from the opposite side. Both units, comprising a total of over fifteen hundred men, appeared to be converging on Octavia, who stood like a marble statue in the eye of the maelstrom. “Even if your father defeats this first wave, there will be more and more coming behind them, and there’s nowhere for your father’s men to go. They can’t retreat into the castrum, they won’t be able to break through either flank, and only a fool of an enemy would let them reach us here at The Wall. Even if they could get in here, all the enemy has to do is wait us out. Eventually we’ll run out of food and water.”

“So,” Valeria whispered, “there’s no hope.”

“Not of military victory,” Paulus said quietly. “But your father isn’t just a general. There’s still a chance Livius might extend him a political amnesty.”

Septimus huffed. “Dream on, boy.”

“No,” Paulus said, warming to the topic. “Think about it: Caesar is one of the richest men in Rome, but no one can make claim to his wealth unless he’s convicted of a capital crime, which of course he hasn’t committed. Livius may have the backing of a majority of the Senate, but I doubt enough to sway, or bribe, the courts to convict him on false charges. Caesar could use his wealth to bargain for his life.” He looked at Valeria. “And yours.”

Valeria shook her head. “He’d never do such a thing.”

“I didn’t say he would,” Paulus said. “I’m just saying that we shouldn’t give up hope. Not yet.”

“Optimist,” Septimus scoffed.
 

“Stop it,” Valeria hissed, and Septimus snapped his mouth shut.
 

Down below, the first rank of her father’s soldiers emerged through the gate, shoving aside the last stragglers of the enemy as they marched right for Octavia.

***

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Tiberius rasped as the legion pushed its way through the north gate. Through the thinning smoke he could see The Wall and several figures peering down from the parapet. It was too far to make out details of the handful of people, but there was no mistaking the round, furry face of Hercules. “Thank the gods.” Tiberius coughed, wincing at the pain from the wound in his side where an enemy legionary’s sword had found its mark. He wasn’t yet sure how bad it was, but he knew he had lost a great deal of blood. Marcus walked by his side, hovering over him like a nervous hen over her eggs. The image of a clucking chicken with Marcus’s face behind its beak came into Tiberius’s mind, and it was all he could do to not burst out laughing.

“We need to get you to a physician first thing, sir,” Marcus said for probably the tenth time. The centurion’s face was creased with worry, which made Tiberius think that the wound was indeed as bad as it felt.
 

“Let’s make sure our men don’t roast first, shall we?”

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Tiberius looked over to the building nearest the gate on the east side. A dark figure dropped nimbly from the guard tower beside the gate just before the tower exploded into flame. Landing inside the formation with a graceful roll, the man leaped to his feet and dashed toward him. “I’m glad to see you, Karan,” Tiberius said, gripping the young man by the shoulder.
 

“And I, you, Caesar,” Karan replied. He, too, spared a worried look at the dark stain of blood from the wound, but he had the good grace to remain silent.

“But I thought I gave you orders to protect my daughter.”
 

“Even a Sword cannot hold off an army, but a legion might,” Karan replied evenly. “Sergius had sent men to close this gate and trap you inside.” He plucked the string of his bow, which was slung over his shoulder. “Their bodies will burn with the rest.”

Tiberius looked toward the front of the formation, which was almost halfway into the assembly area at the base of The Wall, as one of the centurions called for him. Tiberius was about to send Marcus forward to see what was the matter, as Tiberius could barely keep up as it was.

There was no need. Like a steel curtain, the front ranks briefly parted in the center as they continued to march forward.

And there stood Octavia, as beautiful as he had ever seen her. Her eyes met his, and he felt such a sense of relief that he was nearly brought to tears. He was relieved not just that she was alive, but that she would be by his side in what he knew would be his darkest hour. He would much rather have had her safe, and part of him wanted to be angry with her, but his anger melted away like ice before the sun as he felt her in his arms once more. “My love,” he whispered.
 

“Forever,” she replied, kissing him gently on his blood, sweat, and soot stained lips. One of her hands touched the rent in his armor, felt the blood along his side. “How bad is it?”

“A trifle,” he lied just before he stumbled and nearly fell. Octavia pulled one of his arms around her shoulders while Marcus did the same on the other side, together keeping Tiberius on his feet.

“Pelonius,” Tiberius gasped. “Get the men inside The Wall. We can hold out there…”

The rest of his words were drowned out as cornicens sounded a flourish that was amplified and echoed by the stone expanse that towered over them.

“I think we’re too late,” Marcus said quietly. The assembly area was slightly higher than the surrounding beach, and they could see the fire-lit glimmer of neatly arrayed figures in armor approaching on both flanks.

“Bring the men to a halt,” Tiberius ordered in a gasping breath.
 

Marcus nodded. “Sir.” Sucking in a lungful of air, he bellowed, “Legion,
halt!
”

Taking one more step, the men of
Legio Hercules
snapped to a stop.

As they did, enemy legionaries emerged from around the flanks of the cohorts to either side. Moving at double time, they formed a line between
Legio Hercules
and the entrances to The Wall.

A silence fell, broken only by the crackles and pops of the flames behind them.
 

The front ranks of the cohort to their left parted, and three men on horseback rode forward into the no man’s land between the opposing formations: Flavius Canuleius, Decius Canutius Gorgonius, and Sergius.

Taking a deep breath, fighting back the pain, Tiberius gently shook off Octavia and Marcus. Stepping slowly toward the victorious triumvirate, his men parted in sharp, professional movements as he passed through their ranks to face his opponents. Octavia, Marcus, and Pelonius walked just behind him, and Karan followed not far behind, his attention divided between the spectacle playing out before him and the anxious, terrified face of Valeria high above.
 

“Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus,” Sergius began, as his two companions spared him a disgusted look, “you are hereby—”

Completely ignoring him, Tiberius looked directly at Decius and asked, “Where is Placus Gratidius Rufus? I would speak with my old friend and comrade.”

“I regret to inform you that he is fallen, Caesar,” Decius said with a glance at Sergius, who snapped his mouth shut, his face a mask of barely contained rage.
 

“We are all saddened by his loss,” Flavius added. “He had hoped to avoid so much bloodshed, as had we.”

“I’m surprised either of you are alive,” Tiberius said, pointedly staring at Sergius. “Someone was trying to close all the gates, not just on my men, but on yours, as well.”

“We were trying to make sure the Dark Wolves did not escape,” Sergius muttered.

“That will be looked into later when time permits,” Flavius interjected in a frigid voice.

Sergius looked about to explode.

“Well, my congratulations on your fortuitous survival.” He winced as a lance of pain shot through his side. “Livius sent you on this fool’s errand, I assume.”
 

“We come on behalf of the Senate and People of Rome,” Sergius grated.
 

“Why,” Tiberius snapped, “to cripple defenses vital to the survival of the Empire just before they may be needed most?”