Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) (30 page)

Listening to the clash and clang of swords and axes that filtered faintly through the barred door, Julius tried to imagine what it was like outside, legionnaires fighting to take the barricaded position, most likely taking heavy casualties from the heavily armed defenders.

Corbus spoke above the sounds of battle. “It makes no matter, Roman, that your friends are here. They shall never enter this chamber. And you, my dear duke, shall have submitted to the Copper Throne as you should.” He pointed his dagger at the duke, then turned and roughly pulled the woman who must have been Laufas’ wife from the line. He sliced her free of the rest of the hostages, and Senatora Pelia fell in a heap with two small girls. She pulled them to her as they cried, eyes full of hatred as she stared at Corbus.

The king rose from the dais to stand before the Copper Throne, its burnished metal creating a shimmering halo around him. But he was no saint. He stepped in close to the cowering woman and caressed her face with his hand. She shook visibly, tears running down her face. He said something in Norse, accompanied by crude gestures that made Julius grimace. The king traced his finger down the nape of the duchess’ neck, talking in a low voice the whole while. Julius saw Laufas try to rise to his feet, but the strong hands of two guards kept him down.

“Asta!” he cried.

The king smiled at the duke’s attempts to free himself. He slid one of his needle-sharp blades out of his gauntlet, tracing the curves of Asta’s body from neck to stomach with its point. No longer crying, she stood shaking in mute fear.
Or is it anger?
Julius wondered.

Then the world exploded.

Chunks of masonry and metal erupted inward, sending everyone racing for cover. Julius fell to the floor and curled into a fetal position as debris rained down. He peeked up just in time to see a large piece of stone plummeting right at him. Julius desperately rolled to the right, and the stone shattered the slate floor where he had just been cowering. Alarm bells began to ring as legionnaires swarmed into the throne room.

The Nortlanders were in complete disarray. Julius decided to act. Straining his arms, he snapped his bonds. He grabbed a spear from a dazed guard, dispatched him quickly, and went in search of the senatora within the choking cloud of stone dust settling over the throne room. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. Shouts and legion war cries filtered through the gloom as legionnaires charged into the room, visible only as outlines in the murk. Surprised but still ferocious, the Nortland defenders joined with them. Julius sprinted toward the location he’d last seen Senatora Pelia and the duke’s family.

He skidded to a halt on the flagstone floor. The senatora was gone. Only Laufas’ two children knelt there, weeping over their mother’s body. He scooped them up and ran, heading toward what he hoped was a doorway.

He found only an alcove in the wall, a place to store weapons, apparently, going by the weapons rack.
They must have gone this way
! He pushed the children into the corner and knelt beside them. “Don’t leave here,” he ordered in broken Norse. The children nodded, the younger one still sobbing. “Did you see where the senatora went?” He saw the blank look in their eyes. “The nice woman with you?”

The older girl scrunched up her face as though she were trying to remember. “There was that explosion, and then . . . and then . . . . mama fell . . . and then . . . the man with the daggers took her. He killed mama!” Close to tears again, the girl clung tight to her sister.

“Which way did they go?” Julius asked tenderly, knowing that each minute was not to be wasted.

“I think they went out this door here. I saw it close when you ran up to us,” the girl hiccupped.

Without a word, Julius ran off, determined to hunt down the assassin and his hostage if it was the last thing he did.
Hopefully this will not be the last thing I do.

The doorway led to a series of small lifts. One was already in operation, the chains and gears clinking as they moved. Julius shut the gate on another one and pulled a lever down. With a jolt, the machine whirred to life, lowering him into the depths. He looked over the edge of the lift, seeing the light of a single lantern on the other lift far below. “Senatora?” he shouted.

A strangled yelp came back, cut off in mid response.
That’s her.

Julius scanned the lift’s control panel, fiddling with the lever to see if he could make it go faster. Finding no option, he settled back and took stock of his situation as the two lifts inched ever downward.

He dug through each of his belt pouches, finding little of use. A pair of utility gloves, a small ball of twine, and various rocks and other odds and ends.
Great, what an abundance of material with which to craft a rescue plan
. Julius now realized that he was chasing an extremely talented killer with a pittance of tools and a single spear at his disposal.

He lay back and thought for a few moments, giving his brain the time it needed to come up with ideas. What Julius got was absolutely nothing. He peeked over the edge again, and saw that the other lift was growing steadily larger. A pool of light illuminated it, and Julius surmised that he was approaching his destination.

All of a sudden his lift lurched, stopping abruptly in midair. Julius pulled the lever up and down, trying to get the machine restarted. It was no use. He was stuck.

Or was he? Julius looked at the sturdy chain to his left, his hands moving to the tough utility gloves in his pouch.
It’s the only way.
He pulled on the gloves, then stowed his spear awkwardly on his back from shoulder to hip, pushing it through the webbing and belt. He eyed the chain assembly. “Oh well, here goes nothing.”

He took a running leap and jumped for the other cable. His hands wrapped around the heavy links and he swung to a stop with a bone-rattling shock. Releasing a brief cheer on a weak exhalation, he offered up a prayer.
Thanks be to you, gods. If I get out of this alive, I shall deliver to you an ox. An entire ox. With all the good parts still on it.
Frantic times like this made him a very religious man.

He clambered down the chains, one after another. Each time he tried to go faster, he found himself nearly falling. It would do him no good to hurry up and die, he told himself. Instead he moved slowly and purposefully, hand under hand, down the chain.

Arms screaming, he finally saw the platform and pushed himself to continue until, judging it safe, he dropped the last ten feet and collapsed in a heap on the platform. Julius spent a moment massaging his arms, trying to get feeling back into them for the second time that day.
Thank goodness Corbus wasn’t waiting there for me. I would have been an easy kill
.

Standing with the aide of his spear, Julius surveyed the hallway that stretched before him. The tunnel ran downward at a steep incline, with oil lanterns set at intervals lighting the way. Hefting the spear in one hand, Julius loped down the tunnel.

He found himself wishing for his
spatha
and
scutum
.
May as well wish for a friggin’ mechaniphant while you’re at it,
he berated himself.
Make do with what you have
.

The monotony of his descent into the earth finally ended at a large arch set into the stone—the end of the tunnel. Julius heard noises. Anticipation and adrenaline gave him newfound energy as he sprinted to the doorway. He paused to one side and glanced around the corner.

And gasped. He was looking at an immense workshop and manufactoria. Machines in various states of assemblage or disassemblage stood about, while every conceivable tool of the modern industrial trade could be seen.

Julius slipped inside, taking cover behind a large tool chest. Moving from cover to cover, he crept toward the sounds of voices he’d heard from the tunnel. As he moved forward, he couldn’t help but notice the increase of natural daylight. Perhaps the facility had very large windows? But the rapidly dropping temperature soon made Julius realize that this facility was open to the outside world. Finally he paused to let his eyes adjust to the harsh winter sunlight.

“And how exactly do you plan to escape here? There’s no way off this peninsula that isn’t controlled by Rome,” the senatora was saying, full of bluster. Julius detected the undercurrents of fear and worry, though. Corbus must have mumbled his reply, because Julius could not hear him properly.

He crept closer, finally seeing Corbus fiddling with the controls of a large
mecha-wolf
. The senatora was seated behind him. She happened to turn his way for a moment. Taking a chance, Julius waved at her while Corbus’s attention was focused on the machine. She saw him and gave a brief nod back, before turning back to Corbus.

“And it will be too cold for us to travel overland,” she continued, raising her voice to cover Julius’s movements as he crept closer. “This machine will run out of fuel. And this thing can’t swim, right?” She kept one eye on him as she scolded the assassin.

Finally Julius nodded to her and stepped out. “Good afternoon, Corbus. Going somewhere?”

Corbus turned quickly to face this new threat. In a flash, Octavia pulled his hand repeater from its belt holster and jabbed its razor-sharp tip between his shoulder blades. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m taking you back to Rome to be tried for the deaths of over fifteen thousand Brittenburgers and for your involvement in the Brittenburg Revolt. I’ve heard they’ve already hung several revolt leaders already. I’m dying to see you join them.”

Corbus gave a weak smile. “And what makes you think I’m going to come peacefully?” he asked.

Julius considered. “I’ve got an army coming down that hallway just this minute. The other legions have surrounded the city. You have a repeater aimed right at your spine, and you have nowhere left to run.” He cocked his head to one side. “I think that’s enough.”

Corbus grinned wickedly. “You wish, Centurion Caesar, that you could capture me.”

Chapter 27

Constantine

C
onstantine watched Julius disappear through the doorway at the back of the throne room. He was busy grappling with one of the king’s massive bodyguards. The barrel-chested Nortlander was using his superior strength to beat his way through Constantine’s shield with his axe. Spinning, the prince tried to evade the man’s strike, but his axe embedded itself in the tough shield and snagged there.

Constantine jerked his shield backward, pulling the larger man off balance. Quick as a whip, Constantine stabbed with his
spatha
, the hardened steel splitting chainmail and sliding easily through the man’s toughened leather jerkin. He withdrew his weapon and turned, dropping his shield and pulling his dagger as another bodyguard came at him.

As Constantine deflected his aggressive strokes, he saw the enemy king fighting blade to blade with the man whom Constantine could only assume from his description was Duke Laufas. The men moved like water, flowing through poses as graceful and deadly as those taught by his former swordsmaster back in Rome.

Blocking his foe’s next swing, Constantine stabbed his dagger up and into the man’s neck. Blood spurted, and the man collapsed to the ground, hands trying to staunch the bleeding. Constantine turned, alert for any other aggressors.

The battle was essentially over, the last few Nortlanders dead or surrendering. Only the king and the duke battled on, the king with his unique gauntlet weapons and armor resplendent in gold and copper filigree, the duke, stripped of his armor when captured, wielding a stolen chain-axe that must have malfunctioned. Nevertheless, the duke drove the king up the steps, one hard-fought level at a time.

Constantine’s legionnaires formed a circle around the combatants, cheering as the duke advanced on the beleaguered king. The duke managed to land a strike on the king’s arm, shattering armor and sheering off much of the decorative detailing. The king stepped back, cursing at the duke in Norse.

Though awed by the single combat being fought before him, Constantine knew there was more to be done. He muscled his way through the crowd until he found Centurion Gwendyrn. “Centurion! Lead men through that doorway and pursue that assassin. I want him dead or alive, you understand me? And for the gods’ sake, bring the senatora back in one piece.”

Gwendyrn saluted and hurried off, dragging men away from the contest and beckoning them to follow him. Constantine watched until shouts and cries of alarm pulled his attention back to the fight.

The duke had slipped on the bloody steps and his axe had fallen from his grasp. The king was quick to charge in on the weaponless duke, who struggled to fend off several near misses. He took several light wounds, including a cut just above the eye, before he ducked low, tackled the king, and slammed him down onto the floor. He brought up his knee and slammed it into the king’s groin. The watching legionnaires groaned in sympathy.

The king flailed at the duke’s unprotected back before finally getting his two legs under himself and throwing the duke off. Stumbling back, the duke wiped blood out of his eye with his sleeve, then slammed his foot on the floor.
That’s an odd thing to do,
Constantine thought as he debated getting a weapon to the duke.

A stream of war cries preceded the entrance of more Nortland troopers. The legionnaires spun, preparing to receive them, but the Nortlanders stopped and their leader stepped forward. “Let us through, Roman,” the gray-bearded man demanded.

Constantine motioned to his men, and they parted. The royal duel in the center of the throne room had paused. The king made a demand in a high-pitched voice, one that the duke seemed to immediately counter.

Constantine grabbed one of his legionnaires who understood more Norse than he. “What is going on?”

“As near as I can tell, sir, the king wants the new officer—he’s Gunther Therodi, Western March Lord, by the way—well, the king wants him to execute the duke. But I don’t think that lord is on the king’s side. Now he’s saying something about letting the duel decide the fate of the kingdom.” The man frowned in concentration for a moment, then shook his head, but Constantine didn’t complain. The conversation was moving so fast that he thought even some of the lord’s own troops, who seemed somewhat shocked at the turn of events, weren’t understanding everything.

“Well done, soldier.”

“By the way, sir, that lord let something slip. He said the southern walls had fallen to the Romans as well, and that the leaders had to do something immediately.”

Constantine pulled off his helm, sighing as cool air stroked his sweat-dampened head, and allowed a faint smile at the success of his plan. Making up his mind, he approached the men on the dais.

“This is a matter for us, Roman. I shall speak with you after,” the duke said in a clear voice.