The IX (55 page)

“In view of that, get on to Stu and Fonzy. They should be patrolling in the area of the second tier. If they haven’t already, get them to scoot over to the inner wall. You know? The one Amelius and his men prepared as a chokepoint with the scorpios? Ask them to provide covering fire from that position until backup arrives.”

“Backup?”

“They’ll know it when they see it.”

“Roger that. What about Mark and Sean?”

“Leave them free. I can’t think of everything, and Mark will know what to do if he runs into trouble.”

Just as he was about to sign off, Mac cursed himself for being so stupid. “Andy? Sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t verify this before. How many Horde Masters have shown their faces so far?”

“So far? None . . .”

*

Angule stepped warily down from the portal and swept the interior of their new environment with the lightest scan he could muster.
Nothing! We have been successful.
Turning back, he gestured toward the void and motioned for the others to follow him out.

The interior of the Hall of Remembrance was soon filled with the presence of ten extraordinary entities, each of whom was stunned to silence by the ambiance of their new and strange surroundings.

Angule took a moment longer to survey the location he had chosen for their incursion.

His cabal now occupied the center of a vast domed chamber. Before them, in front of an impressively proportioned window, stood a huge column of heavily veined rock. It glowed with a gentle blue radiance, and Angule could feel the subtle energies imbued within it. A sensation he found as relaxing as it was welcoming. Atop the structure sat a quadrilateral feature encompassed within a halo of power.

The perimeter of the gallery itself was adorned by a number of oversized bas-reliefs which appeared to have been cut directly from the fabric of the wall. Like the opening, they stretched from floor to ceiling, each giving the impression that the humans had left a gigantic written work on open display for visitors to read. Angule was unfamiliar with the characters etched into the surface of each relief, but the tone they emitted conveyed a sense of loss and deep sorrow.

We are the cause of such regret
, he perceived.

A small podium had been erected before each edifice, upon which an artifact was positioned, highlighted from above in an unknown fashion by a soft humming radiance.

Treat this sanctuary with respect,
Angule warned.
It is a place of commemoration to those lost to our savagery.

His admonition was unnecessary, for each of his brethren was enamored by the quality of the room. Breaking the trance, he commanded:
Gather round, my family, for our work must continue apace, and urgently so.

He displayed several different sets of coordinates to each pair.
These are locations you need to protect at all costs. Once on site, remain hidden for as long as you can and protect whatever stragglers you encounter. If you must expose yourselves, employ your heaviest shields, especially if soldiers are present with their quantum devices. Make it plain you are not there to cause harm. Remember, expression conveys purpose more clearly than posturing. I suggest you use the barbarity of the unrestrained Trianium to your advantage. Demonstrate your intent. The humans may surprise you.

And what of you, Prime Catalyct?
Caym asked.
Will you seek the Cryptogen immediately?

Of course. And the lost child, for now we are within the sphere of restraint, I sense his presence . . . strange as it is.

*

“I know you wish to add our strength to the fight, brothers,” Flavius stressed to his gathered commanders, “but as I found to my cost, our enemy is as cunning as they are brutal. We cannot abandon our post, for they may seek to exploit the advantage these battlements would give them.”

“But we must do something, Sir,” Centurion Quintus Aurelia complained. “While we stand here, our brothers are being overrun. The beasts are already halfway to the fosse.”

Flavius surveyed the scene below.
And the cursed Masters still haven’t shown their faces. Perhaps I can do something about that?

He grinned.

“Galerius, Tiberius? You will both keep your centuriae at wall. However, I don’t want it to appear that way. Galerius, your unit will continue to man the battlements. Spread them out and make them apparent. Tiberius, you will muster your troops and begin leading them away as if continuing the evacuation. As soon as you reach the curtain, reposition your squads along the inner corridors, ready for deployment back onto the main apron. Ensure you remain hidden from sight. Publius, Quintus? Your centuriae will stick to the plan and leave for the First Magister’s courtyard now. However, take the scenic route,” he nodded toward the inner bulwark, “that-a-way. If you are still keen to lend your support, and assess the situation as needing your intervention, please feel free to do so. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” they chorused.

As his officers ran to carry out his orders, Flavius scrutinized the growing maelstrom below.
Now it’s your turn.

*

Mohammed ground his teeth in frustration.
We were so close to a clean getaway. Just one more hour and it would have been game over.

“Sir? Vice Commander Amine?” Hanna O’Hara, one of the communication officers called, “I have a message for you from Lieutenant McDonald. Evidently, “he told you so”, and he wants the drones you prepared in advance.”

“Yes, thank you, Hanna. I’ve been expecting his call. I’ll get onto that right away.”

“Drones?”

Mohammed turned to find Ephraim Miller standing right behind him. The scientist added, “I thought they were all supposed to be coming with us?”

“That’s what we hoped. Now it looks like we’ll be fifty down.”

Addressing the ship’s AI system, Mohammed raised his voice. “Serovai? Please would you be kind enough to initiate emergency program McDonald Omega Master One?”

“What’s so special about these flyers?” Ephraim pressed.

“You’ll see. Let’s just say that half of them have been programmed to hunt for a very specific spectral signature. It’s going to get hot down there, really soon.”

*

Lathered with sweat, the horse wheezed with every stride, laboring terribly under the strain of their wild gallop. Ignoring his mount’s protestations, James Houston hunkered down in the saddle and pushed it to even greater efforts.

C’mon. Just a little bit further.

The train was only fifty yards away. Chuffing loudly, it tooted twice and accelerated as it built up steam. His gaze remained fixed on the tail-end box cart. The door had been flung wide open, and an unknown woman leaned out into the wind, holding her bonnet in place with one hand, and calling his name.

An arrow zinged past his head.

 James ducked and dug his heels into the animal’s flanks as further missiles showered down around him. The yodeling cry of his pursuers drew ever nearer and he tensed, waiting for the inevitable impalement.

Twenty yards to go.

Arm outstretched, the woman called from the doorway, “Faster, James. You’ve got to ride faster. It’ll be all over if you don’t.”

Ten yards.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The war party had fanned out on either side in preparation for the kill. Some had stowed their bows and drawn their tomahawks.

Two yards.

Drawing alongside, James furiously thrashed his reins from side to side.

I’m going to make it.

He leaned toward his mystery helper. Groping. Straining . . .

Their fingers brushed.

Thunk!
A shaft sprouted from the doorframe, causing them both to flinch, and shy away from one another.

No. Not now
. Gritting his teeth, he increased his labors.
I’m not going to die today.

The whistle of another near miss hissed past his ear, and the cries of his pursuers grew more desperate.

He stood in his stirrups and reached out again. Their hands met, then clasped tightly together. With surprising strength, James found himself lifted from the saddle and yanked into the safety of the car’s interior. The door slammed shut, just as a fusillade of arrows hammered against the exterior wall.

Adjusting to the sway of the train, James fought his way to his knees and allowed his eyes to adjust to the sudden gloom. “Who are you?” he asked, “and how do you know my name?”

“I’m Pandora,” she replied, “and I’ve been waiting for you . . . forever.”

She threw back her head and screamed.

Waking with a start, James discovered he was drenched in sweat and panting wildly. He sprang from his bed and stared wide-eyed around the room, searching for the cause of the woman’s panic. It took him a moment to recognize the reality of his surroundings.

A dream. It was just a dream.

As his thudding heart regained a measure of stability, James leaned against a cabinet, shut his eyes, and inhaled deeply. His hand came to rest on the remote control. Flicking on the TV, he allowed the familiarity of his favorite recording to calm his nerves.

The gossamer kiss of a cool breeze added its welcome succor.

Aah, that’s better.

Where . . . ?

Intuition brought lucidity and a heightened sense of alertness. His eyes snapped open, his attention drawn to the same spot that had mesmerized him repeatedly over the past week.

It’s happening again.

James walked slowly toward the area in front of his bathroom. As he passed the bottom of his bed, he scooped Heaven’s-Claw into his grasp and pressed it to his chest. The air appeared to flex. He froze, watching incredulously as the doorway bent inward, as if being sucked down a plughole. The entire entrance abruptly disappeared into a gray void.

James edged away, and then caught his breath as an icy backwash flowed into the room. The spectacle filled him with a thrilling sense of joy and expectation.

His grip on reason cartwheeled as something huge, something indescribable, stepped out of the tear. He was struck by an overwhelming sense of recognition.

Staggering, he gasped, “Are
you
Pandora?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The Ninth

Repeated concussions from all angles threatened to burst his eardrums. Ignoring the discomfort, Flavius swung his sword in long-practiced, measured strokes. His arm went numb as another detonation thundered against the iron studs of his shield. Leaping away, he allowed the sizzling discharge to ground out before bounding back into the fight.

It was at times like this when Flavius hated being right. His strategy to lure the Horde out of hiding had worked like a charm. Less than two minutes after Tiberius led his centuriae away, a rift opened above the southern gatehouse and a host of monsters issued forth. Once battle was joined, the swarm was bolstered by the arrival of four Horde Masters, who began directing their troops with alarming proficiency.

Flavius and his warriors had endured a frenzied ten minute assault that quickly drove them toward the edge of exhaustion.

“Hold!” he cried above the roar. “Hold the line. Tiberius and his centuriae will be with us any moment.”

Men screamed in anguish as they succumbed to a horrific fate. Slashing out as they fell, several of the dying soldiers managed to take a number of devils with them. His heart swelled in admiration, and their example only served to make him all the more determined not to let the rest of the cohort down.

On the other side of the bulwark, Flavius could see his optio, Antonius Septimus, rallying three contubernium of hard-pressed legionnaires. The seasoned veteran’s experience made a huge difference, for he had devised a tactic to avoid the crushing affect of being too close to the ogres when they expired. He had managed to attach his pugio to a length of chain-link metal capped by a leather thong. Whirling the dagger about him like a whip, Antonius was making such short work of those brutes nearest him that they were beginning to shy away from his wrath.

Then Tiberius and his centuriae appeared on the stairwells behind the fray. Dividing his force into two, he set half his men against the Bosses while the rest engaged the rear ranks of the enemy grunts.

Tiberius had used his head. Having the advantage of being able to see how the battle was evolving, he had positioned a squad of sagittaria within the front file. No sooner had the counterattack begun than his strategy paid dividends.

Flavius watched in amazement as a fusillade of arrows cut the shrieking banshees to shreds. Recoiling in panic, the spooks flung themselves headlong over the main battlements, or down into the arc below, to escape.

Pity the drop doesn’t kill the bastards.

The Controllers found themselves alone atop the walkway. An eerie lull ensued as both sides weighed each other up.

An unseen signal passed between the ogres, and they advanced as one body. Calling for reinforcements from the vortex, they regrouped, but this time it was the Masters who led.

A volley of arrows arced out from the legion lines, only to bounce impotently off a glittering shield of violet and silver potency.

Flavius swore.
Pluto’s beard. What are we going to do now?

*

The longer Marcus looked, the more the rippling curtain of lava appeared to expand.

The effect reminded him of a time some years previously when he had attended a wedding party in Gaul. The groom, a newly-appointed tribune from Rome, loved to show off his family’s wealth, and had employed over a dozen slaves to bring an oversized wineskin into the middle of the celebrations marquee. Unfortunately, the director of ceremonies had allowed the skin to be overfilled. The constant jostling, along with the simple act of trying to move such an awkwardly heavy object into the tent, caused the hide to split from the neck down. What started as a tiny rent quickly turned into a huge tear, and the entire contents gushed out onto the floor.