The IX (56 page)

Marcus was staring at a similar sight now. Only it wasn’t the product of the vine that cascaded through the gap. Instead, a molten sea of liquid fire flooded toward them. Curling and rolling in a deceptively languid way, sinuous tentacles of brimstone and sulfur surged out to fill all the trenches, crest every mound, and search out lone stragglers with surprising ease. Amid a cacophony of thunderous detonations, everything in its path was consumed.

The catapults fired again. A cloud of arrows rained down. Bursts of lurid flame shot upward as hundreds of ghouls died.

They just keep coming. How can anyone disregard such carnage with so little consequence?

He cast his gaze along the entire width of the arc. Judging. Assessing.

Although the defenses have done exactly what we wanted, they are being swept aside as if negligible. Anything not made of lydium is obliterated. They’ve already reached the moat. The speed
—

“Look there!” Amelius shouted in his ear. “Can you see?” Pointing off to one side, he drew Marcus’s attention to a glowing sphere of purple light hovering over the remains of the utility building. Within it, a small crowd of coroneted beasts huddled together. A brief flash announced the departure of almost half the figures inside.

At last!
Shielding his eyes from the growing wash of heat, Marcus exclaimed, “I was wondering when our true enemies would reveal themselves. Amelius, direct the eastern batteries to concentrate their fire upon that location. I know the swine are protected, but at least we can distract them from . . .”

His voice trailed away. In front of them, the mad charge ground to a halt.

“What are they doing, Sir? Are they afraid of the dyke?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Marcus paused to survey the slavering, snarling ranks of the Horde. In their highly excited state, the outlines of individual ogres were clearly visible, and the sight of thousands upon thousands of snapping jaws and flexing talons sent a shock of fear along his spine.

“The addition of the Controllers will make a huge difference,” he murmured, “so for goodness’ sake, make sure we seize the advantage while we can. Command all weapons to open fire.”

Amelius conveyed the order, and within seconds the air was filled with iron.

The enemy’s front ranks exploded skyward. Marcus nodded in grim satisfaction as a series of secondary detonations continued to ripple through the mob for nearly a minute.

“Again!” he hissed.

The throng pulsed. Monsters situated along the outer flanks shuffled inward to crowd in behind their compatriots. Those already to the front also adjusted their position. Thinning their numbers, they edged forward, toward the earthwork. Within the span of a few heartbeats, a distinct wedge formation had emerged.

They’re going to attempt the moat.

In answer to Marcus’s realization, a rippling skein of arcane puissance bloomed outward from the knot of Horde Masters. Dancing across the heads of the gathered assembly, the web knitted to form a concentrated nucleus at the tip of the blockade. Once the leading file was enmeshed, the multitude reacted. Letting out a deafening roar, they marched forward.

Marcus held his breath.

As the first spook pressed into the iron stakes, the shield darkened to deep maroon. The ogre shuddered.

He’s not combusting!

The strength of the seizure grew, and spread to the surrounding brutes. Their extremities seemed to inflate and undulate. Inevitably, after a few seconds, they succumbed to the anathema of their kind and disappeared in a blinding flash. The gap was immediately choked by willing volunteers.

“Did you see that?” Marcus gasped. “They lasted longer before dying.”

“And look,” Amelius cried, “a myriad still pour through the gateway.”

Marcus made a decision.

“Sound the retreat. I want the wall and arc completely clear of our people. We’ll fall back to the inner defenses and surround the teleport ring. Update the relevant commanders.”

“How long do you think that will take?” Amelius queried.

“For everyone still in the city? That’s about two thousand souls altogether. Maybe another thirty to forty minutes?”

“Marcus! The demons destroyed the first level in less than thirty minutes. And now they are protected by some eldritch contrivance of their masters.”

The two men stared at each other. Their eyes said it all.

It was Amelius’s turn to make a hard choice.

“We will stay,” he stated. “The Fourth Cohort will hold them here, to ensure the safety of everyone else.”

“You will die,” Marcus murmured.

“Then we will die well.”

Marcus could see his friend would not be swayed.

“Very well. Have your cornicen use the radio to get Flavius and his unit to fall back to the Magister’s courtyard. Hold the Horde here as long as you can, but don’t waste lives. Remember, the inner wall is well defended, and every second you delay them saves a life.”

“Then we will save many.” Amelius saluted crisply. “For the Ninth.”

“For Rome and Rhomane,” Marcus replied, returning the salute. Turning quickly, he made his way from the platform before his men could see the tears in his eyes.

*

Stained-With-Blood peeked in both directions along the corridor, listening. The way seemed clear, but he knew appearances could be deceiving. Stepping out, he moved to one side and pressed his ear and fingertips to the wall. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and extended his senses into the fabric of the stonework. A minute or two passed before he repeated the process on the opposite side of the hall.

“This way,” he murmured, indicating the route leading north. “We can loop back after the first stairwell and avoid the conflict now unfurling above us.”

Small Robes came forward to stand by her uncle’s side. She was followed by a band of Cree warriors led by Snow Blizzard and White Bear.

Snow Blizzard turned to the braves. “Protect the princess at all costs.”

Bows at the ready, his men fanned out and moved silently along the passage. Vibrations radiated through the floor and walls, providing subtle hints of the fight raging overhead. Feeling them, Small Robes looked about anxiously.

Stained-With-Blood squeezed his niece’s shoulder. “Try to relax, child. We are only several tiers beneath the evacuation point. Even if we encounter trouble, these hallways are well defended and aid will come quickly.”

Reaching the intersection, the main party paused while several braves scouted ahead. One pair took up firing positions on the first landing below them, while two more scooted up to the next level. The sound of a cricket chirping signaled the way was clear.

As they ascended, the echoes of battle grew steadily louder. Someone could be heard shouting orders. A rapid volley of shots rang out, followed by the
crump
of muted explosions. The floor shook, and loose particles of dust were shaken from overhead ledges. The tramp of many feet resounded in the air.

Snow Blizzard signaled to his lead scouts, and they sprinted up the stairs to intercept whoever was there. Moments later, a command rang out, and the chime of armored boots approached. A face appeared at the banister, peering down.

“I am Centurion Quintus Scipio, and my centuriae are at your service. You are fortunate to have met us, for we are lending our strength to the defenses here while we await our turn at the transporter pad.”

Stepping forward, Stained-With-Blood called up, “Well met, Quintus Scipio. You are known to me, as are your commanders, Flavius Velerianus and Marcus Brutus. How are your men?”

“They are well, if somewhat frustrated at having to leave at such a time. But orders are orders.” Quintus glanced around the heavily armed war party, and then at Small Robes. “May I help you?”

“Yes, you can. The princess must be escorted to safety. Will you see her to the
Arch of Winter
on my behalf?”

“I will. But are you not leaving yourself?”

Small Robes turned to look at her uncle, puzzlement on her face.

“I will stay here,” Stained-With-Blood replied. “Not only must I retrieve something precious to me, but our remaining warriors must be —”

“Uncle?” Small Robes interjected. “What are you doing? You can’t leave. Not now. Why must you —”

“Hush, child. There is something I must do. Worry not, I will be completely safe and will rejoin you before you know it.” He gestured to Snow Blizzard. “Your husband-to-be is a capable man. Both he and the centurion will guarantee your welfare until I can be with you again.”

Snow Blizzard gazed long and hard at his former adversary. “You honor me,” he whispered. Drawing his knife, the Cree chieftain pressed the blade to his hand and scored a line across his palm. “By my blood, I swear to protect her with my life.”

Small Robes looked back and forth between the two men before lowering her eyes in resignation. A small sigh escaped her lips. “Be safe, my uncle.”

The stairwell vibrated in response to a powerful, nearby explosion. Voices mingled above as updates were given and further commands issued.

“We must go,” Quintus called down, “quickly. We dare not delay.”

Making eye contact with his niece, Stained-With-Blood nodded once, then turned and ran back toward the bowels of the city.

*

Mac and Sam entered the Ark control room, only to find Saul Cameron still fussing over the controls of a large computer console.

“C’mon Commander,” Mac advised. “It’s time to leave.”

Saul didn’t appear to hear the request and continued working.

Okay. Have it your way.
“Please don’t make me angry,” Mac warned, “you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

Saul turned toward him. Maintaining eye contact, Mac unclipped his weapon and placed it on the table. Cocking his head to one side, he cracked the knuckle of each finger. “Because I tend to get rather aggressive.”

Saul gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“That’s the other lot,” Mac retorted.

In response to the confused look on the commander’s face, Mac added, “The SAS.
They
dare. And they win most of the time, too. Our lot gets things done by strength and guile. And just so we’re clear,
Commander
. My job is to haul your ass upstairs and get you safely aboard the
Arch of Winter
. If you put your own safety in jeopardy, I’ll get very . . . hands on. I’ll give you one minute before I demonstrate what I mean.”

Saul glanced at Sam Pell. Mac did too, and could see his partner was grinning from ear to ear. Nothing about the smile was friendly.

“Oh, very well,” Saul conceded, “I suppose I was being overly cautious anyway. The seal is ready to go, and I can trigger the lockdown from orbit.”

“Good to hear. Now let’s get a move on. By all accounts, things are getting pretty volatile topside.”

Mac retrieved his machine gun, and they headed for the exit. As the control room doors opened, they discovered a sentinel waiting outside, along with two of the .50 cannons.

“Greetings, Lieutenant McDonald. As requested, I have prepared the weapons for transport. Just enter the appropriate codes, and the localized translocators will activate and deposit them at the site of your choice.”

“Excellent. Have the emplacements in the exterior corridor also been prepped?”

“Of course. The entire array has been linked into one circuit, as you requested.”

“Thank you, custodian. That will be all.”

“Why are you moving the sentry posts?” Saul queried. “I would have thought you’d want them to remain here as insurance.”

“If I left them where they are, it would be a terrible waste of limited resources. Especially once the rip-space tear is sealed. We still have over a thousand people in the city awaiting evacuation, and these guns will make a huge difference once they’re in the right place.”

“So where are you sending them?”

“This pair is going to the chokepoint above the inner wall. They’re fighting a losing battle up there, so ten thousand rounds and an entire rack of mini micro-mines will give them an edge they’ve been lacking.”

Mac paused to activate the locator beacons, and typed a code into his wrist pad. “The ones outside will help form a last line of defense around the emergency pad itself. Fortunately, there are only two ways into the Magister’s courtyard from the battlements, so we’ll have things well covered.”

A brief hum preceded the moment each of the cannons disappeared, and a strange prickling sensation crawled across Mac’s skin.
Hmm. Must be a side effect of the transporter.

Dismissing the sensation as of no consequence, he led the small group from the Archive. As they marched swiftly along, he eavesdropped on the continual chatter on the local network. It made painful listening.

Those blasted Masters have rallied their troops in a way we’ve never encountered. They’ll be through the arc before the last of the stragglers makes it to the pad . . . Unless we do something about it.

Tapping his earpiece, he said, “Andy, are you there?”

There was a short interval before Andy Webb replied. “Sorry, Boss, I had to concentrate for a moment or two. Some of our soul-sucking friends were getting a bit too close for comfort. They’re out of the picture now. How can I help?”

“Is the Horde advance still snowballing?”

“That’s an unfortunate yes. They’ve organized themselves into one huge, diamond-tip formation. The Controllers are augmenting their minions’ resistance to the iron in some way that slows the destructive process. They still explode, but it takes longer. When they do, it vaporizes everything in the blast radius, defenses included. As soon as the dust settles, their eager buddies slip in from behind to take their place. They’ll be at the wall in five minutes. Six, tops.”

“Where are the damned flyers?”

“On the way. ETA, three minutes. Talk about the cavalry, eh? Oh, and just to let you know, Stu, Fonzy, and Marcus said thank you for the guns.”

“Are they making a difference?”

“Not yet, Boss. Sean’s in the middle of adjusting the parameters on one of the cannons as we speak. The shields around the ogres are quite effective, so he’s going to coordinate the firing sequence to activate following the detonation of a mine. We’ll save some in reserve, just in case the Masters decide to get brave. In any event, it should spoil their parade quite nicely.”