Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles)

by Ottalini, Daniel

  On his knees within a circle of the king’s henchmen, Duke Laufas huddled under the pummeling of their fists, grunting in pain with each meaty blow.

  “Enough!” The king held up his hand and his men stepped back. Looking exceptionally pleased with himself, he spouted a guttural stream of Norse.

  I hate not knowing what’s going on, Julius thought. As if he’d heard, Corbus appeared next to him. “The king is telling the rebel leader that he must order his men to submit. Assuming there are any left willing to fight for him,” Corbus sneered. Julius remained silent.

  “By the way, did you know that your Roman brothers appear to be fighting amongst themselves? There used to be four legions out there, now there are just two.” Julius looked up at that information.

  A haggard-looking militiaman ran into the hall. Julius had learned to distinguish them from their better-equipped professional allies. The leather helmet and simple armored jerkin stood in stark contrast to the steel helm and chainmail-reinforced tunic of the king’s soldiers and raiders. The man blurted something in Norse that seemed to alarm everyone in the hall. Julius caught the flicker of a smile on Laufas’ blood-streaked face. The king stood and began shouting orders at various lords. Soldiers raced in all directions, some even blundering into each other in their haste.

  Corbus’s hand grabbed Julius’s hair, yanking him around. “Roman! Your compatriots must wish for death, as they assault our walls directly. But worry not that your time with us will be short, for we intend to deny them. Even now, our men are mustering to the wall to crush your pitiful war machine and your puny countrymen.”

  Julius laughed in his face at the end of this tirade. “Very typical of you, Corbus. Why aren’t you out there fighting?” he jeered.

  Corbus hit him in the stomach and marched away in a fury. The door slammed shut behind him.

  “That’s one bad man to anger,” Laufas said quietly through gritted teeth.

  “We’re already prisoners and probably going to die anyway; what’s the worst that could happen?”

  A short while later, Julius watched another militiaman rush into the throne room. I hope it’s more bad news for this so-called king.

  “Seems your fellow Romans have discovered the tunnels and have invaded the residential quarter. Excellent timing, I might add,” Laufas translated.

  “Well, I hope they get here soon. I’m awfully tired of being tied up.”

  Another file of soldiers marched through the room. Just outside the large iron door they began to build a barricade. Chairs, tables, even the benches from the throne room went into its construction. “Seems your Romans are closer than they thought,” Laufas noted as they watched.

  Another one of the king’s cronies slammed the door shut with a resounding boom. Julius felt the vibrations through the floor as the man slid a long metal brace into position across the door. Things are probably about to get interesting. He began working surreptitiously at returning feeling to his bound hands, rubbing his palms together and wriggling cramped fingers until he felt the sharp tingle of pins and needles. Trying hard to maintain a look of calm nonchalance, he flexed and relaxed his arms, hoping to loosen the bonds.

  “Use this,” the duke whispered. He tapped his boot hard on the floor. The sound went unnoticed by the king and his cronies, who were having a heated discussion around a command table at the back of the room. A short blade shot up out of the back of his boot.

  One eye on the few remaining guards who huddled together, apparently gossiping about the Roman attacks, Julius inched closer to the duke then crouched, carefully shifting to position himself over the blade to slice the tough leather cords, and not his hands and fingers. I’m sure we look absurd. A five-year-old should be able to catch us, Julius thought, waiting for a guard to glance their way and cry the alarm. But it must have been his lucky day, for his bonds were shredded almost to the breaking point when the duke hissed, “Stop.

  “You don’t want them to know you’re untied, and with the bonds still on, it looks more convincing,” the duke explained. Nodding, Julius wiggled a pace or two away from the captured general who, looking back over his shoulder at an awkward angle, went to work on his own bonds.

  With his task complete, the duke tapped his toe hard again, and the heel blade slid back into his boot.

  “Nice contraption,” Julius said.

  “It definitely has its uses.”

  Tearful cries and the sobs of women and children alerted Julius. He craned his head around, trying to find the source of the sound. Corbus came around the edge of the dais, smiling triumphantly as he led a roped line of women and children. Julius felt the duke stiffen next to him as he, too, saw the prisoners. Not prisoners, hostages, Julius thought as he saw the senatora in the group as well. At least she’s awake now.

  Swaggering, Corbus brought them before the king. The line bunched together, women and children drawing close for comfort. Bowing low, Corbus cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. Scowling, the king returned to the dais and settled on the throne to listen to the assassin.

  Unable to understand Corbus’s Norse, Julius focused his attention on the duke. He saw the duke’s eyes narrow, then his brows came down in a frown. “Sir? What is going to happen?” Julius whispered.

  “They want us to give an oath of loyalty. If we don’t, those hostages will die. I cannot swear; it violates my blood oath to the rightful king, sacred above all others.”

  Julius looked back to the dais, where the king appeared to be considering Corbus’s idea. “What about your wife?” Julius asked quietly, turning to the duke. Tears were rolling down the duke’s face as he stared at the floor.

  There must be another way out of this! “Can you stall him?” Julius asked urgently. “Delay him as much as possible? The legions will be here, I know it. We just have to give them more time.”

  Laufas turned to look at the centurion. “That is our only hope. A drowning man grasps at any branch, no matter how thin.” He wiped his face on his shoulder, his face hardening with a look of steely determination. “We shall stall, Centurion Caesar, we shall stall.”

  There came a pause in the conversation. In fact, the entire throne room seemed to have gone silent. Julius slowly scanned the room, looking for the disturbance. Then he heard it—the sound of fighting! Yes! Here comes our rescue team! Julius thought excitedly, cracking a smile that he quickly tried to cover by dropping his head.

  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

  Constantine 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.