by Frank Morin
Bastien shrugged. “The effects are smaller when I make the change. Plus, the explosives are underground, so even though they are a modern weapon, no one can actually see them. Perhaps that helps.”
“We should test that some more,” Sarah said, intrigued by the idea. “It could come in handy.”
“Oui. Let us hope Paul is also fooled.”
“Let’s hope Paul dies,” Sarah retorted, then gestured toward a nearby overturned wagon. “Set me up over here.”
The wagon shimmered, fading away, replaced by a wagon-sized construct that looked like a mini fortress. Made of close-fitted wooden planks, the boxlike fort stood only eight feet to a side. A long ceramic nozzle tube projected out a narrow front window.
Fresh growling set Sarah’s heart racing, but it was only a werewolf that leaped from a nearby tent. As Bastien moved to intercept the snarling beast, Sarah slipped inside the door of her little fortress.
A soft glow illuminated the interior, and the air was hot and smelled like cinders. An iron box three feet high that acted as a holding tank consumed the entire floor. When Sarah mounted the steps to the top, the heat radiating from the molten fuel inside of that tank burned right through her thick-soled boots. She studied the weapon as she shifted her weight from side to side, lifting each foot in turn to allow them to cool a bit. Another ceramic tube connected the holding tank to the nozzle, with leather-wrapped handles on either side, and a single lever to open fire.
Bastien stuck his head inside the door. “You like, yes?”
“I’m sure it’ll do what we planned,” Sarah said. “Although a simple flame thrower would have been easier. I don’t really see how it works.”
“Greek Fire,” Bastien said with a grin. “My mother shared the recipe with me. It is from ancient days, so will not break the integrity of the dream, no?”
“But how does it fire eighty feet to the command tent?”
He tapped the iron holding tank. “The pressure is very great. Do not puncture the box.”
“I never should have asked.” Sarah glanced down, trying not to think about the fact that she was standing atop hundreds of gallons of superheated, pressurized Greek Fire in the middle of a battle. At least, if that tank blew, she doubted she’d suffer long.
She settled down to wait in uneasy silence, peering through the firing port. Bastien remained outside to ensure none of the fighting got too close. Even though soldiers hacked each other with wild abandon all around them, Sarah was grateful their anonymity remained. The soldiers ignored them and their unique device. Once they engaged Paul, she wondered how long before legions of soldiers decided to take notice and boot them from the memoryscape.
Sarah couldn’t decide if she wanted Paul to show up soon so they could get on with the trap, or if she hoped he wouldn’t show at all. Her nerves slowly tightened as the seconds ticked by, her tension amplified by the screams of the wounded and dying and constant stench that her mask did too little to block.
Confronting Paul in the middle of a massacre was fitting in a lot of ways. Even though the plan would be counted a success if they could take out John, and despite the fact that Sarah wasn’t sure they could really kill Paul in the memoryscape, she vowed to give it her best shot. Paul had seemed absolutely confident in their last meeting. If he chose to enter the memoryscape without help monitoring him from the outside, ready to link additional soulmasks to heal him, they might do some real damage.
A shiver rippled down Sarah’s spine and she glanced at Spartacus. Despite the distance, she noticed his form shimmer then sharpen again. His stance changed, and he turned from the battle he’d been watching and raised his hand, a gladius appearing in it.
He looked directly at the spot where Gregorios and Tomas were concealed and his bellowing voice rang across the battlefield.
“I am Spartacus!”
Chapter Forty-Two
The world will know the tread of my foot, and nations will shake with fear. Baladeva was right, and my rounon powers now are stronger than ever. None can stand against my enhanced armies. I will root out Shahrokh and, with his death, secure my glory and the ultimate pact of power. Baladeva will supply my lives, and my runes will make my armies invincible!
~Brennis, Gaulish chieftain of the Senones, sacking of Rome, 387 B.C.
John appeared beside Spartacus, dressed like a centurion. Paul materialized last of all, breaking the congruity of the scene with his business suit and ever-present hat. The man didn’t even pretend to fit in. It was really annoying. His suit looked like it was made of dark blue silk, but Sarah wished it was polyester for the melting effect.
“It is time we introduce ourselves, yes?” Bastien whispered, standing in the doorway to her little fortress weapon.
“Here we go,” Sarah breathed as she swept the nozzle toward the newcomers and gripped the firing lever with sweaty fingers.
She yanked the lever, and Greek Fire blasted out of the nozzle. The pressure was more intense than she expected, tipping the nozzle up and spraying blazing, liquid fire high across the camp, passing high above its intended target.
Sarah corrected quickly and shifted the stream down onto the spot where Paul and the others had stood. The Greek Fire rasped as it boiled up the tube, and heat from the flames washed back over her, reddening her face, while the brimstone stench gagged her.
Liquid fire tore through the center of the camp, vaporizing heka fighters and scattering everyone else. John leaped into the command tent, and Sarah lost sight of Spartacus and Paul.
“Where’d they go?” she called, preparing to incinerate the command tent next. It would be great if she could complete the mission in the opening volley.
A grunt of pain from Bastien pulled her gaze to the nearby doorway.
Bastien was gone. Paul stood in his place.
“Hello, Sarah.” His clothes weren’t even singed.
Before Sarah could react, Paul heaved the entire fort-like weapon off the ground. Sarah tumbled out the open door, falling at his feet. The stream of fire cut off as the firing lever snapped closed. Even though it must have weighed at least a ton, Paul tossed the entire weapon across the camp. It crashed down over a phalanx of Roman soldiers, and the holding tank burst.
The explosion rent the night air and tumbled soldiers away for a hundred yards in every direction. The blast of hot air tugged at Sarah’s hair as she rolled to her feet. She didn’t see Bastien and had lost sight of the others. Paul faced her, his hat tipped back just enough to show the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Took you long enough,” Sarah said, proud that her voice didn’t shake.
The plan was working. He’d taken the bait, but facing him, she couldn’t help but think that even if Tomas killed John, she wouldn’t live long enough to celebrate.
Paul took a step toward her, and a wide-bladed Chinese saber appeared in his hand. “Now, where were we?”
Gregorios stepped through the choking smoke, between splashes of still-burning Greek Fire. Sarah had done well. John was isolated and Paul had taken off after her. Bastien would help her stay alive long enough to close the trap.
John’s will, buttressed by Paul’s Cui Dashi strength, fought him for control over the memoryscape, but this was a shared memory, so the differences were not major. John did not seem interested in adding anything big, and so far Gregorios had held his own.
Mostly though, he concentrated on Spartacus, who stood alone in the center of the blasted area scoured clean by Greek Fire.
“Hail and well met, my ancient adversary,” Spartacus cried, saluting with a gladius.
“We don’t really talk like that any more,” Gregorios said, approaching the Thracian cautiously with a pair of identical swords. He could have summoned another machine gun, but modern weapons didn’t belong in this particular meeting. Besides, he was hoping to question the recently-restored gladiator more than he wanted to plunge his sword into the man’s throat.
“Yet another indication of the weakness of the world
,” Spartacus declared. He stalked to his left, and Gregorios matched him step for step in the opposite direction. As the two circled each other, spiraling closer to within ten feet, Spartacus added. “There are so many things I wish to know. The world has changed beyond reckoning in the centuries I lacked sight. Only you and your honored wife understand my position.”
Gregorios nodded, intrigued. For the first time in the long history of their clashes, Spartacus hadn’t once mentioned fighting to the death. It left Gregorios feeling unsettled.
“We’ve got a minute,” Gregorios offered. “So talk.”
Spartacus grinned and raising his gladius in another salute. “You do me much honor, Gregorios. Such kindness cannot go unanswered.”
“Hold on,” Gregorios interrupted, recognizing what was coming. “You don’t have to--”
Spartacus lunged, lashing out with his sword. Gregorios caught the blade on one of his and swiped at Spartacus’ stomach with the other. The gladiator blocked the strike, and the two circled each other, the fast staccato of their swords ringing through the battlefield and echoing from the hills.
Spartacus grinned, “Thus we cross swords to pay homage to our honored past.” Without slowing or lessening the intensity of his deadly strikes he continued. “And thus may wisdom be shared without fear of reproach.”
Gregorios ducked a slash that would have taken his head off and kicked Spartacus back a step. “These days, we could’ve done the talking without the duel, you know.” He wasn’t really disappointed. He had always preferred letting his sword do most of the talking with Spartacus.
“I would not throw down such an offense,” Spartacus said, but his expression turned thoughtful and he paused. “The world I know is no more, Gregorios. Countries are gone, languages have died, and the world is awash with inventions to make the gods envious. Yet, I don’t… I am finding it hard to see where honor may be found.”
“Times have changed,” Gregorios agreed, squashing a feeling of pity for his most-hated enemy.
“And yet I have not.” Spartacus took a deep breath and his expression lifted, the thoughtful frown replaced by an enthusiastic grin. He leaped back into the fight with renewed vigor. “The world is new and wondrous, and I will win honor and a secure my place in it!”
As Gregorios fought the duel, he was surprised to realize that part of him wished Spartacus luck.
He’d need it. Most likely, Gregorios would need to destroy the Thracian in the coming days.
Tomas circled the command tent. It blocked his view of Sarah, and he prayed she was okay. It tore at him to know she faced the deadly Cui Dashi without him. Then again, killing John was the best way to help her.
Swords clashed from the far side of the tent, so Gregorios had engaged. Hopefully he could still track the incoming boulder.
Tomas squeezed the remote fire trigger and started a slow count. He was surprised by a huge explosion that rocked the far side of the camp, lighting the night. Hopefully Sarah wasn’t involved in that. The blossoming light illuminated the silently tumbling boulder that was coming in a bit too high.
Then it wasn’t.
Its trajectory shifted and it dove like a hawk toward the command tent. It lacked the whistling of a mortar round and, unless John was focusing on that part of the memoryscape, Tomas doubted he’d sense its approach. Even though he was well clear, Tomas retreated a few more steps and braced for the impact.
The boulder fell like the fist of an ancient Roman god, shattering the tent and slamming into the ground so hard it sent rippling showers of earth cascading in every direction.
A body tumbled away, tangled in the shredded remains of the tent, and Tomas recognized John. He had hoped for a direct hit, but it must have just missed him. As John staggered to his feet, eyes wide with shock, looking bewildered and unsteady, Tomas extended his hands and a pair of battle axes appeared in them.
Shouting the battle cry of the Tenth, Tomas raised his axes and charged.
Paul gestured at Sarah with his sword. “Your powers are unique, woman, but you are no facetaker. Where did they recruit you?”
“I’m a model.” She tried not to look obvious as she scanned the ground for her carbine. She’d put it down inside the Greek Fire weapon, but couldn’t see it anywhere.
His hat took on a surprised angle. “That makes no sense.”
“Like forbidden runes do? Which one are you using, anyway?”
“I use whichever runes I wish,” he said, gesturing with the sword. “They are not forbidden to me.”
“You sound like a politician. Rules only apply to the little people.”
He shrugged. “Rules apply to those too weak to make their own.”
“Newsflash, freak,” Sarah said, gauging the distance to the edge of the buried explosives. She didn’t want to be standing on it when it blew. “You broke the wrong rules and it’s going to cost you.”
Paul glanced toward Gregorios, who was dueling Spartacus near the command tent, their swords flashing in the inconsistent light. “Gregorios lacks the power to enforce his will on the world any longer. Only you remain the enigma.”
“Sorry, I have a boyfriend.”
He stalked forward, his voice angry. “Enough games. Tell me how you defeated my sister.”
“Who?”
“Mai Luan!”
Whoa. Several things clicked into place, but what about--?
Paul took advantage of her surprise, rushing forward with inhuman speed and punching her in the sternum. The blow tumbled her all the way to the edge of the concealed explosives. She gasped, her chest a sea of pain. Black spots danced behind her eyes.
He was so strong!
Even as she tried to blink away tears, he crossed the distance between them in a blink. “There can be only one,” he intoned and slashed at her torso with that terrifying sword.
Sarah’s body still trembled from that super-punch, but reacted with instincts honed in recent weeks sparring with Tomas and Alter, and enhanced by her new rune. She rolled, barely avoiding the whistling blade. It drove deep into the ground.
She leaped to her feet. “Really? You have to quote Highlander at a moment like this?”
“My words are mine alone.” Paul snatched for her with his free hand, but Sarah threw a block, then fired a series of punches into his face. It felt like punching a statue.
Paul didn’t even notice the blows, but snatched at her again. He moved with superhuman speed, but she deflected his grabbing fists, shifting around him and continuing her barrage. He seemed unused to having to actually fight anyone.
Sarah retreated from him, using every trick Tomas and Alter had taught her, barely avoiding his hand. When he raised his sword, she leaped backward, flying twenty feet to the center of the explosives trap. She felt a flash of triumph when he pursued, but didn’t have to pretend an expression of fear.
“How did you know I was involved in Berlin?” she asked, steeling herself for the next phase.
“I heard every word,” he snarled, raising his sword again. “She should have easily destroyed you, but somehow you survived while she did not.”
“History’s about to repeat itself.”
Sarah focused on her first rune. Immediately, warmth flooded out of it and her body faded to insubstantial. She raised a fist, the signal for Bastien to trigger the explosives. She hadn’t seen him since Paul threw her fire fortress away, but hoped he had recovered from whatever Paul had done to him.
For a second, nothing happened, and her hope fled.
Then the ground beneath her and Paul erupted into fire and destruction, catapulting Paul far out over the army. Sarah lost sight of him, her vision consumed by fire. She shivered as the explosion ripped through her ethereal form, like shadowy fingers of heat. The force of the blast lifted her a dozen feet into the air.
In the heart of the inferno, she exulted. Finally, they were hurting him.
She only had to find him and finish him before he recovered.
Chapter Forty
-Three
No matter which life he is living, it is not death that a man should fear, rather he should fear never beginning to live.
~Marcus Aurelius, fourth life of Emperor Nerva
John screamed as Tomas charged, and ducked a whistling axe that would have removed his head.
He didn’t see the second one.
The blade sheared through his armor and buried itself into his chest, catapulting him off his feet in a spray of blood.
Even as he fell, the gaping wounds closed and his armor repaired.
Just about what Tomas had expected. John could exercise immense control over the memoryscape, reforming his body at will, sealing otherwise fatal wounds. Well, he could for a time. With wounds that severe, a fraction of the damage would ripple back to his sleeping form.
Even though Tomas had known John for centuries and it always pained him to see an ally fall, he didn’t hesitate. John was helping Paul threaten Sarah, so that made his job pretty easy. He’d tear John apart, bit by bit.
With a grunt of determination, Tomas slammed both axes into John’s torso again and again. John tried frantically to escape, but Tomas kicked him over, striking the man back to the ground. He scored three hits on John’s neck, but never enough to completely sever the head. Each time, the wounds sealed as soon as he withdrew the blades.
John might be able to heal as fast as a Cui Dashi, but he felt pain. With each wound, he screamed anew, blubbering for mercy, and the recovery took a fraction of a second longer than it had before.
Tomas could live with that. He struck again.
Sarah raced through the chaotic campsite battleground. More and more of Baladeva’s troops were surrendering, those who hadn’t been killed already, and the Roman legionnaires were swarming into the area where Paul had fallen. Most of them ignored her, at least until she plowed through them, tossing armored men aside in her haste. Some of them shouted after her, but she let Bastien, who was running close behind her, deal with them. She needed to find Paul before he recovered.